“Very seldom. Swallows like to live in colonies, and their nests touch one another sometimes to the number of hundreds on the same cornice. Each couple recognizes its own nest without the slightest hesitation, and scrupulously respects others’ property in order to have its own respected. There is among them a deep feeling of joint responsibility, and they help one another with as much intelligence as zeal. Occasionally it happens that a nest is no sooner finished than it gives way, either because the mortar used is not strong enough or because the masons were in too great a hurry and had not the patience to let one course dry before laying another, or for some other reason. On hearing of the disaster the neighbors hasten to console the unlucky pair and help them to rebuild. All set to work, bringing the best mortar, straw, and feathers, and in forty-eight hours the nest is rebuilt. Left to themselves, it would have taken the owners a fortnight to repair the damage.” “That’s the kind of friends in need I like to see!” declared Emile. “But I have something still better to tell you. Let us suppose a swallow has been so careless as to become entangled in a mesh of loose threads, and the more frantically it struggles to escape the more firmly it binds its fetters. With wings and claws held fast it is in danger of perishing. Uttering piteous cries, it calls on its comrades for help. All hasten to give aid, noisily making plans for relief and working away with beak and talons until they finally unsnarl the tangle and free the captive. The happy event is then celebrated with chirpings of delight. That is what I saw with my own eyes, right here in the garden, one day when Mother Ambroisine was bleaching some of the linen thread she spins on her distaff.