known the meadowlark since boyhood, but never before had been so near the 

 living bird, except on the rare occasions when I had flushed it from its nest 

 with my trespassing footsteps. A little farther on we found a flock of gold- 

 finches. As doubtless every one knows, the male goldfinch changes his re- 

 splendent coat of yellow and black for one of dun in the fall of the year. He 

 takes off this habit some time in the spring, and puts on his summer livery once 

 more. Three of the goldfinches we saw on that March morning were in the 

 transition stage. With them, undressing and dressing must be the matter of a 

 month or so. Familiar as my companion and I were with the goldfinch in 

 both his hot and cold weather attire, neither of us had ever before seen him 

 while he was changing his clothes. As a matter of fact, I did not recognize 

 the bird until the little flock took wing and began the familiar weaving flight 

 across the field. I have seen the goldfinch in northern Illinois as late as April 

 1st still wearing his full winter costume. 



As my friend the doctor and I were bound for a sugar camp, which was 

 supposed to lie at the left of the road we were traveling, the time was ap- 

 proaching when we should have to leave the wagon and take to the fields. In 

 the few minutes which passed before parting with our boy driver he took occa- 

 sion to tell us that he had liked birds and flowers ever since he could remember. 

 Then he named a number of his favorites. That boy had a keen insight, and 

 knew Nature thoroughly and sympathetically. When we said good by, I casual- 

 ly asked his name. 



"Love," he said. 



Surely there is something in a name after all. 



My companion and I trudged our way over the hills toward the west. A 

 mile ahead we saw a house with a grove back of it. "There, surely," we thought, 

 "we shall find the sugar camp." We made the mile, and were told that we 

 had another one to go. We tramped fully two good city miles, and found we 

 were "hot there yet." A man in a field was opening a shock of corn, an 

 operation that was being watched with great solicitude by a dozen crows sitting 

 on a fence a hundred yards beyond. We asked him about the sugar-bush, and 

 were told that it wouldn't do us any good to go there, because it had been a 

 poor season for sap and no trees had been tapped. This was a disappoint- 

 ment to the doctor, who had set his mind on sugar. It had its compensation, 

 however, for our steps were turned aside into what proved to be better bird 

 fields. We started the crows from their roosting place on the fence, and they 

 flapped away across a stumpy pasture, cawing their disapproval of our intru- 

 sion. Far away above and beyond a little patch of woods we saw a moving 

 speck in the sky. The glasses showed us that it was a soaring bird. I put it 

 down at once for a great hawk. In a moment I was ready to admit myself 

 stupid, for my companion, keener eyed than I, said, "Turkey buzzard." 



Buzzards are common enough, as I afterward found, in southern Indiana, 

 and it was curious that we had not seen them before. In a few minutes two 



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