"Well, little boy," said Olive pleasantly, "what is your name, and what are you doing here?"
The child looked frightened at first and hid his face on his arm, but finally looked up, and said timidly, "My name is Rap, and I was watching the birds. Please, I didn't know anybody lived here, only cows, and I've been coming in most times for two years."
Then they saw that he had a tattered piece of a book in one hand, which he slipped inside his jacket as carefully as if it were a great treasure.
"Watching them to like them or to catch them?" asked Nat suspiciously, then feeling ashamed the next moment when Rap answered:
"To like them. I'd never kill a bird! I've sometimes found dead ones that have hit against the telegraph wires; and it makes you feel lumpy in your throat to see how every little feather lies so soft and lovely, though they never will fly any more."
By this time the three were seated in front of the strange boy, looking at him with great interest.
"What is the book you were reading when we came up?" asked Olive. Rap pulled it out and laid it on her lap, saying, "I don't know its name—the beginning part that tells is gone—but it's all about birds. Here's a picture of a Bluebird, only it isn't quite right, somehow. Oh, I do wish I had all of the book."
Olive turned over the leaves that looked familiar to her and saw that it began at page 443. "Why, it is part of the first volume of Nuttall's 'Manual of Birds.' My father has the whole of this book," she said. "Where did you find this bit?"
"The rag pedler that comes by every fall lets me look in his bags, 'cause sometimes there are paper books in them, and he gave me this for nothing, 'cause it was only a piece."
"Why don't you ask your father to buy you a whole book, instead of grubbing in rag-bags?" said Nat thoughtlessly.