But, between the Nuthatch, the Chickadees, and the hungry squirrels—that would sit up with their paws on their breasts, and their heads on one side, imploring for food, it is needless to say successfully,—our small supply of nuts was soon gone. So we went home as fast as we could, procured more nuts, and in twenty minutes were again in the 'hunting grounds.' But we found, to our dismay, that others had monopolized our flock of chickadees! However, what partly compensated for this, was a good close view of a Downy Woodpecker. There is a pair of these birds around here, which you are almost sure to see,—either together or singly.
But it was soon time to go home, and on the way we heard the lively song of the European Goldfinches, and soon found four of them high up in a tree. They are shy birds, and flew as we approached. They feed on pine cones, and a flock of them will take possession of a pine tree, hide themselves in the dark tufts of pine needles, and eat the seeds at their leisure. The only way you can have knowledge of their presence is by the frequent cracking of the seeds heard. For a long time we thought they were Crossbills, but one day a flock of noisy Sparrows came into the tree and drove the quiet Goldfinches out of their tufts—much to my surprise, for I did not suppose that Goldfinches, which I had been accustomed to find singing loudly, could keep so quiet. We also saw a Song Sparrow quietly picking away at some bird-seed scattered there.
[The Myth of the Song Sparrow]
BY ERNEST SETON THOMPSON
His mother was the Brook, his sisters were the Reeds,
And they every one applauded when he sang about his deeds.
His vest was white, his mantle brown, as clear as they could be,
And his songs were fairly bubbling o'er with melody and glee.
But an envious Neighbor splashed with mud our Brownie's coat and vest,
And then a final handful threw that stuck upon his breast.
The Brook-bird's mother did her best to wash the stains away,
But there they stuck, and, as it seems, are very like to stay.
And so he wears the splashes and the mud blotch as you see,
But his songs are bubbling over still with melody and glee.