ened tanager had taken refuge,
though there was not even a strip of tin to hold on, uttered his loud
cheerful call several times, plainly congratulating and reassuring him,
and telling him all was safe; and here he clung with difficulty to the
upright wires, all the time slipping down, till the tanager went to the
upper regions again. Every time the robin so much as flew past, the
tireless little fellow rushed out at him, scolding. When finally the
robin went into his own cage, and the tanager returned to his usual
place, the goldfinch at once assumed his uncomfortable perch and sang a
loud sweet song, wriggling his body from side to side, and expressing
triumph and delight in a remarkable way.

The approach of spring made a change in the tanager. He had not so
completely given up the world as it appeared. He began to chirp, to
call, and at last to sing. He was still so shy he went down behind his
screen to sing, but sing he must and did. Now, too, he began to resent
the attentions of his admirer, occasionally giving the poor little toes
a nip, as they clung to the tin band near his seat. He also went out
now, and turned an open beak upon his friend. From simply enduring him,
he suddenly began offensive operations against him. Poor little lover!
an ungrateful peck did not drive him away, but simply made him move a
little farther off, and stopped his gentle twittering talk a while. But
the tanager grew more and more belligerent. He came out every day, took
soaking baths, and returned to his examination of the windows, for the
trees were green outside, and plainly he longed to be on them. He stood
and looked out, and called, and held his wings up level with his back,
fluttering them gently.

All this time the devotion of the little one never changed, though it
was so badly received. When the tanager turned savagely and gave his
faithful friend a severe peck, instead of resenting it the hurt bird
flew to another perch, where he stood a long time, uttering occasionally
a low, plaintive call, as if of reproach, all his cheerfulness gone, a
melancholy sight indeed. I waited only for warm days to set free the
tanager, and at last they came. Early in June the bird was put into a
traveling cage, carried into the country, where a lovely bit of woods
and a pretty lake insured a good living, and the absence of sparrows
made it safe for a bird that had been caged. Then the door was opened,
and he instantly flew out of sight.

The