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.
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