104 OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 
a clear, sweet note that was like the ending of a song. 
It always seemed to me as though they were all too 
busy to really sing, but a single note which ended their 
chattering was like a glad exclamation of praise for the 
joy of living. 
“T have watched them flying over the pond be- 
hind the barn, back and forth, as though they were 
chasing each other. I found out afterward that this is 
the way they get their food. 
“T have counted from twenty to twenty-five nests 
on the rafters in grandfather’s barn, and I used to call 
it the ‘Swallows village. I have frequently seen a 
half dozen birds sitting out on the little platform 
against their nests, which I called a piazza, chattering 
in their low, soft voices, and imagined the mother 
birds and babies must enjoy the pleasant sound. The 
Swallow family is very interesting. The Cliff Swallow, 
Wood Swallow, Chimney Swallow, Sand Martin and 
Purple Martin are all cousins, having some of the same 
characteristics.” 
When “Artist” had finished reading his sketch, 
the selections were given, Miss Sweet beginning with 
the 
SWALLOW SONG. 
BY ANNA BOYNTON AVERILL. 
O, to feel the wild thrill of the Swallow, 
The wonder of the wing, 
On the soft blue billows of air to follow 
The summer and soar and sing! 
