“I don’t know, sir,” I very naturally said.
“What would they be if they were in England and only plain-coloured?”
“Why, I should have said by their beaks, uncle, that they were finches, and lived on seed.”
“Finches they are, Nat, and you are quite right to judge them by their beaks.”
“But I didn’t know that there were finches abroad, Uncle Dick,” I said.
“Then you know now, my boy, and by degrees you will learn that there are finches all over the world, and sparrows, and thrushes, and cuckoos, and larks, and hawks, crows, and all the other birds that you find in England.”
“Why, I thought they were all different, uncle,” I said.
“So most people think,” he said, as he went on unpacking the birds; “the difference is that while our British finches are sober coloured, those of hot countries are brilliant in plumage. So are the crow family and the thrushes, as you will see, while some of the sparrows and tits are perfect dandies.”
“Why, I thought foreign birds were all parrots and humming-birds, and things like that.”
“Well, we have those birds different abroad, Nat,” he replied, “and as I tell you the principal difference is in the gorgeous plumes.”