The things we do!

We see them, Falkenberg and I, as we go to our
work; the yearling birds, that have not yet learned fear of the world, hop
along the path before our feet.
Then we meet the finch, the sparrow of the timbered lands. He has been out
in the woods already, and is coming back now to humankind, that he likes
to live with and study from all sides. Queer little finch. A bird of
passage, really, but his parents have taught him that one _can_ spend
a winter in the north; and now he will teach his children that the north's
the only place to spend the winter in at all. But there is still a touch
of emigrant blood in him, and he remains a wanderer. One day he and his
will gather together and set off for somewhere else, many parishes away,
to study a new collection of humans there--and in the aspen grove never a
finch to be seen. And it may be a whole week before a new flock of this
winged life appears and settles in the same place.... _Herregud!_ how
many a time have I watched the finches in their doings, and found pleasure
in all.


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