There used to be heaps of orioles an' robins an' larks an' blackbirds an' waxwings through the country, but they're getting played out too, since the wimmen tuk to wearin' 'em on their bunnets." "Well, no woman sha'n't have my bird for her bunnet," and the boy gave me another friendly pinch that nearly broke my bones.

"I'm a going to put it in that old cage that's out in the shed and give it to Betty, if she wants it." "Humph! she won't keer for it.

You'd better kill it.

Betty won't be bothered with it." "She may give it away, or let it loose, or do what she pleases with it, then," was the boy's reply.
I learned from their further conversation that the hunter sold his game to another man who cured the skins for shipment to the city.

To this dealer the bag which held my dead companions was taken and I saw them no more.