family. So we stood in wondering admiration. What could 

 we call it? It had all the lightsome grace of the tits, but 

 there was the woodpecker bill. We debated the question, the 

 subject of debate all the while continuing his careful search 

 for food within about ten yards of us. Science suggested 

 shooting him so that he might be definitely examined, cata- 

 logued, and stuffed. Admiration argued mercy. How pretty 

 he is, how lissome: watch him now standing on his head as the 

 blue tit will: and then, how trustful! Could anybody but a 

 miscreant murder a fragile little creature like that after 

 standing and weighing his fate? Besides, your cartridges 

 are No. 5. You know they are, and the little inch or two of 

 daintiness threatened with doom would be blown to bits at 

 this distance. So there are a dozen reasons why you shouldn't 

 shoot. 'Tut, tut!" Science replied. "Think of the gain to the 

 world's knowledge. This is a bird which is possibly new- 

 even to ornithologists. You have never seen anything like it 

 before, and probably never will again!" 



True words. I cannot tell whether there is a sort of 

 avian telepathy which warned the little woodpecker-tit that 

 Science might get the better of the argument, but he was off 

 like a flash, and we saw him no more. We often think and 

 speak of him, but to this day the debate has never been end- 

 ed, though I think admiration and mercy are gradually get- 

 ting the better of the regrets of science. Still T should very 

 much like to know exactlv what she was. 



