Among the Farmyard People | Page 3

the winter winds and snow wore it away. I
wonder how it would seem to be a fledgling again?" She snuggled
down in the old nest until he could see only her forked tail and her
dainty head over the edge. Her vest was quite hidden, and the only light
feathers that showed were the reddish-buff ones on throat and face;
these were not so bright as his, but still she was beautiful to him. He
loved every feather on her body.
"I don't want you to be a fledgling again," he cried. "I want you to help
me make a home under the eaves, a lovely little nest of mud and straw,
where you can rest as you are now doing, while I bring food to you.
Will you?"
"Yes," she cried. "Tittle-ittle-ittle-ee! Oh, tittle-ittle-ittle-ee!" And she
flew far up into the blue sky, while he followed her, twittering and
singing.
"Where are those young people going?" said an older Swallow. "I
should think they had flown far enough for to-day without circling

around for the fun of it."
"Don't you remember the days when you were young?" said the
Swallow next to him.
"When I was young?" he answered. "My dear, I am young now. I shall
always be young in the springtime. I shall never be old except when I
am moulting."
Just then a family of Doves came pattering over the roof, swaying their
heads at every step. "We are so glad to see you back," said the father.
"We had a long, cold winter, and we thought often of you."
"A very cold winter," cooed his plump little wife.
"Tell me a story," said a young Dove, their son.
"Hush, hush," said the Father Dove. "This is our son," he added, "and
this is his sister. We think them quite a pair. Our last brood, you know."
"Tell us a story," said the young Dove again.
"Hush, dear. You mustn't tease the Swallow," said his mother. "They
are so fond of stories," she cooed, "and they have heard that your
family are great travellers."
"But I want him to tell us a story," said the young Dove. "I think he
might."
This made the Swallow feel very uncomfortable, for he could see that
the children had been badly brought up, and he did not want to tell a
story just then.
"Perhaps you would like to hear about our journey south," said he.
"Last fall, when the maples began to show red and yellow leaves
among the green, we felt like flying away. It was quite warm weather,
and the forest birds were still here, but when we feel like flying south
we always begin to get ready."

"I never feel like flying south," said the young Dove. "I don't see why
you should."
"That is because I am a Swallow and you are a farmyard Dove. We
talked about it to each other, and one day we were ready to start. We all
had on our new feathers and felt strong and well. We started out
together, but the young birds and their mothers could not keep up with
the rest, so we went on ahead."
"Ahead of whom?" said the young Dove, who had been preening his
feathers when he should have been listening.
"Ahead of the mothers and their fledglings. We flew over farms where
there were Doves like you; over rivers where the Wild Ducks were
feeding by the shore; and over towns where crowds of boys and girls
were going into large buildings, while on top of these buildings were
large bells singing, 'Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.'"
"I don't think that was a very pretty song," said the young Dove.
"Hush," said his mother, "you mustn't interrupt the Swallow."
"And at last we came to a great lake," said the Swallow. "It was so
great that when we had flown over it for a little while we could not see
land at all, and our eyes would not tell us which way to go. We just
went on as birds must in such places, flying as we felt we ought, and
not stopping to ask why or to wonder if we were right. Of course we
Swallows never stop to eat, for we catch our food as we fly, but we did
sometimes stop to rest. Just after we had crossed this great lake we
alighted. It was then that a very queer thing happened, and this is really
the story that I started to tell."
"Oh!" said the young Dove and his sister. "How very exciting. But wait
just a minute while we peep over the edge of the roof and see what the
farmer is doing." And before anybody could say a word they had
pattered away to