it is!"

He climbed on the locust post, and balancing himself with the wire,
held a finger in the line of the moth's advance up the twig. It
unhesitatingly climbed on, so he stepped to the path, holding it to the
light and examining it closely. Then he held it in the shade and turned
it, gloating over its markings and beautiful coloring. When he held the
moth to the limb, it climbed on, still waving those magnificent wings.

"My, but I'd like to be staying with you!" he said. "But if I was to
stand here all day you couldn't grow any prettier than you are right
now, and I wouldn't grow smart enough to tell what you are. I suppose
there's someone who knows. Of course there is! Mr. McLean said there
were people who knew every leaf, bird, and flower in the Limberlost. Oh
Lord! How I wish You'd be telling me just this one thing!"

The goldfinch had ventured back to the wire, for there was his mate,
only a few inches above the man-creature's head; and indeed, he simply
must not be allowed to look up, so the brave little fellow rocked on the
wire and piped, as he had done every day for a week: "SEE ME? SEE ME?"

"See you! Of course I see you," growled Freckles. "I see you day after
day, and what good is it doing me? I might see you every morning for a
year, and then not be able to be telling anyone about it. 'Seen a bird
with black silk wings--little, and yellow as any canary.' That's as far
as I'd get. What you doing here, anyway? Have you a mate? What's your
name? 'See you?' I reckon I see you; but I might as well be blind, for
any good it's doing me!"

Freckles impatiently struck the wire. With a screech of fear, the
goldfinch fled precipitately. His mate arose from the nest with a
whirr--Freckles looked up and saw it.

"O--ho!" he cried. "So THAT'S what you are doing here! You have a
wife. And so close my head I have been mighty near wearing a bird on my
bonnet, and never knew it!"

Freckles laughed at his own jest, while in better humor he climbed to
examine the neat, tiny cradle and its contents. The hen darted at him in
a frenzy. "Now, where do you come in?" he demanded, when he saw that she
was not similar to the goldfinch.

"You be clearing out of here! This is none of your fry. This is the nest
of me little, yellow friend of the wire, and you shan't be touching it.
Don't blame you for wanting to see, though. My, but it's a fine nest and
beauties of eggs. Will you be keeping away, or will I fire this stick at