Nat the Naturalist | Page 9

and she wouldn't like it if
she knew."
"But I'm afraid I couldn't put her together again now, uncle;" and then
I began to tremble, and my uncle leaped off his stool, and broke his
pipe: for there was my aunt's well-known step on the gravel, and
directly after we heard her cry:
"Joseph! Nathaniel! What are you both doing?" And I knew that I
should have to confess.
CHAPTER FIVE.
HOW MY UNCLE AND I PUT HUMPTY DUMPTY TOGETHER
AGAIN.
My uncle stood by me very bravely when Aunt Sophia entered the
tool-house with an exclamation of surprise. For a few minutes she
could not understand what we had been about.
"Feathers--a bird--a parrot!" she exclaimed at last. "Why, it is like poor
Polly."
I looked very guiltily at my uncle and was about to speak, but he made
me a signal to be silent.

"Yes, my dear," he faltered, "it--it was poor Polly. We--we found her in
the lumber-room--all in ruins, my dear, and we--we have been
examining her."
"I don't believe it," said my aunt sharply. "That mischievous boy has
been at his tricks again."
"I assure you, my dear," cried my uncle, "I had to do with it as well. I
helped him. Nat wants to understand bird-stuffing, and we have been to
the museum and then we came home."
"Well, of course you did," said my aunt tartly; "do you suppose I
thought you stopped to live in the museum?"
"No, my dear, of course not," said my uncle, laughing feebly. "We are
studying the art of taxidermy, my dear, Nat and I."
He added this quite importantly, putting his eyeglasses on and nodding
to me for my approval and support.
"Bless the man! Taxi what?" cried my aunt, who seemed to be
fascinated by Polly's eyes; and she began to softly scratch the feathers
on the back of the head.
"Taxi-dermy," said my uncle, "and--and, my dear, I wouldn't scratch
Polly's head if I were you; the skins are preserved with poison."
"Bless my heart!" exclaimed my aunt, snatching back her hand; and
then holding out a finger to me: "Wipe that, Nat."
I took out my handkerchief, dipped a corner in the watering-pot, and
carefully wiped the finger clear of anything that might be sticking to it,
though, as my own hands were so lately in contact with Polly's skin, I
don't believe that I did much good; but it satisfied my aunt, who turned
once more to Uncle Joe.
"Now then, Joseph; what did you say?"
"Taxi-dermy, my dear," he said again importantly; "the art of

preserving and mounting the skins of dead animals."
"And a nice mess you'll both make, I dare say," cried my aunt.
"But not indoors, my dear. We shall be very careful. You see Polly had
been a good deal knocked about. Your large black box had fallen right
upon her, and her head was off, my dear. The glass shade was in
shivers."
"Poor Polly, yes," said my aunt, "I had her put there because of the
moths in her feathers. Well, mind this, I shall expect Natty to repair her
very nicely; and you must buy a new glass shade, Joseph. Ah, my
precious!"
This was to Nap, who, in reply to her tender speech, made three or four
bounds to get to me, but aunt caught him by the ear and held him with
the skin of his face pulled sidewise, so that he seemed to be winking at
me as he lolled out his thin red tongue, and uttered a low whine.
"But mind this, I will not have any mess made indoors."
As she spoke my aunt stooped down and took Nap in her arms, soiling
her handsome silk dress a good deal with the dog's dirty feet. Then she
walked away saying endearing things to Nap, who only whined and
struggled to get away in the most ungrateful fashion; while my uncle
took off his glasses, drew a long breath, and said as he wiped his face
with his red silk handkerchief:
"I was afraid she was going to be very cross, my boy. She's such a good
woman, your dear aunt, my boy, and I'm very proud of her; but she
does upset me so when she is cross."
"I was all of a fidge, uncle," I said laughing.
"So was I, Nat, so was I. But don't laugh, my boy. It is too serious a
thing for smiles. It always puts me in such a dreadful perspiration, Nat,
for I don't like to be angry too. Never be angry with a woman when you
grow up, Nat, my boy; women, you see, belong to the weaker sex."

"Yes, uncle," I said wonderingly; and then he began to beam and smile
again, and