wings and saved himself.

The Martin had nothing to say to this, but the little Bank Swallow,
though somewhat shaken up, whispered, "There _may_ be children who do
not rob nests, and other boys like Rap, who would never shoot us. Cats
are always sad things for birds, but these House People may not keep
any!" And then he moved down a wire or two, frightened at having given
his opinion.

At that moment a Chimney Swift joined the group. This Swift, who nests
in chimneys, is the sooty-colored bird that flies and feeds on the wing
like a Swallow, and when he is in the air looks like a big spruce cone
with wings. He was followed by a Catbird, who had been in a honeysuckle,
by one of the farmhouse windows, and peeped inside out of curiosity.
Both were excited and evidently bubbling over with news, which half the
birds of the orchard were following them to hear. "I know all about
it," cried the Swift, settling himself for a long talk.

"I've _seen_ the House People!" screamed the Catbird.

"They wish well to the Bird People, and we shall be happier than
before!" squeaked the Swift, breathless and eager. "Listen!"--and the
birds all huddled together. "This morning when I flew down the chimney,
wondering if I should dare build my nest there again, I heard a noise on
the outside, so I dropped as far as I could and listened.

"A voice said, 'Mammy Bun, we will leave this chimney for the birds; do
not make a fire here until after they have nested!' I was so surprised
that I nearly fell into the grate."

"And I," interrupted the Catbird, "was looking in the window and saw the
man who spoke, and Mammy Bun too. She is a very big person, wide like a
wood-chuck, and has a dark face like the House People down in the warm
country where I spend the winter."

"There are children at the farm, _I've_ seen them too," cried the
Phoebe, who usually lived under the eaves of the cow-shed; "three of
them--one big girl, one little girl, and a BOY!"

"I told you so!" lisped the Barn Swallow; and a chorus of _ohs_ and
_ahs_ arose that sounded like a strange message buzzing along the wires.

"The BOY has a pocket full of pebbles and a _shooter_," gasped the
Phoebe, pausing as if nothing more shocking could be said.

"Yes, but the big girl coaxed the shooter away from him," said the
Chimney Swift, who was quite provoked because his story had been
interrupted; "she said, 'Cousin Nat, father won't let you shoot birds
here or do anything to fri