AT WORK AND PLAY 225 



dren sliding down hill and laboriously dragging 

 their sleds back again. 



On a June morning I came upon a flock of 

 fifty barn swallows sitting on a wire fence, each 

 singing his song of gladness. In an instant all 

 were fluttering head to the wind over the butter- 

 cups and daisies; then all alighted in the grass 

 and dabbed at insects. The morning was so cold 

 that the insects were not on the wing, but 

 quiet and dormant. 



On another cold morning in September I en- 

 tered a meadow white with Queen Anne's lace 

 and spotted with fluttering, twittering tree swal- 

 lows, a half thousand of them at a moderate es- 

 timate. They were flying down to leeward and 

 slowly flying back through the grass picking up 

 insects as they went. Occasionally they became 

 entangled in the grass and flowers and struggled 

 to extricate themselves. The gentle snap, snap 

 of their bills could be heard as they flew within 

 a few feet or even inches of me. 



Tree swallows and barn swallows are both 

 very fearless of man, or perhaps one should say 

 trustful and confiding. On a rainy or cold day 



