Then the old bird went to work to teach him to fly. It was an hour or more before he learned to use his wings. As soon as he did, the two started off on their lonely journey to the far South, to join their friends who had been gone so long. How I wish we could know that they reached them. Insects were about gone when this happened, and this swift mother would have died if she had stayed, but she would not leave her little one to starve. It is a beautiful thing to see a large flock of swifts go to bed. If they all rushed in pell-mell, they might hurt one another. They begin by flying around high above the chimney in great circles. As they go around they sink lower, and the circles get smaller till it looks like an immense whirling funnel. When the birds forming the lower part of the funnel reach the top of the chimney, they plunge in. So in a short time the whole flock is in and no one hurt. FOOTNOTE: [21] See Appendix, 20. XXVIII THE GOATSUCKER FAMILY (_Caprimulgidæ_)[22] THESE are queer-looking birds, having their front toes tied together by a kind of webbing, and almost no hind toe at all. The mouth, too, is almost as odd as the toes. It has a short beak, but is very wide, and it opens from ear to ear like the swift's. The plumage is so soft that the birds can fly without making the least sound. The two most common goatsuckers are the whip-poor-will and the nighthawk. They are both as large as a robin, and stouter. They are dressed in dull brown, and black and white, mottled all over. If you just glanced at the two, you might think them alike. But they are not marked alike, and all their ways are so different that there is no trouble in telling them apart. The WHIP-POOR-WILL has broad white tailmarks, with stripes on the back, and a narrow white band across the breast. He comes out only in the evening, and he flies low, without making a sound. He rests lengthwise of a log or fence, not across it as most birds do. His feet are too short to clasp a perch. On his log or fence the whip-poor-will sits and sings while he waits for his supper. You all know his song, his lively "whip-poor-will" over and over many times. It is a delightful evening sound, which I love to hear. It is said that his notes have been counted, and he has been found to repeat them several hundred times without stopping. When moths or other creatures which fly in the night come along, he catches them in his big mouth. But he is not obliged always to wait. Sometimes he flies near the ground like a shadow, looking for prey, and he often hops awkwardly along the road, for the same purpose. He picks up straggling insects, and in the West locusts.