300 THE STORY OF A BIRD LOVER 



Like a house-wren in size, but with a shorter 

 tail, the whole contour is that of a kingfisher in 

 miniature, and the tiny glossy white eggs are laid 

 in a Liliputian burrow excavated in some bank. 

 Swallows were here, too. Home was recalled 

 by the familiar denizens of bank and barn, but 

 the Cuban cliff-swallow and the great blue 

 swallow, as well as its golden ally, needed in- 

 troduction. 



Each day discovered new treasures, and the 

 interest awakened by them more than compen- 

 sated for any trivial annoyance caused by the 

 difficulties of housekeeping. The domestic prob- 

 lems of Fort George were many and varied. Our 

 apartment on the second floor was ample, com- 

 prising dining-room and drawing-room and three 

 bedrooms. A jalousied gallery, twelve feet wide 

 and some thirty-five in length, extended across 

 the eastern front of the house, forming living and 

 work room. The jalousies permitted the free in- 

 gress of the trade-wind, the beneficent "doctor" 

 that every morning about ten o'clock comes to 

 temper the tropical heat. The floors were of 

 solid mahogany, hewn out by rude implements in 

 slave days, with the polish given by a hundred 

 years of constant use. The furniture was an- 

 tique and hand-made, solid and cumbersome, as 

 though built for giants — plainly the workman- 

 ship of the patient slave. 



