"Yes, for even I know them a little bit," said Dodo, "but not by their right name, for when I saw some in the Park last summer somebody said they were wild Canaries that had flown out of cages."
"What do they eat, cones or little seeds?" asked Nat.
"They eat grass-seeds, and the seeds of weeds—the most fly-away weeds too, that blow everywhere and spread ever so fast," said Rap. "Look, quick! There's a flock coming by now, and they are calling 'Come talk to me! Come talk to me!' See—they have settled on the long grass by the fence and are gobbling seeds like everything," continued Rap in a whisper.
As he spoke a flock of twenty or more birds flew over; some were the bright-yellow males and others the more plainly colored females. They did not fly straight, but in a jerky way, constantly dropping down and then lifting up again, and calling out "wait for me" on every down-grade curve, until by common consent they alighted among some wild grasses, where the early yellow thistles were already going to seed.
"Watch and listen," said the Doctor, as he handed the field-glass to the children in turn.
There was a perfect babel of bird-talk, the jaunty blond males all making pretty speeches to the gentle brown-haired females, who laughed merry little bird-laughs in return.
"It is like the noise in the store where they sell Canaries," whispered Nat, after taking a long look; "first they all sing together and then a few sing so much louder that the others stop. I wonder what they are saying?"
"They are talking about housekeeping," said the Doctor. "Some of the ladies say they prefer high apartments in a tree-top, while others like one-story bushes the best; but all agree that the ground floor is too damp for the health of their families. In a few days, or a week at most, this merry flock will have parted company, and two by two the birds will begin housekeeping."
"Why, they are pulling off the thistle-down, and gobbling it up. I should think it would choke them," said Dodo.