g, as I turned my
bill toward home. Just then I heard the saddest little voice pipe
out: 'Dear-ie me! Dear-ie me!' and there on the sunny side of a branch
perched a lonesome bit of yellowish down. I went up to see what it was,
and found dear little Thistle Goldfinch! He was very glad to see me, and
soon told his short story. Through the summer Papa and Mamma Goldfinch
and all the brothers and sisters had a fine time, singing together,
fluttering over thistletops, or floating through the balmy air. But when
'little Jack Frost walked through the trees,' Papa Goldfinch said: 'It
is high time we went South!' All were ready but Thistle; he wanted to
stay through the winter, and begged so hard that Papa Goldfinch soberly
said: 'Try it, my son, but do find a warm place to stay in at night.'
Then off they flew, and Thistle was alone. For a while he was happy. The
sun shone warm through the middle of the day, and there were fields and
meadows full of seeds. You all remember how sweetly he sang for us then.
But by and by the cold North Wind came whistling through the trees, and
chilly Thistle woke up one gray morning to find the air full of whirling
snowflakes He didn't mind the light snows, golden-rod and some high
grasses were too tall to be easily covered, and he got seeds from them.
But now that the heavy snows have come, the poor little fellow is almost
starved, and if he doesn't have a warm place to sleep in these cold
nights, he'll surely die!"

Mrs. Chickadee paused a minute. The birds were so still one could hear
the pine trees whisper. Then she went on: "I comforted the poor little
fellow as best I could, and showed him where to find a few seeds; then I
flew home, for it was bedtime. I tucked my head under my wing to keep it
warm, and thought, and thought, and thought; and here's my plan:

"We Chickadees have a nice warm home here in the spruce trees, with
their thick, heavy boughs to shut out the snow and cold. There is plenty
of room, so Thistle could sleep here all winter. We would let him perch
on a branch, when we Chickadees would nestle around him until he was as
warm as in the lovely summer tine. These cones are so full of seeds that
we could spare him a good many; and I think that you Robins might
let him come over to your pines some day and share your seeds. Downy
Woodpecker must keep his eyes open as he hammers the trees, and if he
spies a supply of seeds he will let us know at once. Snow Bunting is
only a vi