XXXIV 



PETER THE GOLDFINCH 



PETER was a goldfinch. He never told me where he 

 hailed from nor just how it happened that he was 

 alone in the world; but I had always suspected that the 

 old spotted cat knew something about it, for a day or 

 two before I met Peter she had a lady goldfinch for her 

 breakfast. 



I was in the garden planting peas when I heard a rustle 

 behind me and looked around. There was Peter, hopping 

 about in the raspberry patch hard by, dividing his time 

 between singing and trying to get the seeds of an Indian 

 lettuce head. I noticed him particularly because he was 

 one of the most brilliant colored finches I have ever 

 seen, and he had a white feather in his tail which served 

 to distinguish him from the other goldfinches in the vicin- 

 ity. Our gooseberry and raspberry patch, at the side of 

 the garden, and the plum orchard beyond had long been 

 favorite nesting places of the goldfinches — "wild canaries,'* 

 we called them ; so I was not surprized to see Peter. As he 

 could be easily recognized by the white feather in his tail. 

 I determined to get acquainted with him. 



I then had no idea that these birds were not really 

 canaries. They are about the same size and the males are 

 as brilliantly colored as a canary. I had often wondered 



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