I spent last summer in a quiet, old country place where my only near
neighbors were the birds, rabbits and squirrels, but I formed many
pleasant acquaintances among these, and the dearest among them was a
pair of little goldfinches that built their nest in the topmost bough of
a young pear tree that overshadowed the porch where I spent a great part
of my time.
I did not discover the nest until the little ones were already hatched.
The early June days had been cloudy and cool and had kept me shut in, so
I did not have the pleasure of watching my little neighbors build their
home. The nest was so carefully hidden among the leafy boughs that no
one would have suspected it was there. My attention was first arrested
to it one morning by the faint cries of young birds, and on looking up I
saw a little goldfinch perched on the topmost bough of the pear tree,
bending fondly over what I knew must be the nest. She lingered but a
moment and then darted away to an apple tree near by, where I discovered
her mate. He was a tiny little fellow, not much larger than she, but his
jacket seemed a brighter yellow and his head and the tips of his wings a
glossier black. They rested a moment, seemingly in earnest conversation,
then both darted away to a thicket of tall grass and weeds that grew
along the banks of a creek that ran near by.
It was but a few moments until the little mother was back again and in
her tiny yellow beak I saw the dainty morsel she was carrying to the
hungry little family.
All day long, back and forth, from the nest to the thicket she flew, but
the hungry little ones never seemed to be satisfied. The father bird did
not come very often, and I wondered if he was spending his time in
idleness or seeking pleasure for himself, while the poor, little mother
was working so arduously for the support of the family. But I hardly
think this was the case, for he always came from this same thicket and
they always seemed confidential and happy. He would rest himself
daintily on some branch overlooking the nest, and with many quips and
turns watch the mother as she fed the hungry little ones. Sometimes he
would bring food himself and then they would fly away together. I think
he was searching for the food and probably gathering it, for sometimes
Mistress Goldfinch would be gone but a moment until she would return
with the food.
Every day the same scenes were repeated, only the cries of the little
ones grew more clamorous, and I could see their gaping mouths as they
stretched their necks, each one trying to convince the mother that he
was the hungriest bird in the nest. The little mother was always patient
and loving—what a lesson to us who so often chafe and fret under the
petty trials of every day life! As the days went by the young birds grew
bolder and I could see their little yellow bodies as they fluttered and
pushed themselves near the edge of the nest, and I knew that there would
soon be an empty nest in the pear tree.
It was one afternoon, about ten days after I discovered the nest, that
the lessons in flying began. The father and mother would fly from the
nest to some twig a few feet from the nest and then back again, then
from twig to twig with many little chirps as if saying, “Don’t you see
how easy it is? All you have to do is to try.” Then the boldest little
fellow would perch himself on the edge of the nest, flutter his little
wings, sit still for a minute, and then roll back into the nest as if it
was too much for him. Then the father and mother would repeat the
lesson, but all in vain that afternoon, so they finally gave up and went
in search of food. The next morning the lessons began in earnest, and
then the bold little youngster, who had made so many pretentions the
afternoon before, grew bolder and with a nervous little flutter and a
sidewise plunge landed on a twig some few feet below the nest. He rested
a few moments and then, with a few encouraging chirps from his parents,
tried it again with better results. One by one the other timid
fledglings were induced to follow him. There were many tumbles and
falls, but the little mother was always there to encourage and help, and
by afternoon the little home was deserted. They staid a few days in the
trees near by and then flew away to seek new homes, and all that was
left to remind me of the happy family was the empty nest in the leafy
bough.
Ellen Hampton Dick.