Then the brown-faced man placed something covered with green baize-cloth in the centre of the net, and, having carefully examined his apparatus, he uncoiled a long line, which was looped and run within the edges of the net. He then raised the green baize, disclosing a goldfinch in a wire cage. “My eye, he’s an artful old buffer, and knows his way about!” murmured Alf. The man glanced around. “Blessed if I didn’t hear a voice, or somethin’ of the sort,” he ejaculated. He adjusted the lines of his net, and looked up at the sky――then he glanced around once more. “Holloa, you, sir, what are you a doing there? Want to frighten the birds――eh?” he exclaimed, catching sight of the boy for the first time. “I hope I aint in the way, or a doing any harm,” cried Alf, in a beseeching tone. “I’m only doing the looking-on part. I hope you don’t mind, please, sir?” “Umph,” returned the man, with a puzzled expression of countenance, “you’ve been ’nation quiet, my young bloke. I didn’t know there was a soul about; but, look here, my lad, I’d rather you shift your quarters if it don’t make any difference to you, ’cos why it’s like enough you’ll frighten the birds away if you stop there.” “All right, guv’nor, I’ll go wherever you like.” The man made a sort of crook with his forefinger, with which he beckoned the lad. “Just you stir your stumps,” he said, “and come here by the side of me.” “All right, that’s just what I should like――it will suit me above everything,” cried Alf, with evident delight. He and the brown-faced man hid themselves behind a bush, the latter holding the line and peeping through the interstices of the foliage. As soon as the goldfinch felt the sun and light it began to sing. “That’s the call bird,” whispered the man. “He’ll draw a lot presently if we have luck.” It must be owned that there is a most malicious joy in these call birds to bring the wild ones into the same state of captivity, which may likewise be observed with regard to decoy ducks. Their sight and hearing excel that of the bird-catcher. The call birds do not sing as a bird does when in a chamber; they invite the wild ones by what they, the bird-catchers, call “short jerks,” which when the birds are good may be heard at a great distance. The ascendency of this call or invitation is so great that the wild bird is stopped in its flight, and, if not already acquainted with the nets, alights boldly within on a spot which otherwise it would not have taken the least notice of. Indeed it frequently happens that if half the flock are only caught the remainder will immediately afterwards alight in the nets and share the same fate, and should only one bird escape, that bird will suffer itself to be pulled at till it’s caught, such fascinating power have the call birds.