A HAY-BARN IDYL 



The phoebes are much more sensitive to my pres- 

 ence than are the swallows; they will not betray the 

 secret of their nest to me while I am watching them. 

 Whereas the swallows sweep in boldly over my head 

 through the wide-open doors, and, in a swift upward 

 curve, touch at the nest and are out again like spirits, 

 the phoebes enter slyly, through small openings in 

 the weather-boards, and alight upon a beam and look 

 the ground over before they approach the nest. 



The other day in my walk I came upon two 

 phoebes' nests under overhanging rocks, both with 

 half -fledged young in them, and in neither case were 

 the parent birds in evidence. They did not give 

 their secret away by setting up the hue and cry that 

 nesting birds usually set up on such occasions. I 

 finally saw them, as silent as shadows, perched near 

 by, with food in their beaks, which they finally 

 swallowed as my stay was prolonged. And the nests, 

 both on a level with my eye, were apparently filled 

 only with a motionless mass of bluish mould. As I 

 gently touched them, instead of four or five heads 

 with open mouths springing up, the young only 

 settled lower in the nest and disposed themselves in 

 a headless, shapeless mass. The phoebe is evidently 

 a very cautious bird, though none is more familiar 

 about our porches and outbuildings. 



What a contrast they present in habits and man- 

 ners with the swallows ! the plebeian phoebe, plain 

 of dress, homely of speech, with neither grace of form 

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