I could think of scarcely anything else, talk of nothing else afterwards for days; and nothing would do but I must begin to collect birds and prepare and stuff them for myself.
“You wouldn’t mind, would you, uncle?” I said.
“Mind? No, my boy,” he said, rubbing his hands softly; “I should like it; but do you think you could stuff a bird?”
“Not at first,” I said thoughtfully; “but I should try.”
“To be sure, Nat,” he cried smiling; “nothing like trying, my boy; but how would you begin?”
This set me thinking.
“I don’t know, uncle,” I said at last, “but it looks very easy.”
“Ha! ha! ha! Nat; so do lots of things,” he cried, laughing; “but sometimes they turn out very hard.”
“I know,” I said suddenly.
“I know,” I said, “I could find out how to do it.”