The Swallow and the Sparrow 



that leaves him at liberty to come and go. 



Each spring I have to defend myself 

 against his bold usurpations. I gladly sur- 

 render to him the shed, the cellar-porch, the 

 Dog's corner, the woodshed and other out- 

 houses. This does not suffice for his am- 

 bitious views: he wants my study. At one 

 time he tries to make his home on the cur- 

 tain-rod, at another on the lintel of the open 

 window. In vain I strive to make him un- 

 derstand, by destroying the foundations of 

 his edifice as he lays them, how dangerous 

 to his nest is the shifting support of a case- 

 ment, which must be closed from time to 

 time, at the risk of crushing house and brood 

 alike, and how disagreeable for my cur- 

 tains this dirty business is, with its mud and, 

 later, the excretions of the young birds: I 

 do not succeed in convincing him; and to 

 put an end to his determined enterprise I 

 am compelled to keep the windows shut. 

 If I open them too soon, he returns with 

 his beakful of clay and begins all over 

 again. 



Instructed by experience, I know what it 

 would cost me to grant the hospitality de- 

 manded so persistently. If I were to leave 

 some precious book open on the table, some 

 drawing of a mushroom, my morning's 



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