Little Brothers of the Air

by Olive Thorne Miller

"Where do you hide such a store of delight,
O delicate creature, tiny and slender,
Like a mellow morning sunbeam bright,
Overflowing with music tender?"

At all hours of these enchanted days, whether fair or foul, the winsome little fellows were flying hither and thither, singing and calling in ecstatic tones, bounding through the air, and hardly pausing long enough to eat. July was fast slipping away when the excitement deepened and matters grew more serious. Then the observer, if he were wary, might catch occasional glimpses of puzzling scenes, mysteries of bird life that could not be unraveled because he did not see the whole.

At one time the student came upon a scene like this: Two or three of the little dames in olive and gold hopping about on an evergreen tree, ostensibly eating, calling, in their enticing voices, "sw-e-e-t!" and to all appearance unconscious of the presence of two of their bright young wooers, sitting in perfect silence on an upper branch. Suddenly from this happy party one of the damsels flew, when instantly one of the black-winged suitors flashed out in pursuit. On she went, flying madly, encircled one tree, dashed to another, and around that, passed up and down, here and there, this way and that, but everywhere with her follower close after her, singing at the top of his voice, till they disappeared in the distance.

Can the goldfinch wooing be a sort of Comanche affair? Is the little bride won by force? Or is she, perchance, like some of her sisters of larger growth, who require a "scene" of some sort to make them "name the day"?

Again, attracted by loud eager singing, the student found a pair who were apparently fighting,—the peaceful goldfinch! They flew up close together, they almost clinched, then flew away to a group of trees, under, over, around, between, through, and beyond they went, never six inches apart, and he singing furiously all the time. At last, just as the looker-on expected to see them grapple, they calmly alighted on a tree eight or ten feet from each other. Nothing but a frolic, obviously!

Another curious performance of this July wooing was several times noted. Hearing a strange and unfamiliar cry, in a tone of distress, I drew cautiously near, and found, on a low branch, one of the goldfinch maidens, uttering the plaintive notes, which, by the way, were afterwards very common about the nests. She held in her beak something which might be a tiny green worm, or a bit of nesting material, and she called constantly, looking about this way and that, as if seeking some one. After a while a male goldfinch appeared on the next tree, but he did not act in the least as if invited by her call. He seemed merely to be interested as any bird would be by her evident excitement. He watched her calmly, but did not offer to follow when at last she flew.

Time, true to his reputation, was hurrying away even these sweet summer days, and still the love affairs of our little beauties seemed no nearer settlement than at first. In the opinion of impatient observers, their wooing was as long drawn out as that of Augustus and Araminta in an old-fashioned three-volume novel. Their manners, too, ludicrously suggested the behavior of the bigger pair; first he would follow her about, sing to her, parade himself, and show off; then she coquetted, and charmed him with her bewitching and altogether indescribable call, "sw-e-e-t." Then they were off in a whirl of excitement together, flitting hither and thither, singing and dancing through the air, life showing its rosiest hue.

All things come to an end—in time. By the middle of the month the ecstasies of goldfinch youth were toned down, and the presence of dainty nests here and there proved that madam at least had settled to work, making preparation for her long, patient brooding.

The tall grass in the meadow in front of the house was about this time laid low; nodding daisies,—white and yellow,—plumy meadow-grass and plain timothy, devil's paintbrush and soft purple grass flowers, alike lay in long rows dying on the ground. Delighted at last to possess the places so long tabooed to us by the heavy crop, my comrade and I went out the next morning on discoveries bent. The nook in which we rested after our walk—she on the fresh sweet hay in the broad sunshine, and I in the shade close by—offered a rare combination of seclusion with perfect security. It was within call from the veranda, yet completely hidden from it by a dense clump of evergreens.

We had hardly settled ourselves when we noticed three lively goldfinches frolicking about the top of a tall maple-tree not far off. While we idly speculated about them, wondering if they had no mates, and if the goldfinches were not going to build this year, the eyes of my friend, who was lying on the ground, fell upon the nest. It was near the end of a lower branch of the maple, ten or twelve feet from the ground, and the little dame was at that moment working upon it. She was so deeply absorbed in her occupation that she did not even notice us, and we studied her movements with interest, till the haymakers came with wagon and oxen, and much talking and shouting, to gather up their fragrant loads, which on that side of the field stood in small stack's all ready.