Little 
Bud Friends. 
(162) 
THE BIRD WORLD. 
Little Bird Friends. 
A History Related by Miss H. B. Rutt for Yovmg 
Bird Lovers. 
(Continued from p. 123.) 
CHAPTER X. 
“ NAP,” THE CLOWN. 
THE GRENADIER WEAVER. 
Now we come to the last of the in¬ 
habitants of the Chateau; but I think 
perhaps the most interesting of all, cer¬ 
tainly the most amusing. “Toff,” as I 
said, is very funny, but does not know 
that he is. “Nap,” on thtv contrary, 
knows it quite well. He means to be 
funny, tries to be funny, and succeeds 
admirably. He enjoys his own jokes, 
too, as much as, or perhaps more than, 
anyone else does. But I must tell you 
what he is like. 
One of a Large Family . 
He is a Weaver bird, and like all the 
Weavers, only comes into colour during 
six months of the year. I bought him 
in London. The shop was well ven¬ 
tilated, and many of the cages were 
standing quite exposed to the fresh air, 
so I knew the birds would be likely to 
be strong and healthy. I wanted a 
Weaver of some kind, but did not much 
care which, .except that I did not want 
another “ Twiney.” So the man showed 
me. a long cage with over thirty birds 
in it, Weavers of different kinds, both 
cocks and hens. They were all out of. 
colour, and looked like Linnets or any 
common English birds. The man him¬ 
self, I think, did not know which were 
which. Some had red beaks and some 
brown. To make sure, I said I would 
have'a brown beaked one. I looked at 
them for a minute, and noticed “ Nap,” 
with bright eyes, neat feathers, and very 
active ways. He looked thoroughly 
healthy, and I felt sure it was a cock 
bird. I pointed him out, and said “ I 
will have that one.” So the man put 
his hand through a round door at the 
top of the cage, and soon brought out a 
frightened little bird, but it was not the 
one I had chosen, and I said so, for I 
had taken a great fancy to that special 
one. So he held it safely in his left 
hand, and again plunged his right-hand 
into the cage, and this time brought out 
“Nap.” The other one was put back 
among the crowd, and “Nap” was 
placed in a small travelling cage for me 
to carry home. “A nice strong bird, 
this one,” remarked the man. “ What 
kind of Weaver is it?” I asked. “A 
Neopolitan Weaver,” he answered. I 
said nothing, but I knew there was no 
such bird, and I concluded that he had 
made a little mistake, and meant to say 
Napoleon, not Neopolitan. 
Not as he Should Be. 
So £ named the bird “Nap.’ He 
did not change colour the first year 
after I had bought him, but since then 
he has come into his full glory, a 
mixture of brilliant orange and jet 
black, and turns out to be a Grenadier 
Weaver, and not a Napoleon, as I had 
thought. It was funny, indeed, to see 
his waggish ways when: he first dis¬ 
covered what a handsome fellow he was 
getting to be. The first change was a 
few specks of bright orange on his head. 
As the Chateau is not furnished with 
looking-glasses, of course he could not 
see this. The next change was a strip 
of jet black feathers down the middle 
of his breast. This he could see, and 
it evidently puzzled him a good bit. 
He pushed the feathers backwards and 
forwards to make sure they were really 
fixed on. But when the underside of 
his wings became black instead of the- 
light-brown to which he was accustomed,- 
