place on Jervie Street was a cottage with a high veranda, under which, he was told, a chained Bear had once been kept.  He never saw the Bear.  It had been gone for years, but he found pleasure in passing the place.  At the corner of Pemberton and Grand streets, according to a schoolboy tradition, a Skunk had been killed years ago and could still be smelled on damp nights.  He always stopped, if passing near on a wet night, and sniffed and enjoyed that Skunk smell.  The fact that it ultimately turned out to be a leakage of sewer gas could never rob him of the pleasure he originally found in it.

[Illustration:  “Gazing spellbound in that window”]

Yan had no good excuse for these weaknesses, and he blushed for shame when his elder brother talked “common sense” to him about his follies.  He only knew that such things fascinated him.

But the crowning glory was a taxidermist’s shop kept on Main Street by a man named Sander.  Yan spent, all told, many weeks gazing spellbound, with his nose flat white against that window.  It contained some Fox and Cat heads grinning ferociously, and about fifty birds beautifully displayed.  Nature might have got some valuable hints in that window on showing plumage to the very best advantage.  Each bird seemed more wonderful than the last.

There were perhaps fifty of them on view, and of these, twelve had labels, as they had formed part of an exhibit at the Annual County Fair.  These labels were precious truths to him, and the birds: 

Osprey Partridge or Ruffed Grouse
Kingfisher Bittern
Bluejay Highholder
Rosebreasted Grosbeak Sawwhet Owl
Woodthrush Oriole
Scarlet Tanager * * * * * * *

were, with their names, deeply impressed on his memory and added to his woodlore, though not altogether without a mixture of error.  For the alleged Woodthrush was not a Woodthrush at all, but turned out to be a Hermit Thrush.  The last bird of the list was a long-tailed, brownish bird with white breast.  The label was placed so that Yan could not read it from outside, and one of his daily occupations was to see if the label had been turned so that he could read it.  But it never was, so he never learned the bird’s name.

After passing this for a year or more, he formed a desperate plan.  It was nothing less than to go inside.  It took him some months to screw up courage, for he was shy and timid, but oh! he was so hungry for it.  Most likely if he had gone in openly and asked leave, he would have been allowed to see everything; but he dared not.  His home training was all of the crushing kind.  He picked on the most curious of the small birds in the window—­a Sawwhet Owl then grit his teeth and walked in.  How frightfully the cowbell on the door did clang!  Then there succeeded a still more appalling silence, then a step and the great man himself came.