62 WESTERN SERIES OF READERS. 



wherever it goes, and when next you see him, a 

 fish lies crosswise in his mouth. The fish strug- 

 gles to get away. It has neither beak nor claws 

 to fight its own battles, and can only squirm help- 

 lessly. You are sorry for the fish, who has its 

 own good times, free in the water; but you know 

 the little blue king is very hungry, and must be 

 excused for getting his dinner in his own fashion. 



Straight to the tree he just left flies the king, 

 and you notice the water runs off from his sleek 

 head and back. Never a bit wet gets the king- 

 fisher. His plumage is thick and well oiled. 



Once on the tree, the fisherman beats his fish 

 against a branch, as the phoebe-bird and the 

 mocker beat the grasshopper and the butterfly. 

 We call it a " natural death " for both fish and 

 insect. The king is certainly a more merciful 

 fisher than the man who strings his fish and car- 

 ries them about until they die by slow degrees. 

 When the fish lies limp across his beak, the fisher 

 gives it a toss, and down it goes, whole, by way of 

 the bird's thick neck. Later, the bones will come 

 up in hard little pellets. 



A kingfisher always manages to dive straight 

 down into the water, never at a slant. He may 

 be obliged to fly out a little way to do so, but he 

 comes down straight. We suppose this is to avoid 



