42 BIRDS OF THE WAVE AND WOODLAND 



Every time he comes there is a scrap of conversation, and 

 when she has eaten what he has brought, there is a httle 

 exchange of twittered love-nothings. There are always two 

 broods in the year, the first scattering over the country and 

 eventually straggling away in small migratory parties across 

 the sea, the second going with their parents in the great 

 annual exodus in October. 



It is then that these birds congregate in vast companies, 

 lining the telegraph-wires for miles, till they loop with their 

 weight, or crowding upon every available foothold of some 

 range of buildings. How irresistible the discipline of these 

 little creatures is, as you look at them sitting there by the 

 thousand, waiting for the signal to start on a journey the 

 object and end of which is a mystery to all the young ones. 

 You will see how impatient they are, how they keep on trying 

 their wings by wheeling round in the air. With what restless- 

 ness they take short flights and resettle. And all this time, and 

 up to the very last, the old ones keep on busily feeding the 

 young, as if they knew what a trial was before them, and how 

 urgent their need of all the strength possible. Here and there 

 are broods hatched too young to join in the great Hegira, and 

 here and there nestlings with some infirmity that unfits them 

 for boisterous travel. These are found lingering in our 

 islands all through October into November, but the great 

 army of the swallows musters at the rendezvous punctually to 

 date. And there they sit in their myriads, but the whole 



