Little Bird 
Friends. 
(i°6) 
THE BIRD WORLD. 
Little Bird Friends. 
A HISTORY RELATED BY MISS H. B. RUTT FOR YOUNG BIRD LOVERS 
(i Continued from p. 84.) 
CHAPTER IV. 
TOFF, THE ZEBRA FINCH. 
Now we come to one of my most charming birds. 
“ A perfect little darling ” I am sure you would 
pronounce him to be if you could see him. He 
is not much larger than a Wren, and is a little 
gem of beauty and neatness. I will try to 
describe him. 
His Costume. 
He has a coral-red beak, with legs and claws 
the same colour, but rather lighter. The top of 
his head and his back are a lovely pearly grey, 
shaded with a darker grey., His throat and the 
upper part of his breast are silvery, with tiny 
streaks of black across. This is, I suppose, why 
he is called a Zebra Finch, though these delicate 
markings are not much like the coarse black and 
white stripes on the large Zebras that one sees 
at the Zoo. Then there is a band of black, and 
all the rest of his breast is cream-colour, except 
down each side close to his wings, where it is 
orange-red with white spots. On each cheek 
there is a large orange-red patch. Can you 
imagine him ? I called him by the slangy name 
of Toff, because you know that means somebody 
who is tremendously particular about his appear¬ 
ance. This little Toff keeps himself always in 
the pink of condition. Never a feather awry, nor 
a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. He looks 
as if he were dressed in a perfectly-fitting costume 
made of satin, that had just come out of a band- 
box. 
His Character. 
Then as to his character. He is the most 
plucky little person you ever saw. Although he 
is so small, he will never allow himself to be put 
upon for a moment. He has his own rush nest 
in which he sleeps at night, and if any other bird 
dares to go in, no matter how big he is, Toff 
attacks him and soon sends him off, although I 
must in justice say he only acts in self-defence; 
he never begins a quarrel. He is a very fussy 
little fellow. He is almost always on the move, 
and can do nothing without announcing it 
aloud. 
A Continual Chatterbox. 
For his size he has a very clear, resonant voice. 
You cannot help hearing it. It is not very 
musical, very much like a child’s penny trumpet. 
He chatters away like this : “ Oh, what a nice day 
this is; it makes me quite hungry. I must go 
down and get some seed. Roo-too-too-too-too ! 
Oh, dear, this is not the seed I want, I must go 
to the other side. Roo-too-too-too-too!” Then, 
to another bird already eating, “ Get out of the 
way; roo-too-too ! Don’t you hear me? This is 
the seed I want. Roo-too-too-too-too! ” He 
keeps up this silly unnecessary talking nearly all 
day. It sounds very pretty and amusing to me. 
But I daresay it is as worrying to the other birds 
when they want to think a bit or doze, as is the 
talk of people who will speak their most trifling 
passing thoughts aloud. Their remarks are of no 
interest and need no reply, but they are just 
enough to spoil the enjoyment of our book or dis¬ 
tract our thoughts. 
Toff has a little song, as well as the constant 
“blowing of his own trumpet.” A very quaint 
little song it is, too. Something like “ Roo-te- 
tiddy, roo-te-tiddy,” repeated many times. But 
Toff has no sense of humour, and does not know 
in the least that he is funny, and is quite 
astonished and rather offended when the other 
birds or his human friends laugh at him. He 
thinks himself a very fine gentleman indeed, quite 
a superior person, and considers that all he does 
is absolutely right and quite the correct thing. 
Always Cheery. 
But there is one very good point about Toff 
that I ought to mention, and that is that he is 
always happy and contented. However dismal 
the English winter may be, he never grumbles. 
Some of the other birds do, but not he. When 
the sky is leaden, an east wind blowing, and not 
a gleam of real sunshine for a week, still his little 
trumpet is heard, his toilet is performed as 
scrupulously as ever, and the fussy, cheery little 
chap, as bright and active as possible, shames the 
grumblers who are moping in corners and not 
trying to make the best of it He is very friendly 
and sociable, calling out directly in response to 
a whistle. 
Toff and the Time-keeper. 
Indeed, he carries this to a very amusing extent. 
I have a large carved Black Forest clock in the 
room where I keep my birds. At the hours and 
half-hours, instead of its striking in the usual 
way, two little folding doors open, and out comes 
a wooden soldier with a bugle to his lips, and 
appears to blow as many blasts as there are hours 
to strike. Of course the sound is really produced 
by some mechanism inside the clock. It is very 
loud and musical, and Toff loves it. Directly it 
begins to strike he generally roo-too-toos an ac¬ 
companiment. Once, long after the birds had 
gone to sleep, I was in the room. I suppose the 
light and my movements disturbed Toff. When 
the clock began to strike the hour Toff tried to 
sing to it as usual, but in such a thick, sleepy 
voice. After one or two notes he gave it up, 
and I suppose nodded off again. 
