192 A COTTON PLANTATION. 
the exact appearance of that bird. “ Feath- 
ers around base of bill black,” said the book. 
I had not noticed that. But no matter; the 
bird was a blue grosbeak, for the sufficient 
reason that it could not be anything else. 
A black line between the almost black beak 
and the dark-blue head would be inconspic- 
uous at the best, and quite naturally would 
escape a glimpse so hasty as mine had been. 
And yet, while I reasoned in this way, I 
foresaw plainly enough that, as time passed, 
doubt would get the better of assurance, 
as it always does, and I should never be cer- 
tain that I had not been the victim of some 
illusion. At best, the evidence was worth 
nothing for others. If only that excellent 
Mr. , for whose kindness I was unfeign- 
edly thankful (and whose pardon I most 
sincerely beg if I seem to have been a bit too 
free in this rehearsal of the story), —if only 
Mr. could have left me alone for ten 
minutes longer ! 
The worry and the imprecations were 
wasted, after all, as, Heaven be thanked, 
they so often are; for within two or three 
days I saw other blue grosbeaks and heard 
them sing. But that was not on a cotton 
plantation, and is part of another story. 
