on the rocks. "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.

Standing on the spot where he left me, and still bitterly regretting
that I had failed to get the bird, I watched him until he disappeared