THE GREENFINCH 93 



like calls of the greenfinches, and as we go along the loke 

 a darker patch of green, calls with the voice of a sedge- 

 warbler across the light green background, 'tis the "greenulf " 

 himself, and this is greenfinch-land ; here the hardy green 

 bird loves to build his green mossy nest in the crooked fork 

 of the whitethorn some few feet above the bank. And he, 

 like the starling, is careless of the prowling village cats, for 

 they love the flesh of neither of these dirty birds. 



Should the winter linger late in the land, however, he 

 chooses a glossy prickly "hulver" tree or the intricate re- 

 cesses of ivy bushes, for cover he must have, but the cover 

 of the bland young hawthorn leaves is his favourite dwelling- 

 place ; and mayhap he may wait upon the lingering spring, 

 for I have seen their nests when the dipping mowers were 

 felling the golden corn on the uplands; but more likely 

 these were the last feeble efforts of a many-time robbed 

 couple, for the speckled white eggs in the mossy nest are 

 dear to the village youth ; but the custom of raising two 

 broods a year, numbering four or five in a brood, remains. 



Now let us work into their home, blue with the delicate 

 eyes of the speedwell, and watch. Ha ! the fluttering and 

 chattering! it is a fight, a fierce fight between two cocks, 

 who dart at each other with their powerful bills, more 

 powerful than that of the house-sparrow ; and if you will 

 but let him try, either of these cocks will raise a black blister 

 on your finger with his weapon. There they go with droop- 

 ing wings and tails erect ; their feathers bristling ; away 

 they go down into that thorn by the yellow broom. Look ! 

 here comes another, his bill full of seed for his young ; he 

 is early, but then the season is early, and he follows it. 

 He has just come from that lonely piece there. Let us 

 watch him. There he goes into that tall well-grown white- 

 thorn, and there is his green mossy nest. Climb up and 

 see. Oh ! there he goes back, flying as if he had lost all 

 his strength, to decoy you away from his young ; but as you 

 look into the horse-hair nest, the edges dirty with dung and 



