dresses."

"They do look like birds!" said the mother, gazing at the children.

"I do believe they are birds," said the neighbour.

"But the voices are my children's voices," said the mother, looking
again in wonder.

"And they are still building tiny clay houses on the cliffs!" said the
other woman.

"But those toy clay houses are birds' nests," said the neighbour, "and
those little figures darting back and forth are no longer children.
They have changed to birds!"

"Yes," said the mother, peering from under her hand. "Yes, those are
birds building their funny clay nests on the cliffs yonder.

"But the birds have the happy twittering voices of my children. You
were right. They were wonderful children!

"Ah, well, my only wish is that they may remain near us. They will
cheer us and keep us from becoming lonely!"

"Surely that is a reasonable wish--since they are your own little
ones," said the neighbour. "I, too, hope that the little birds will
remain near our village!"

And indeed the mother's wish was granted. Even to this day the little
swallows do not fear man.

In fact, they still choose to build their nests near the camps of the
people. They still fix their tiny toy houses on the faces of the sea
cliffs.

ALL ABOUT THE BARN SWALLOW

SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS

Comes north about first or second week in April. Remains until late
September or October--builds and travels in flocks or companies--winters
in South or Central America.

Song--a constant twitter.

Head and upper parts except forehead steel blue--tail feathers marked
with white--forehead and throat clear chestnut colour--chest and lower
body paler chestnut.

Food--chiefly insects caught while on the wing.

Nest--built chiefly of mud--chooses under eaves or cavelike places for
building--mud mixed with grasses and (one authority also asserts) a
sticky saliva from the bird's mouth.

Eggs--white, tinted a delicate rose, and speckled finely with brown and
purple.--Two or three broods in a season.

THE HAWK AND THE RAVEN

[Illustration: The Hawk]

FROM THE BARNYARD FENCE

Had not the old hen been such a watchful mother she would never have
been able to care for such a big, fluffy family.

Had not Phyllis been such a wide-awake little girl, she would have
never heard and seen all that I am about to tell you.

Mother Speckle was scratching patiently in the barnyard. Now and again
she gave a loud call and h