Part 10

“In the white florets there are no pollen-boxes of any kind.

“Thus, we see that the inner florets are perfect florets which produce seeds.

“The outer florets have all run to petal. Their business is to show the way to the plain little florets in the middle.

“There is another thing about the daisy that I should like you to notice,” Uncle George continued. “If you go out on a dull day, or in the evening, you will find all the daisy flowers closed up. They only open out in bright sunshine, when all the insects are flying about.”

Exercises on Lesson VII.

1. Daises are called “composite” flowers. Can you tell why? Cut a large “ox-eye daisy” or corn marigold through the centre and examine the florets carefully. 2. Using a lens, draw separately, an inside and an outside floret. Make your drawings large, and name the various parts of each floret. 3. Take two ox-eye daisies. Pull off all the white florets of one of them. Then compare them. Pin both flowers up on the wall. Go back about thirty paces and note which flower is best seen. 4. The daisy leaves form a little rosette on the ground. Make a collection of wild plants which have similar leaves. Draw a single leaf of each, and compare with those of the daisy.

VIII.—CHAFFINCH AND SONG-THRUSH.

It was Frank who found the chaffinch’s nest in the wood. It was built in the fork of a small tree, about eight feet from the ground.

Although not surrounded either by branches or leaves, it was completely hidden, for the cunning little birds had matched the outside of the nest exactly with the bark of the tree.

Uncle George got an old chaffinch’s nest from the gardener, and showed the boys how it was constructed. Horse-hair, feathers, and moss were neatly woven together to form the nest. The inside was lined with finer hairs and feathers. The outside was covered with pieces of bark, lichen, and faded moss. These were stuck on with silken threads stolen from spider’s webs. The whole thing looked at a distance more like a part of the tree than a bird’s nest.

The next time the boys went to see the nest they found four tiny eggs in it. They were bluish-green in colour, and splashed with red and brown marks.

It was while paying a third visit to the chaffinch’s nest that Uncle George found the nest of the song-thrush.

High up on a tall tree the cock thrush was pouring out his song, and filling the woods with melody.

“Can you see him, boys?” Uncle George asked, and he handed Frank a pair of field-glasses which he used for watching the birds.

“Oh, yes,” said Frank, “I can see him quite plainly. He is a brown bird, with a white and yellow breast, all dotted over with small dark spots.”

“He is not such a beautiful bird as the chaffinch,” said Uncle George, “but he is a much finer singer. Our prettiest birds are by no means our best songsters. The lark, thrush, linnet, and nightingale are all plain birds to look at, but they are by far our sweetest singers.”

“Tell us what you see through the glasses, Tom?”

“I can see him nicely,” said Tom. “He holds his head high in the air, as if he were singing to the sky. His bill is wide open, and the feathers of his throat are moving rapidly as he sings.”

“I think,” said Uncle George, “that his nest must be near. Let us look for it.”

Just as Uncle George moved, a brown bird flew out of a low bush close at hand.

“Ah, ha!” said Uncle George, “I thought we should find it. We have disturbed the hen bird. She has been sitting on her eggs all the time.”

He moved the branches of the bush gently aside, and the boys saw a large nest made of dried grass. It was not very high up, and the boys, by standing on an old tree stump, could look down into it.

“Oh, what pretty eggs,” said Tom. “There are four of them, Uncle George. They are light blue in colour, and sprinkled with black spots.

Egg of Song-Thrush. Egg of Chaffinch.

“The nest is quite smooth and hard inside. What is that queer brown stuff all over the inside of the nest?”

“That is clay, Tom. When the thrushes have built their nest, they line the inside of it with clay. This clay is soft at first, but it soon dries and turns quite hard.

“But, come, let us go, boys. The cock thrush has stopped his singing. He and his little wife are flying about in great alarm.”

When they came to the chaffinch’s neat little nest in the fork of the tree, they got a great surprise. The four little mottled eggs were gone. In their place were four tiny naked creatures, with little tufts of dark coloured down upon their heads and necks. They had very large mouths, and their eyes were closed.