"Collecting-boxes, Nat?" he said, rubbing his hands softly; "why, I used
to use pill-boxes when I was a boy: there are lots up-stairs."
He hunted me out over a dozen that afternoon, and supplied me with an
old drawer and a piece of camphor, entering into the matter with as much
zest as I did myself. Then he obtained an old green gauze veil from my
aunt, and set to work with me in the tool-house to make a net, after the
completion of which necessity he proposed that we should go the very
next afternoon as far as Clapham Common to capture insects.
He did not go with me, for my aunt wanted him to hold skeins of wool for
her to wind, but he made up to me for the disappointment that evening by
sitting by me while I pinned out my few but far from rare captures,
taking great pleasure in holding the pins for me, and praising what he
called my cleverness in cutting out pieces of card.
I did not know anything till it came quite as a surprise, and it was
smuggled into the house so that my aunt did not know, Jane, according to
uncle's orders, carrying it up to my bedroom.
It was a large butterfly-case, made to open out in two halves like a
backgammon board; and in this, as soon as they were dry, I used to pin
my specimens, examining them with delight, and never seeming to weary of
noting the various markings, finding out their names, and numbering
them, and keeping their proper titles in a book I had for the purpose.
I did not confine myself to butterflies, but caught moths and beetles,
with dragon-flies from the edges of the ponds on Clapham Common, longing
to go farther afield, but not often obtaining a chance. Then, as I
began to find specimens scarce, I set to collecting other things that
seemed interesting, and at last, during a visit paid by my aunt to some
friends, Uncle Joseph took me to the British Museum to see the
butterflies there, so, he said, that I might pick up a few hints for
managing my own collection.
That visit turned me into an enthusiast, for before we returned I had
been for hours feasting my eyes upon the stuffed birds and noting the
wondrous colours on their scale-like feathers.
I could think of scarcely anything else, talk of nothing else afterwards
for days; and nothing would do but I must begin to collect birds and
prepare and stuff them for myself.
"You wouldn't mind, would you, uncle?" I said.
"Mind? No, my boy," he said, rubbing his hands softly; "I should like
it; but do you think you could stuff a bird?"
"Not at first," I said thoughtfully; "but I should try."
"To be sure, Nat," he cried smiling; "nothing like trying, my boy; but
how would you begin?"
This set me thinking.
"I don't know, uncle," I said at last, "but it looks very easy."
"Ha! ha! ha! Nat; so do lots of things," he cried, laughing; "but
sometimes they turn out very hard."
"I know," I said suddenly.
"I know," I said, "I could find out how to do it."
"Have some lessons, eh?" he said.
"No, uncle."
"How would you manage it then, Nat?"
"Buy a stuffed bird, uncle, and pull it to pieces, and see how it is
done."
"To be sure, Nat," he cried; "to be sure, my boy. That's the way; but
stop a moment; how would you put it together again?"
"Oh! I think I could, uncle," I said; "I'm nearly sure I could. How
could I get one to try with?"
"Why, we might buy one somewhere," he said thoughtfully; "for I don't
think they'd lend us one at the British Museum; but I tell you what,
Nat," he cried: "I've got it."
"Have you, uncle?"
"To be sure, my boy. There's your aunt's old parrot that died and was
stuffed. Don't you know?"