"Here she is," said my uncle. "Poor old Polly! What a bird she was to screech! She never liked me, Nat, but used to call me _wretch_, as plain as you could say it yourself. It was very wicked of me, I dare say, Nat, but I was so glad when she died, and your aunt was so sorry that she cried off and on for a week." "But she never was a pretty bird, uncle," I said, holding the stuffed creature to the light. "No, my boy, never, and she used to pull off her feathers when she was in a passion, and call people _wretch_. She bit your aunt's nose once. But do you think it will do?" "Oh yes, uncle," I said; "but may I pull it to pieces?" "Well, yes, my boy, I think so," he said dreamily. "You couldn't spoil it, could you?" "Why, it is spoiled already, Uncle Joe," I said. "Yes, my boy, so it is; quite spoiled. I think I'll risk it, Nat." "But if aunt would be very cross, uncle, hadn't I better leave it?" I said. "If you didn't take it, Nat, she would never see it again, and it would lie here and moulder away. I think you had better take it, my boy." I was so eager to begin that I hesitated no more, but took the bird out into the tool-house, where I could make what aunt called "a mess" without being scolded, and uncle put on his smoking-cap, lit his pipe, and brought a high stool to sit upon and watch me make my first attempt at mastering a mystery. The first thing was to take Polly off her perch, which was a piece of twig covered with moss, that had once been glued on, but now came away in my hands, and I found that the bird had been kept upright by means of wires that ran down her legs and were wound about the twig. Uncle smoked away as solemnly as could be, while I went on, and he seemed to be admiring my earnestness. "There's wire up the legs, uncle," I cried, as I felt about the bird. "Oh! is there?" he said, condescendingly. "Yes, uncle, and two more pieces in the wings." "You don't say so, Nat!" "Yes, uncle, and another bit runs right through the body from the head to the tail; and--yes--no--yes--no--ah, I've found out how it is that the tail is spread." "Have you, Nat?" he cried, letting his pipe out, he was so full of interest. "Yes, uncle; there's a thin wire threaded through all the tail feathers, just as if they were beads." "Why, what a boy you are!" he cried, wonderingly. "Oh, it's easy enough to find that out, uncle," I said, colouring. "Now let's see what's inside." "Think there's anything inside, Natty, my boy?" "Oh yes, uncle," I said; "it's full of something. Why, it's tow." "Toe, my boy!" he said seriously, "parrot's toe?" "T-o-w. Tow, uncle, what they use to clean the lamps. I can stuff a bird, uncle, I know." "Think you can, Natty?"