UNDER THE APPLE-TREES 
and feather, and unerring instinct carry them 
along. They are always in the enemy’s country; 
they are always on the firing-line; eternal vigilance 
and ceaseless activity are the price of life with them. 
The natural length of life of our smaller birds is 
probably eight or ten years, but I doubt if one in 
a thousand reaches that age. Not half a dozen 
times in my life have I found the body of a dead 
bird that did not show some marks of violence. 
Next to the trim, prosperous, well-dressed ap- 
pearance of a flock of wild birds, one is struck with 
their caution and watchfulness, not to say nervous- 
ness, at all times, especially when feeding in the 
open. My band of sparrows were apprehensive of 
danger every moment. Here are some notes made 
on the spot: — 
Now there are over two dozen sparrows, among them 
a solitary female chewink, feeding on the ground in front 
of my window. An ever-present fear possesses every one 
of them. They pick up the seeds hurriedly, looking up 
every few seconds. Suddenly they all stop, and, crouch- 
ing, look toward the near-by weeds and bushes. Some 
vague alarm has seized them. Then two of them dart 
away; then the whole flock rushes to cover. I see no cause 
for the panic; there is none; the strain has become too 
great to be longer borne. Though no danger is near, yet 
their instinct, developed and sharpened by the experi- 
ences of untold generations, tells them danger might be 
near — a hawk, a cat, or other enemy — and that safety 
demands a frequent rush to cover. After a few minutes 
they return, one by one, flying from weed-stalk to weed- 
96 
