UP THE CHIMNEY. 255 



morning the small mirror climbed the- flue a sec- 

 ond time and was firmly lashed in position a few 

 inches above the nest. The lashing, of course, 

 was applied to the but of the fishing rod at the 

 point where it rested in the fireplace among and- 

 irons and tongs. Then a narrow, old-fashioned 

 mirror, in which somebody's great-grandmother 

 may have admired her pretty face in the days of 

 a long-forgotten honeymoon, was gently rested 

 upon the single stick of wood at the back of the 

 fireplace so that its face inclined slightly toward 

 me. Wonderful ! there were the shiny flue, 

 the nest, the frightened bird perching far up the 

 shaft, and the narrow line of sky above her; 

 and there also was the small glass at the tip of 

 my fishing rod, and in its oval face was an image 

 of the inside of the shallow nest with two fat, 

 featherless, sightless swifts flopping about in it. 

 Nothing could now be easier than to watch the 

 entire process of rearing the infant projectiles 

 from a state of feebleness and imbecility to that 

 marvelous condition of grace, speed, and intelli- 

 gence at which, in the natural course of events, 

 they would arrive in a few brief days. 



My first desire was to ascertain how they 

 were fed. The barn swallows, who by some 

 freak have taken possession of a pewee's nest 

 just under the eaves of my cottage, feed their 

 young with insects which they bring bristling in 



