78 THE FALL OF THE YEAR 



I got in behind a big waste-barrel by the iron fence 

 and let the crowd surge past. It was such a sight as 

 I had never seen. I had seen thousands of chimney 

 swallows go to roast in the deserted chimneys of a 

 great country house ; I had many a time gone down 

 at night to the great crow-roost in the pines at 

 Cubby Hollow ; but I had never stumbled upon a 

 bird-roost on a crowded city street before ! 



The hurrying throng behind me thinned and 

 straggled while I waited, watching by the iron fence. 

 The wind freshened, the mist thickened into fine 

 rain that came slanting down through the half-lighted 

 trees ; the sleeping sparrows twittered and shifted 

 uneasily on the limbs. 



The streets were being deserted. It was going to 

 be a wild night on the water, and a wild night in 

 the swaying, creaking tops of these old elm trees. 

 I shivered at the thought of the sparrows sleeping 

 out in such a night as this, and turned away toward 

 my own snug roost hardly two blocks away. 



The night grew wilder. The wind rattled down 

 our street past a hundred loose shutters ; the rain 

 slapped against the windows, and then stopped as 

 a heavy gust curled over the line of roofs opposite. 

 I thought of the sparrows. Had they been driven 

 from the tossing limbs? Could they cling fast in 

 such a wind, and could they sleep? 



Going to the window I looked down into the 

 street. Only the electric light at the corner showed 



