"Well, You Haven't Hit One Yet," I Was Bold Enough To
Say, And At That He Stopped, And Putting His Finger And Thumb In His
Waistcoat Pocket He Pulled Out A Dead Male Siskin And Put It In My
Hands.
This was the bird called "goldfinch" by the English resident in La
Plata, and to the Spanish it is also goldfinch; it is, however, a
siskin, _Chrysomitris magellanica,_ and has a velvet-black head, the
rest of its plumage being black, green, and shining yellow.
It was
one of my best-loved birds, but I had never had one in my hand, dead
or alive, before, and now its wonderful unimagined loveliness, its
graceful form, and the exquisitely pure flower-like yellow hue
affected me with a delight so keen that I could hardly keep from
tears.
After gloating a few moments over it, touching it with my finger-tips
and opening the little black and gold wings, I looked up pleadingly
and begged him to let me keep it. He smiled and shook his head: he
would not waste his breath talking; all his energy was to be spent in
hurling pebbles at other lovely little birds.
"Oh, senor, will you not give it to me?" I pleaded still; and then,
with sudden hope, "Are you going to sell it?"
He laughed, and taking it from my hand put it back in his waistcoat
pocket; then, with a pleasant smile and a nod to say that the
interview was now over, he went on his way.
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