Part 12

"For days we stayed there waiting for the entire company to gather. At length on one of the blue October days we flew southward.

"There were hundreds of birds in the flock. We looked like a small cloud, as we skimmed and darted through the air. As we flew, the flock was a half mile long.

"We spent the winter in South America. There are delicious insects there. But for all that we love the north country best.

"By and bye Mother Nature whispered to us. She said that it was nest-building time in the northland. Such a twittering and fluttering there was when this news came.

"That very afternoon we started north. Day after day we flew. We met other great flocks as we travelled, who joined us.

"Day after day we flew northward. We did not stop to eat, but caught our food on the wing.

"Now we lunched on moths and flies. Again we dined on grasshoppers. Any insect foolish enough to trust itself in the air at the time we passed served as food.

"We arrived here only a few days ago. It is not yet very warm, but here under the eaves on the sunny side of the barn it is quite comfortable.

"We are so busy with this nest-building and settling for the summer. You see we swallows do not live alone. There are always flocks of us together.

"We should be lonely if we lived only in pairs. That is the reason that we build a whole little village of nests under your eaves."

"You build very queer nests," said Phyllis. "They are neither like the robin's nor the chickadee's nests."

"No, indeed, no robin or chickadee could build such nests as the swallow. You see we make the soft mud from the brookside into little balls and carry it in our bills. With it we mix straws and grasses. This holds the clay together. When the outer clay wall is finished we line the nest with soft grasses and feathers."

"I notice there are a great many chicken feathers in the barnyard. I shall line my nest with the softest, fluffiest feathers that I can find there.

"By and bye my little mate will sit in the dear clay nest and over four or five or possibly six little eggs."

"I shall never be able to see them," sighed Phyllis. "They are up so high. Tell me about them."

"Oh, my eggs are beautiful," said the swallow. "They are white with just a little rose tint. They are spotted with fine dots of brown and purple, and are about three-quarters of an inch long.

"We shall probably have three broods of birdlings this summer. What a happy, happy time we shall have!"

All this time the swallow was darting and wheeling and circling about Phyllis in a most graceful manner.

"Are you never still?" asked Phyllis, at last. "I do not believe you even stop to eat."

"I do not," said the swallow, darting after a big blue fly. "I eat on the fly." And then he burst into a giggling twitter.

"I catch nearly all my food on the wing. No one can complain--as they do of the robin--of our destroying fruit.

"We do not care for fruit at all. I would rather have a dozen nice fat flies than all the cherries in the world!"

"Well," laughed Phyllis, "I'd rather have a dozen ripe cherries than all the flies in the world!"

"Tastes differ," twittered the swallow.

THE SWALLOWS

Once upon a time some Eskimo children were playing in the wet clay by the seashore. They were making tiny toy houses of the clay. These houses they fastened high on the face of the cliff.

The children chattered and laughed. They ran gaily to and fro in their happy play.

The people of the village heard their merry voices. Their busy mother paused with her long bone needle between her fingers. She looked up and smiled at her little ones.