AT THE ISLES OF SHOALS 53 



houses are the nests of barn swallows, gray mud 

 stippled up against a rafter, the fast-growing 

 young almost crowding one another out. So 

 gently familiar are these birds, and so little afraid 

 of people, that one has built a nest under the 

 frequented piazza of the big hotel, and the parent 

 birds flit back and forth unconcerned by the rows 

 of guests that often take chairs and watch the 

 nestlings for long periods. Not only do the 

 parents feed their young while thus watched by 

 crowds but a few feet away, but they fly in under 

 the veranda and capture food right over the heads 

 of the promenaders with equal freedom from 

 fear. Barn swallows are usually friendly, confid- 

 ing birds. They seem here to have caught the 

 sense of protection and safety which comes to all 

 on the little island, and become even more fear- 

 less. It is much the same way with the tree 

 swallows, which, having no hollow trees, build 

 in bird boxes all about. These already have 

 young in flight. Standing on the cliffs you see 

 their steel blue backs as they swirl with the little 

 waves in and out among the rockweed at low tide, 

 seeking their food very close to land or water. 



