UNDER THE MAPLES 



of hay, towering above the teams that draw them, 

 brushing against the bar-ways and the lower 

 branches of the trees along their course, slowly 

 winding their way toward the barn. Then the 

 great mows of hay, or the shapely stacks in the 

 fields, and the battle is won. Milk and cream 

 are stored up in well-cured hay, and when the 

 snow of winter fills the meadows as grass fills 

 them in summer, the tranquil cow can still rest 

 and ruminate in contentment. 



As the swallows sweep out and in near my head 

 they give out an angry "Sleet, sleet," as if my pres- 

 ence had suddenly become offensive to them. I 

 know what makes the change in their temper. The 

 young are leaving their nests, and at such eventful 

 times the parent birds are always nervous end 

 anxious. When any of our birds launch a family 

 into the world they would rather not have spec- 

 tators, and you are pretty sure to be abused if you 

 intrude upon the scene. The swallow can put a 

 good deal of sharp emphasis into that "Sleet, 

 sleet," though she is not armed to make any of 

 her threats good. Who knows that all will go well 

 with them when they first make the plunge into 

 space with their untried wings? A careful parent 

 should keep the coast clear. 



They have been testing their wings for several 

 days, clinging to the sides of the nest and beating 

 the wings rapidly. And now comes the crucial 



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