IN QUEST OF A NIGHT ROOST 1Q3 



fence and massed thickly on the sod were hun- 

 dreds of these beautiful fork-tailed swallows, 

 and darting back and forth about me were al- 

 most as many more. I counted the individuals 

 on a wire between two posts, then a little prob- 

 lem in mental arithmetic gave me a rough census 

 of the flock. There were about five hundred in 

 the gathering, and a noteworthy feature of it 

 was that a very large proportion of them were 

 youngsters. There appeared to be five or six 

 juveniles to each adult, showing that even in 

 Manitoba this prolific bird is a two-brood nester. 

 The dull sod fairly glinted with iridescent blue 

 and chestnut and brown, and when a hundred 

 pairs of slender wings flickered as the owners 

 rose or slowly settled, the effect was magical. 

 The air was filled with a sweet-voiced twitter- 

 ing — for this bird, unlike most of his kin, has not 

 a harsh note in his vocabulary — and all together 

 it was one of those happy meetings which make 

 one glad that he has not been elsewhere. 



Down along the pasture shore the waders 

 were in abundance. This tribe plainly love a 

 pasture shore or beach more than any other 

 place. Possibly it is for the reason that the 

 manure of the animals left along the mud at- 



