r in number--young have black spots on
breast--generally two broods reared in a season--sometimes three.

THE SWALLOW

[Illustration: The Swallow]

UNDER THE EAVES

It was the tenth day of April. Phyllis knew the date because it
chanced to be her birthday. She was just eight years old.

The sun shone very warm and bright, and the buds were growing big and
red on the horse-chestnut-trees.

"I shall go down to the brook to look for pussy-willows this
afternoon," said the little girl.

Phyllis was sitting in the window of the barn loft with the sun shining
full upon her. All was very quiet and the little girl was half asleep.

Suddenly, with a flash of blue wings and a funny little twitter, a bird
darted right across her face. Phyllis sat up straight, and, leaning
out of the window, looked up at the eaves.

There she saw the merry twitterer, with several of his companions, who
seemed very busy and very talkative.

They darted here and there, they skimmed through the air so swiftly
that Phyllis could only catch a gleam of blue. They wheeled and
circled and darted. All the time they twittered, twittered, twittered.

"What are they up to?" said Phyllis, leaning farther out and looking
more closely.

For an instant one of the birds clung to the eaves and seemed to be
pecking away at a bit of mud which was stuck to the eaves.

Phyllis noticed the deeply forked tail of the bird. Its back and wings
and tail were steel blue. Its throat and chest were bright chestnut,
becoming paler near the back of the body.

"Oh, I know you," laughed Phyllis. "I have no fear of frightening you,
for you are a swallow.

"How does it happen that you are so fearless? You are scarcely more
afraid of us than our chickens. Why do you build so near our homes?
You are even more tame than the robin!"

The swallow twittered in a way which made Phyllis feel that he was
laughing at her. He darted so near that had she been quick enough she
might have caught him.

"We are not afraid of you!" laughed the swallow, darting close again
and then whirling away.

"What a funny bird!" said Phyllis.

In a moment the bird was back with a bit of mud in his mouth. He
plastered it up against the rest of the mud under the eaves. Then he
flew again near Phyllis.

"I suppose there was a time," said the bird, "when all swallows built
their nests on the sides and ledges of caves or cliffs. But that was
hundreds of years ago, before