Auk, XV, July, 1898, p p.Z3f-2.y3, 
A MONTH WITH THE GOLDFINCHES. 
BY MARY EMILY BRUCE. 
The nesting season is nearly over and the air is full of the 
voices of young birds before the Goldfinches begin to build. In 
the leisurely golden time of the year, when the fields are yellow 
with grain and the roadsides gay with golden-rod, the dainty pair, 
in love with the summer, the sunshine, and each other, plan their 
home. True to their careless, happy natures they neither hurry 
nor overwork. A suitable place is chosen, the nest is built, the 
eggs are laid, and the little dame sits content in the sun, while 
her mate fills the air with music, as high over woods and fields he 
takes his undulating flight in search of food. To watch a Gold- 
finch’s home is a privilege that brightens the whole summer, and 
one would like to write their story with a pen dipped in sunshine. 
It was late in July before I reached the farmhouse among the 
hills of Vermont where I was to spend my vacation, and I found 
the orchards near the house already full of young birds. Baby 
robber and murderer. I could draw my chair quite near to the 
little pear tree, and the mother bird would look at me without a 
shadow of alarm in her bright eyes. 
It was marvelous to see how quickly she recognized the voice of 
her mate in the Goldfinch chorus about her. Her neighbors in 
the maple tree might come and go, and she never stirred a feather, 
but a sudden quivering of the wings and a soft twittering response 
would announce his approach long before I could hear his voice, 
and as his song became audible to me, louder and more joyful 
grew her note of welcome. He would alight in a neighboring tree, 
speak to me first in a mild, questioning tone, like a pet canary 
talking to his mistress, and then fly down to the nest and feed his 
