Dinner With Diversions 



Now come the real lovers of twilight, the swal- 

 lows at their game of tag. They are my circus 

 acrobats. How they dart and circle overhead as 

 though from invisible trapezes, vaulting high into 

 the air, then dipping in swift flight to the very 

 surface of the water, skimming it so nearly that 

 I expect to see the momentary feathering of oars. 

 They have marked out one of their number for 

 pursuit. After him they go, hght as gossamer 

 until their gay chatter grows more distant and 

 they have disappeared around the corner of the 

 house. Back they come. This time, mad wags, 

 they make me their mark and their game is to see 

 how near they may approach me. Many a time I 

 have been startled by their presumption and have 

 fancied as they gave a sudden swerve that I have 

 felt the stiff vibration of their wings. In the 

 twitter that they give as they pass by me, there 

 is much of the chuckling satisfaction of the per- 

 former who has pulled off a clever trick. 



At this time, moreover, if the tide is low, there 

 are other visitants; a pair of night herons who 

 come slowly down the stream, their shoulders 

 hunched, their necks close-furled, their feet lifted 



[89] 



