VII 

 Chaffinch Lane 



D INK, pink. At the entrance to Chaffinch Lane 

 I am greeted with these full, musical notes. 

 Pink y pink, again ; then a short and, as it were, sharp 

 song, seemingly given forth in anger. Looking into 

 the bushes a chaffinch is seen sitting on a spray of 

 may blossom ; and lower down, among the brambles, 

 there is his nest, his mate also being near. Walking 

 on a little farther I let the two birds go on with 

 their work of building, meanwhile watching them in 

 their labours. While the hen sits in her nest, the 

 other keeps taking pieces of newspaper, which are 

 torn off a larger piece near the road, and with these 

 he decorates the nest, this material being varied 

 with pieces of moss or horsehair, which are pulled 

 from the sides of trees, or from other places against 

 which horses have rubbed. The characteristic note, 

 pink, pink, is still repeated, and if one goes too near 

 the now almost finished nest the call becomes louder, 

 and raising his head he shows a bluish crest, and 

 then hops about excitedly, as if repelling an enemy. 



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