78 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. 
the bark from some slender weed for the outside, 
and pilfers a thistle-top or the silk storeroom of 
some other plant for a lining. 
An old nest the children brought me last fall 
had a veritable feather-bed of down in it, on top 
of the usual silky lining, and it stuffed the cup so 
full there seemed hardly room enough for the 
egos. It looked as if -two or three whole thistle- 
tops had been put in and matted down. 
Last year a pair of goldfinches built in a plum- 
tree by the side of a carriage drive, so low that 
on tiptoe I could reach into the nest to count over 
the eges from day to day. And what dainty light 
blue shells they had. Just as if bits of blue sky 
had fallen into the nest! The mother-bird must 
have guessed my delight in her treasures, for she 
would sit quietly on a tree a few feet away with 
an air that said quite plainly, “ Are n’t they dear 
little eggs? You can look at them just as long 
as you like. Ill wait here till you get through!” 
As the goldfinches nest so much later than 
most birds, the young are barely out before the 
warblers and other of the birds begin migrating. 
I have seen the little ones teasing their father for 
food late in September. One day I saw one fed 
on the head of a big sunflower. 
IT am afraid Mr. Goldfinch is not a good dis- 
ciplinarian, for his babies follow him around flut- 
tering their wings, opening their mouths, and 
crying tweet-ee, tweet-ee, tweet-ee, tweet-ee, with 
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