r unlikely place for a bird to be found. For a
week he came and went and was watched and studied, but one day the
strawberries were gathered in the old garden, and the beautiful brown
thrush baby appeared no more.

The world was not deserted of bird voices, however.

"Swift bright wings flitted in and out
And happy chirpings were all about."

For days the wood had resounded with the shrill little cries of swallow
babies, who alighted on the low trees on the border while their busy
parents skimmed over the bay, or the marshy shore, and every few minutes
brought food to their clamorous offspring. I had a remarkably good
opportunity to make the acquaintance of this youngster--the
white-bellied swallow. There were dozens of them, and the half grown
trees were their chosen perches. The droll little fellows, with white
fluffy breasts, no feet to speak of, and

"Built so narrow
Like the head of an arrow
To cut the air,"

did not even notice me in my nook under the pines.

They could fly very well, and now and then one followed the parent far
out, calling sharply his baby "cheep" and trying to get close to her in
the air. Often she turned, met and fed him on the wing, and then sailed
on, while the youngster lagged a little, unable to give his mind to
feeding and flying at the same time. Sometimes the mother avoided a too
persistent pleader by suddenly rising above him. When a little one was
at rest, she usually paused before him on wing only long enough to poke
a mouthful into his wide open beak; occasionally--but not often--she
alighted beside him for a few moments.

Leading out into the water for the use of boatmen, was a narrow foot
pier, provided on one side with a hand rail. This rail was a convenient
rendezvous for all the babies belonging to the swallow flock, a sort of
a community nursery. On this they rested from the fatigue of flying;
here they were fed, and sometimes gently pushed off the perch afterward,
as a mild hint to use their wings.

I wanted to find out whether parents and young knew each other from all
the rest. Of course in this crowd it was not possible to tell, but I
found a better chance in another favorite spot, an old post that rose
out of the water, eight or ten feet from the shore, and so small that it
was only comfortable for one, although two could stand on it. The post
seldom lacked its occupant, a baby swallow with head up, looking eagerly
into the flock above him. This i