I04 IN BIRD LAND. 



trim little mother on her cradle, covering her chil- 

 dren to keep them warm, her reddish-brown tail 

 daintily reaching out through the doorway. She did 

 not fly up as I bent lovingly over her, and presently 

 I stole away, desirous not to disturb her. 



The bush-sparrow is a captivating little bird, 

 graceful of form and sweet of voice, singing his 

 cheerful trills from early spring until far past mid- 

 summer. The song makes me think of a silver 

 thread running through a woof of golden sunshine, 

 carried forward by a swinging shuttle of pearl. I 

 think the figure is not far-fetched. He is quite 

 partial to a dense little thorn-bush for a nesting- 

 place, often concealing his grassy cottage so cun- 

 ningly that you must look sharply for it among the 

 leaves and twigs, or it will escape your eye. 



One of the neatest and prettiest denizens of my 

 clover-field was the goldfinch. Wings of black and 

 coat of bright yellow, he went bounding through 

 the ether, rising and falHng in graceful festoons of 

 flight, in such a lightsome way he seemed to be 

 rocking himself on the breeze. How jauntily he 

 wore his tiny black cap, little exquisite of the field 

 that he is, to whom I always go hat in hand ! He 

 deserves a monograph all to himself, but at this time 

 I can spare him only a few paragraphs. 



As a rule, the goldfinches prefer to build their 

 nests in small trees, often selecting the maples along 

 the suburban streets of the city. I was greatly 

 surprised, therefore, to find a nest in my clover- 

 field, where there were no trees at all. Noticing a 



