i6 THE STORY OF A BIRD LOVER 



Islarid more than the birds did. There was a 

 pond not very far from our house where there 

 were myriads of goldfish. I used to fish there, 

 and caught a good many. They were nearly all 

 small, and most of them were thrown back again ; 

 but the fascination of angling was strong upon 

 me. 



After living at Staten Island a year, my step- 

 father bought a farm in Washington Valley, in 

 New Jersey, not far from Plainfield. This farm 

 he purchased of a man of means, who had tired of 

 his toy. The farm was acquired practically as it 

 stood, with all the horses, cattle, and cows, and a 

 great many things on it that appealed to me, 

 some peacocks and a pair of domesticated Canada 

 geese. A brook which ran through the place 

 had been dammed, making a large pond of some 

 twenty acres. Here the ducks came in the fall, 

 real wild ducks; and here our tame wild geese 

 were sometimes visited by other wild geese pass- 

 ing over. On the trees that surrounded the pond 

 I watched the hawks, when the leaves were off, 

 perched on the bare limbs. Here again came to 

 visit my mother my Uncle John, a great sports- 

 man, and now I was big enough to go with him, 

 when he did not go too far, to shoot birds — 

 woodcock and quail. One day when we were 

 out walking together he killed a fine hawk that 

 rose from the grass near by. A bird on the ground 



