Around the glass cases which held the trimmed hats the women buzzed like a swarm of flies, their volubility assuming a more emphatic character as they gazed within at the fashionable headgear placed on long steel wires.

Almost every hat held one, or a part of one, of my slaughtered race.

Frequently there were parts of two or three varieties on one hat--a tail of one kind, a wing of another, or a head of a different species.

The ends of the world had been searched to make this patchwork of blood.

The women raved over the cruel display; they gloated over our beauty; but they cared nothing for the pathetic story the hats told of rifled nests and motherless young.
My new owner was a soft-voiced, gentle child, from whom I soon found I had nothing to fear.