I was so eager to begin that I hesitated no more, but took the bird out into the tool-house, where I could make what aunt called “a mess” without being scolded, and uncle put on his smoking-cap, lit his pipe, and brought a high stool to sit upon and watch me make my first attempt at mastering a mystery.
The first thing was to take Polly off her perch, which was a piece of twig covered with moss, that had once been glued on, but now came away in my hands, and I found that the bird had been kept upright by means of wires that ran down her legs and were wound about the twig.
Uncle smoked away as solemnly as could be, while I went on, and he seemed to be admiring my earnestness.
“There’s wire up the legs, uncle,” I cried, as I felt about the bird.
“Oh! is there?” he said, condescendingly.
“Yes, uncle, and two more pieces in the wings.”
“You don’t say so, Nat!”
“Yes, uncle, and another bit runs right through the body from the head to the tail; and—yes—no—yes—no—ah, I’ve found out how it is that the tail is spread.”
“Have you, Nat?” he cried, letting his pipe out, he was so full of interest.
“Yes, uncle; there’s a thin wire threaded through all the tail feathers, just as if they were beads.”