196 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



Nesting is over, say you, when you start out on 

 your tramps in late summer or early autumn; but 



do not be too sure. The gray purse of the oriole 

 has begun to ravel at the edges and the haircloth 

 cup of the chipping sparrow is already wind- 

 distorted, but we shall find some housekeeping 

 just begun. 



The goldfinch is one of these late nesters. Long 

 after his northern cousins, the pine siskins and 

 snowflakes, have laid their eggs and reared their 

 young, the goldfinch begins to focus the aerial 

 loops of his flight about some selected spot and 

 to collect beakfuls of thistledown. And here, per- 

 haps, we have his fastidious reason for delaying. 

 Thistles seed with the goldenrod, and not until 

 this fleecy substance is gray and floating does he 

 consider that a suitable nesting material is avail- 

 able. 



"When the young birds are fully fledged one 

 would think the goldfinch a polygamist, as we see 

 him in shining yellow and black, leading his 

 family quintet, all sombre hued, his patient wife 

 being to our eyes indistinguishable from the 

 youngsters. 



But in the case of most of the birds the cares 

 of nesting are past, and the woods abound with 

 full-sized but awkward young birds, blundering 

 through their first month of insect-hunting and fly- 

 itching, tumbling into the pools from which they 

 try to drink, and shrieking with the very joy of 



