“Oh, yes,” said Frank, “I can see him quite plainly. He is a brown bird, with a white and yellow breast, all dotted over with small dark spots.”
“He is not such a beautiful bird as the chaffinch,” said Uncle George, “but he is a much finer singer. Our prettiest birds are by no means our best songsters. The lark, thrush, linnet, and nightingale are all plain birds to look at, but they are by far our sweetest singers.”
“Tell us what you see through the glasses, Tom?”
“I can see him nicely,” said Tom. “He holds his head high in the air, as if he were singing to the sky. His bill is wide open, and the feathers of his throat are moving rapidly as he sings.”
“I think,” said Uncle George, “that his nest must be near. Let us look for it.”
Just as Uncle George moved, a brown bird flew out of a low bush close at hand.
“Ah, ha!” said Uncle George, “I thought we should find it. We have disturbed the hen bird. She has been sitting on her eggs all the time.”
He moved the branches of the bush gently aside, and the boys saw a large nest made of dried grass. It was not very high up, and the boys, by standing on an old tree stump, could look down into it.
“Oh, what pretty eggs,” said Tom. “There are four of them, Uncle George. They are light blue in colour, and sprinkled with black spots.
