The man in the bush imitated the call to such perfection that in a short time he had the satisfaction of seeing six cock bullfinches in the net, which began to present the appearance of an aviary. They were beautiful little creatures, with their blue bullet heads and their scarlet breasts. They were clothed in red and purple, like the kings of ancient Tyre. The man gave his rope a sharp tug, and the flaps or wings of the net closed and held them all prisoners. The poor things beat themselves fiercely against the net, uttering piercing cries, while the call-bird still sung as if in savage triumph from his wire cage. “Beautiful!” ejaculated the boy. “I call that something like.” The birds were gathered by the large brown hand of their ensnarer, and with Alf’s assistance they were placed in a large hamper, which formed part of the fowler’s equipage. “That’s a good haul, ain’t it?” inquired the lad. “Middling, not so bad. I’ve had better, and a good many worse.” “Do you happen to know of any nestesses round here?” he inquired. “I don’t mean the common sorts. D’ye know of a bottletit’s anywhere?” “I know one――in fact I was going to collar it when I met you.” How far is it from here?” “Not a hundred yards from where we are now――just ready for eggs.” “I don’t want no eggs, but I’ll give yer a pint o’ beer for the nest――that is unless ye want it yourself.” “I don’t particularly want it,” said the boy, who was going to show the man the nest for nothing; but he now declared he couldn’t afford to part with it under sixpence.” “It’s worth that if it be a good ’un. I’ll give you sixpence――that is, when I’ve got the nest.” “All right. Come this way,” cried Alf, who showed the man the nest, which was imbedded in a little bunch of gorse. Instead of tearing it out the fowler cut the branch with his knife, thus preserving, it furze and all. He then handed his companion the sixpence. The bottle tit, or long-tailed tit, builds the most beautiful of all English nests. It is oval in shape, like a leather bottle, and outside is one mass of that crisp white moss which one finds on apple trees and old gate-posts. There is one tiny hole the circumference of a child’s finger, and the interior is choked to its very mouth with soft and downy feathers. These nests sell at a high price in towns to egg-collectors, closet naturalists, and buyers of curiosities. “You’ll make your money of that, guv’nor. It’s a stunner――aint it?” “Not a bad one of its sort; but, lor’ love ye, the job is to find a customer. It’s only one here and there who knows what’s worth buying and what’s best left alone. Still, ye see, it won’t hurt by keepin’, and it won’t die, as many of the birds do. I’ve been very unlucky wi’ my birds of late.” “Have you, though? They croak, I s’pose?” “That’s it; right you are. They do croak, and no mistake. Howsomdever, it can’t be helped. Do you know of any more nests, young shaver――some with bigger eggs, you know?”