"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 her ten little ones ran wildly for the bug or worm which their mother had found for them. Phyllis was just coming into the barnyard with a cup of meal for Mother Speckle's family, when a strange cry from the old hen startled her. Phyllis looked and saw every chick running as fast as its little legs could carry it to the hovering mother wings. Soon every chicken baby was hidden from sight and the chicken mother was clucking less loudly. "What can be the matter?" cried Phyllis, and then looking up she saw a hawk circling in the air above. She snatched off her hat and waved it wildly at the hawk. At the same time she shouted as fiercely as she could. The hawk soared calmly in the air, rising ever higher and higher. The mother hen, calling softly to her babies, led the little ones to the protecting shelter of some low bushes. Then Phyllis sprinkled the meal and soon the chicken hawk was quite forgotten by Mother Speckle and her brood. But Phyllis still watched eagerly for the hawk. She feared that he would return. But she could now see nothing of him. On the fence post, not far away, sat a big black raven croaking gravely to himself. "You are not a lovely bird either," said the little girl, but the raven did not hear her. When she had crept up very close to the post on which the raven sat, Phyllis again saw the hawk sailing in wide circles nearer and nearer.