The man made a sort of crook with his forefinger, with which he beckoned the lad.
“Just you stir your stumps,” he said, “and come here by the side of me.”
“All right, that’s just what I should like—it will suit me above everything,” cried Alf, with evident delight.
He and the brown-faced man hid themselves behind a bush, the latter holding the line and peeping through the interstices of the foliage.
As soon as the goldfinch felt the sun and light it began to sing.
“That’s the call bird,” whispered the man. “He’ll draw a lot presently if we have luck.”
It must be owned that there is a most malicious joy in these call birds to bring the wild ones into the same state of captivity, which may likewise be observed with regard to decoy ducks.
Their sight and hearing excel that of the bird-catcher. The call birds do not sing as a bird does when in a chamber; they invite the wild ones by what they, the bird-catchers, call “short jerks,” which when the birds are good may be heard at a great distance.
The ascendency of this call or invitation is so great that the wild bird is stopped in its flight, and, if not already acquainted with the nets, alights boldly within on a spot which otherwise it would not have taken the least notice of.
Indeed it frequently happens that if half the flock are only caught the remainder will immediately afterwards alight in the nets and share the same fate, and should only one bird escape, that bird will suffer itself to be pulled at till it’s caught, such fascinating power have the call birds.