The Taxidermist

I

One day a hummingbird got caught in a cobweb in our greenhouse. It had no

real need to seek that damp, artificial heat. We were in the very heart of

that Creole summer-time when bird-notes are many as the sunbeams. The

flowers were in such multitude they seemed to follow one about, offering

their honeys and perfumes and begging to be gathered. Our little boy saw

the embodied joy fall, a joy no longer, seized it, and clasping it too

tightly, brought it to me dead.

He cried so over the loss that I promised to have the body stuffed. This

is how I came to know Manouvrier, the Taxidermist in St. Peter Street.

I passed his place twice before I found it. The front shop was very small,

dingily clean and scornfully unmercantile. Of the very few specimens of

his skill to be seen round about not one was on parade, yet everyone was

somehow an achievement, a happy surprise, a lasting delight. I admit that

taxidermy is not classed among the fine arts; but you know there is a way

of making everything--anything--an art instead of a craft or a commerce,

and such was the way of this shop's big, dark, hairy-faced, shaggy-headed

master. I saw his unsmiling face soften and his eye grow kind as mine

lighted up with approbation of his handiwork.

When I handed him the hummingbird he held it tenderly in his wide palm,

and as I was wondering to myself how so huge a hand as that could

manipulate frail and tiny things and bring forth delicate results, he

looked into my face and asked, with a sort of magisterial gentleness:

"How she git kill', dat lill' bird?"

I told him. I could feel my mood and words take their tone from him,

though he outwardly heard me through with no show of feeling; and when I

finished, I knew we were friends. I presently ventured to praise the

specimen of his skill nearest at hand; a wild turkey listening alarmedly

as if it would the next instant utter that ringing "quit!" which makes

each separate drop of a hunter's blood tingle. But with an odd languor in

his gravity, he replied:

"Naw, dass not well make; lill' bit worse, bad enough to put in front

window. I take you inside; come."

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