i$6 
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL, 
this was how it had been treated, for one leg was dis- 
located. I took the poor bird in hand, not because I hoped 
to save its life, but because I am weak about putting 
birds to death in cold blood even to end their misery. 
I did save its life, however, and after a long while even 
the broken leg restored itself in some way and became 
as sound as the other. In course of time a new suit of 
clothes arrived, of Dame Nature’s best make, and my 
dingy little cripple became a very stylish-looking bird, 
with a peaked, black crest on the top of his head, a little 
patch of crimson over each ear, and another display of 
red on what ornithologists euphemistically call the “ under 
tail coverts.” The only thing that marred his beauty 
was a scar across the bridge of his nose, which he made 
and kept fresh by frantic efforts to get out between the 
bars of his cage whenever he was frightened. 
As I have said, the Bulbul has a small brain, and this 
bird occupied a strong cage for a year without finding out 
that dabbing his head against the wires would not get 
him out. Neither did he attain to the knowledge that a 
red handkerchief, a hat and a hundred other common 
things do not eat Bulbuls. So he was seized with panic 
many times a day, and the place where the wires caught 
