SWALLOW LIFE 



where they stand loiee-deep in deliciously cooling, shadowy 

 pools, their comfort is greatly increased by groups of these 

 aerial voyagers — barn swallows or martins if near homes, or 

 white-breasted swallows if in marsh-cornered meadows — 

 sailing about overhead, darting here and there and dipping 

 down to take on the wing the pestiferous insects that con- 

 stantly annoy the herd. 



The one fault of these graceful birds is that they are 

 notoriously poor housekeepers. With the exception of the 

 disagreeable sparrow and some birds of prey, most birds 

 carry away from their homes every scrap of uncleanness — 

 every bit of refuse food and every loose feather. But it is 

 not so with the swallow. The delights of flitting about in 

 the air and clearing it of all life save their own are too al- 

 luring to admit of their spending any of their time in the 

 laborious task of housecleaning. Possibly good housekeep- 

 ing is more than ought to be expected of children trans- 

 formed — for such they are — with no cares to disturb them. 

 Their food, even, is provided for them. All they seem to 

 have to do is to leave their broad mouths wide open as they 

 fly about, and their nourishment enters as they pass through 

 the air. Every click of the bill as it closes tells that the 

 career of some tiny creature is ended. Of course a few 

 smaller mollusks are picked up and eaten as the birds amuse 

 themselves about wet places, but their gathering is but child's 

 play, as is the building of the mud houses. 



No more gregarious birds than these can be found any- 

 where. Who ever heard of a solitary swallow? All varieties 

 live in colonies, and even in their longest flights they keep 

 together. The young, on leaving the nest, never disband, 

 as do many other birds, but keep constantly together, young 

 barn swallows on some projecting piece of timber, martins 



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