A FULL MIGRATION 15 



tain of our American beauties a chance to 

 live. 



Two days ago I was walking through a 

 tract of woodland, following the highway, 

 when I noticed, to my surprise, a white- 

 breasted martin (tree swallow) just over 

 my head. The next moment he fluttered 

 before a hole in one of the big telegraph 

 poles. His mate came out, and he alighted 

 in the entrance, facing outward. And there 

 he sat, while I in my turn took a seat upon 

 the opposite bank and fell to watching him. 

 The light struck him squarely, and it was 

 good to see his blue-purple crown and his 

 bright black eye shining in the sun. He 

 had nothing to do inside, it appeared, but 

 was simply on guard in his mate's absence. 

 Once he yawned. " She 's gone a good 

 while," he seemed to say. But he kept his 

 post till she returned. Then, with a chirrup, 

 he was off, and she dropped into the cavity 

 out of sight. 



All this was nothing of itself. But why 

 should a pair of white-breasted martins, 

 farm-loving, village-loving, house-haunting 

 birds, a delight to the eye, and as innocent 



