220 THE BOOK OF A NATURALIST 
waiting for him. Then with fans and hats and 
folded newspapers we would try to fan him out, 
but it only made him wild—wild as a newly caught 
linnet in a cage; he would dart hither and thither 
about the room, now among us, now over our 
heads, still refusing to go out. We didn’t want 
him to go, so that after religiously doing our best 
for him we were pleased to have him stay. We 
even tried to make him happy as our guest by 
offering him honey and golden-syrup and placing 
flowers in vases all about the room, but he would 
accept nothing from us. 
At rest on a wall or curtain he appeared as a 
grey triangular patch, ornamented, when viewed 
closely, with mottlings of a dusky hue; but on 
lifting his fore-wings, the lovely crimson colour of 
the underwings was displayed. No crimson flower, 
no sea-shell, no sunset cloud, can show a hue to 
compare in loveliness with it. Another hidden 
beauty was revealed when the lamps were lighted 
to start him flying up and down the room over our 
heads, always keeping close to the low ceiling. He 
then had a surprisingly bird-like appearance, and 
the under-surface of the bird-shaped body being 
pure white and downy he was like a miniature 
martin with crimson on the wings. He was then at 
his best, our “ elf-darling ”; no one dared touch him 
even with a finger-tip lest that exquisitely delicate 
down should be injured. I have frequently had 
humming-birds blunder into a room where I sat and 
fly round seeking an exit, but never one of these, 
