I soon grew accustomed to look at a bird and then at my finger, from nail to knuckle, and then try to tell how many times longer the bird was from the point of his beak down over his back to the tip of his tail.

Of course I made a great many mistakes and could seldom tell exactly, but it was a great help." "How long is my finger ?" asked Nat eagerly, spreading out a rather large hand for a boy of ten.
"About four inches." "Then that bird is quite a little longer than that--five or six inches anyway." And he wrote, "Length, five or six inches." "Ah, he has gone," wailed Dodo.

"Oh, no, he hasn't.

He has come round the tree again--he says _squank, squank, squank_, as if his voice was rusty.

Is that his song, Cousin Olive ?" "No, he is only talking now." "Talking?
It seems to me that birds can do ever so many more things than I thought they possibly could." "Black head," said Nat, as he continued writing; "sort of gray on top and white in front; his tail is black and white and rusty looking underneath, and--there, he has flown away! Do you think that will do, and will uncle know his name?
Oh, I forgot, he says _squank_, goes head down, and picks things out of the tree bark." "Yes, that will do for a beginning, but father will tell you some simple names for the different parts of every bird, so that your descriptions need not confuse you.