living for the swifts of this particular place rich 

 and easy while the attraction lasts. 



Any hot day I can find several swifts here, 

 and they are so tame that I can tickle them all 

 off to sleep without the slightest trouble. They 

 will look up quickly as I approach, fearless but 

 alert, with head tilted and eyes snapping ; but 

 not one stirs. With a long spear of Indian 

 grass I reach out gently and stroke the nearest 

 one. Shut go his eyes ; down drops his h\ead ; 

 he sleeps— at least, he pretends to. This is my 

 peace greeting. Now I may sit down, and life 

 upon the rail-pile will go normally on. 



Upon the end of a rail, so close to a cluster of 

 the butterfly-weed blossoms that he can pick the 

 honey-gatherers from it,— as you would pick 

 olives from a dish on the table,— lies a big male 

 swift without a tail. He lost that member in 

 an encounter with me several weeks ago. A 

 new one has started, but it is a mere bud yet. 

 I know his sex by the brilliant blue stripe down 

 each side, which is a favor not granted the fe- 

 males. The sun is high and hot. "Fearfully 

 hot," I say under my wide straw hat. "Delight- 

 fully warm," says the lizard, sprawling over 

 [85] 



