i 7 4 DEPARTING SUMMER VISITORS 
of the Birch and Pine, but the Thistle seems their 
favourite* The Dandelion heads that still retain 
their seeds are eagerly torn open* In vacant fields, 
where the picturesque, blue rosette of the Chicory 
has been seen throughout the summer, they assemble 
in small flocks to gather the harvest* There they 
might easily be mistaken for English Sparrows, so 
quiet is their colouring* It seems unreal to identify 
that little industrious fellow, tearing out the dry seeds 
of the Chicory, with the brilliant songster, with black 
cap and wings and bright yellow jacket, perching on 
the Thistle heads in early summer* But draw near, and 
the whispered conversation of the little flock will 
reveal their identity* When startled they display 
the hurry and bustle of the city almost as eagerly 
as the Sparrows* But once in the upper air they 
assume their happy, undulating flight, fluttering up 
and gliding down on fanciful waves of atmosphere* 
They are indolent migrants, and do not hurry away, 
even at the approach of winter* In fact, they are 
indolent about all the important affairs of life, for 
they do not undertake their domestic duties till late 
in summer, when the more serious visitors have their 
fledglings out in the world* And that seems to be their 
way of solving the problem of perpetual happiness* 
Their flight is the abandonment of joy* Up and down 
they go, closing their wings after every spasmodic 
flutter and calling out in the exuberance of delight. 
