92 GRAY LADY AND THE BIRDS 
Meanwhile Tommy had glanced hastily out of the 
window to where birds were constantly leaving and settling 
on the long-distance telephone wires that strung together 
the long poles that walked by the door, and up the hill- 
side, striding across lots where they chose, regardless of 
the road. Slipping from his seat to the window, he took a 
second look and then said in a harsh whisper, as if afraid 
that the birds would hear him and take fright, ‘Gray 
Lady, there’s Bank Swallows mixed in with the Bam 
Swallows on the wires, and I’m sure there’s another kind 
besides, with a shiny back and all white in the breast. 
Wouldn’t you please come out and look? If we go around 
the schoolhouse, they won’t notice us from the other side, 
but we can see them.”’ 
Gray Lady gave a signal and the girls and boys dropped 
the sewing and whittling quickly on their desks and, 
following her lead, stole out on tiptoe, one after the other, 
like the little pickaninnies when they sing, ‘‘The bogey 
man’|l ketch yer if yer doant watch out!” 
There, to be sure, were the Swallows, hundreds of them, 
all twittering cheerfully and none of them sitting still 
even though they were perching, but pluming themselves, 
and stretching their wings, the feathers of which they 
seemed to comb with a peculiar backward movement of 
one claw. 
As Gray Lady scanned the rows she saw brilliant Barn 
Swallows in little groups alternating with the sober-cloaked 
Bank Swallows, and then half a dozen each of two other 
species that were not so familiar. 
“Bring me the opera glasses from the little bag that is 
with my hat and gloves,” she said softly to Sarah Barnes. 
