248 A MIDSUMMER WOOING. 



excitement to^T^ether, flitting hither and thither, 

 singing and dancing through the air, life show- 

 ing its rosiest hue. 



All things come to an end — in time. By the 

 middle of the month the ecstasies of goldfinch 

 youth were toned down, and the presence of 

 dainty nests here and there proved that madam 

 at least had settled to work, making preparation 

 for her long, patient brooding. 



The tall grass in the meadow in front of the 

 house was about this time laid low; nodding 

 daisies, — white and yellow, — plumy meadow- 

 grass and plain timothy, devil's paintbrush and 

 soft purple grass flowers, alike lay in long rows 

 dying on the ground. Delighted at last to pos- 

 sess the places so long tabooed to us by the 

 heavy crop, my comrade and I went out the 

 next morning on discoveries bent. The nook in 

 which we rested after our walk — she on the 

 fresh sweet hay in the broad sunshine, and I 

 in the shade close by — offered a rare combina- 

 tion of seclusion with perfect security. It was 

 within call from the veranda, yet completely 

 hidden from it by a dense clump of ever- 

 greens. 



We had hardly settled ourselves when we no- 

 ticed three lively goldfinches frolicking about 

 the top of a tall maple-tree not far off. While 

 we idly speculated about them, wondering if 



