A SPABROW SETTLES THE QUESTION 17 



I was about your age father measured my right-hand 

 middle finger and told me it was three inches long. 

 Then he made two marks across it with violet ink, 

 which takes a long time to wash off, so that my finger 

 made a three-inch measure. I soon grew accustomed 

 to look at a bird and then at my finger, from nail to 

 knuckle, and then try to tell how many times longer 

 the bird was from the point of his beak down over his 

 back to the tip of his tail. Of course I made a great 

 many mistakes and could seldom tell exactly, but it 

 was a great help." 



'' How long is my finger ? " asked Nat eagerly, 

 spreading out a rather large hand for a boy of ten. 



" About four inches." 



" Then that bird is quite a little longer than that — 

 five or six inches anyway." And he wrote, "Length, 

 five or six inches." 



" Ah, he has gone," wailed Dodo. " Oh, no, he 

 hasn't. Pie has come round the tree again — he says 

 squank^ squank% squank, as if his voice was rusty. Is 

 that his song, Cousin Olive ? " 



" No, he is only talking now." 



'' Talking ? It seems to me that birds can do ever 

 so many more things than I thought they possibly 

 could." 



" Black head," said Nat, as he continued writing ; 

 "sort of gray on top and white in front; his tail is 

 black and white and rusty looking underneath, and 

 — there, he has flown away! Do you think that will 

 do, and will uncle know his name ? Oh, I forgot, he 

 says squanJc^ goes head down, and picks things out of 

 the tree bark." 



