THE STRUGGLE. 173 
dusk—and turning, almost sadly it seemed, 
headed straight back together to the farm 
for one last look at the brood they must 
desert. 
And then, suddenly, as the farm hove in 
sight, glimmering white through the mist and 
the wet, the rain cleared, an autumn sun 
peered out, and—they discovered they were 
not alone. Four other house-martins flew to 
meet them, darted round them, greeted them. 
It was their third brood, on wing, and fully 
ready for the journey at last. 
Next morning the old nest was empty. 
The six martins had gone in the night. 
