68 WHEN NESTING IS OVER. 



tented together. Then I noticed as the elders 

 swept over, that sometimes one baby begged, 

 sometimes the other; never both at once. This 

 seemed to indicate that the little one knows its 

 parents, for no one familiar with the craving 

 hunger and the constant opening of the baby 

 beak to its natural purveyors, will doubt that 

 when a young bird failed to ask, it was because 

 the elder was not its parent. 



An early lesson in many bird lives is that of 

 following, or flying in a flock, for at first the 

 babies of a brood scatter wildly, and seem not 

 to have the smallest notion of keeping together. 

 The small swallows in the trees near me were 

 carefully trained in this. Often while one stood 

 chirping vehemently, clearly thinking himself 

 half starved, a grown-up bird flew close past 

 him, calling in very sweet tones, and stopped in 

 plain sight, ten or fifteen feet away. Of course 

 the youngster followed at once. But just as he 

 reached the side of the parent, that thoughtful 

 tutor took another short flight, calling and coax- 

 ing as before. This little performance was re- 

 peated three or four times before the pupil re- 

 ceived the tidbits he so urgently desired. 



Other sweet baby -talk in the trees came from 

 the wood-pewee. The pewee I had noted from 

 the building of her beautiful lichen-covered cra- 

 dle in the crotch of a wild-cherry tree. The 



