SOME WONDERS FROM THE WEST. 
59t 
each is a comfortable veranda, and the 
martins sit there in the evenings discussing 
men and things, gossiping merrily, unmindful 
of the clatter that ensues from all talking at 
once. On the outskirts of the village proper 
are several 
suburban 
cottages 
occupied by 
martins who 
arrived too 
byte to take a 
town house, 
but no line 
is drawn be- 
tween town 
and country 
dwellers. 
Thecottages 
on the out- 
skirts of the 
village are 
truly subur- 
ban, for they 
are perched 
up among 
the branches of the trees that surround the 
settlement, and the green foliage and the 
pleasant shade make them delightful habita- 
tions. 
When the little martins arrive there are 
busy times in the village and its suburbs, for 
they have tremendous appetites, and the 
families consist of from four to six children 
each. It is amusing to see the comfort 
the martins find in their tiny homes. 
Sometimes the wife will sit in the front 
door, her head only peeping out, and berate 
her spouse for some real or fancied neglect 
until the poor fellow takes flight. Often they 
sit side by side under the slanting roof, gos- 
siping with their 
next-door neigh- 
bours and chat- 
tering away 
noisily, each try- 
ing to outdo the 
other. The 
branches of the 
trees in the 
v-i c i n i t y are 
favourite resting- 
places for them 
when they feel 
disinclined to 
share the noisy 
gossip of the vil- 
lage, and it is 
amusing to see 
a couple sitting side by side demurely watch- 
ing the turmoil, as one of the photographs 
shows them. Let a dog or cat approach the 
martins’ village and the uproar is indescrib- 
able. Even a strange human being creates 
much of a 
disturbance; 
but the birds 
know the 
man who 
built their 
village and 
do not re- 
sen t his 
visits in the 
least. 
When the 
young birds 
have grown 
to maturity 
their parents 
send them 
out upon 
the world 
with little 
preliminary 
instruction, but they launch forth bravely 
and are strong winged from the first trial. 
Not until the second year do the young birds 
attain the full glory of their plumage. The 
first is spent in sombre, dull black, that 
makes them look vastly different from their 
elders, but the next summer finds them 
clothed in purple and resplendent. 
Beyond doubt many of the martins have 
dwelt in the tiny village from the time of its 
founding, eight years ago. Some of them 
are so marked that it is easy for a bird- 
lover to identify them, and year after year 
they come back to the spot that is their 
home and that was built for their pleasure. 
When the win- 
ter winds wisp 
the snow through 
the open doors 
and pile it up into 
little drifts on 
the porches, 
the feathered 
villagers, far to 
the south, are re- 
velling in the 
suns of Cuba or 
Mexico, thinking 
perhaps of their 
little cottages 
swaying in the 
winter winds far 
to the north. 
From a] “under the slanting roof.” [ Fhoto . 
From a] “ watching the turmoil.” [Photo. 
The Strand Magazine, June, .1905. 
n 
