THE STORY THAT THE SWALLOW DIDN'T TELL
"Listen!" said the Nigh Ox, "don't you hear some friends coming?"
The Off Ox raised his head from the grass and stopped to brush away aFly, for you never could hurry either of the brothers. "I don't hear anyfootfalls," said he.
"You should listen for wings, not feet," said the Nigh Ox, "and forvoices, too."
Even as he spoke there floated down from the clear air overhead a soft"tittle-ittle-ittle-ee," as though some bird were laughing forhappiness. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the meadow was coveredwith thousands and thousands of green grass blades, each so small andtender, and yet together making a most beautiful carpet for the feet ofthe farmyard people, and offering them sweet and juicy food after theirwinter fare of hay and grain. Truly it was a day to make one laugh aloudfor joy. The alder tassels fluttered and danced in the spring breeze,while the smallest and shyest of the willow pussies crept from theirlittle brown houses on the branches to grow in the sunshine.
THE SWALLOWS ARE COMING.]
"Tittle-ittle-ittle-ee! Tittle-ittle-ittle-ee!" And this time it waslouder and clearer than before.
"The Swallows!" cried the Oxen to each other. Then they straightenedtheir strong necks and bellowed to the Horses, who were drawing the plowin the field beyond, "The Swallows are coming!"
As soon as the Horses reached the end of the furrow and could rest aminute, they tossed their heads and whinnied with delight. Then theylooked around at the farmer, and wished that he knew enough of thefarmyard language to understand what they wanted to tell him. They knewhe would be glad to hear of their friends' return, for had they not seenhim pick up a young Swallow one day and put him in a safer place?
"Tittle-ittle-ittle-ee!" and there was a sudden darkening of the skyabove their heads, a whirr of many wings, a chattering and laughing ofsoft voices, and the Swallows had come. Perched on the ridge-pole of thebig barn, they rested and visited and heard all the news.
The Doves were there, walking up and down the sloping sides of the roofand cooing to each other about the simple things of every-day life. Youknow the Doves stay at home all winter, and so it makes a great changewhen their neighbors, the Swallows, return. They are firm friends inspite of their very different ways of living. There was never a Dovewho would be a Swallow if he could, yet the plump, quiet, gray and whiteDoves dearly love the dashing Swallows, and happy is the Squab who canget a Swallow to tell him stories of the great world.
"Isn't it good to be home, home, home!" sang one Swallow. "I never setmy claws on another ridge-pole as comfortable as this."
"I'm going to look at my old nest," said a young Swallow, as shesuddenly flew down to the eaves.
"I think I'll go, too," said another young Swallow, springing away fromhis perch. He was a handsome fellow, with a glistening dark blue headand back, a long forked tail which showed a white stripe on the underside, a rich buff vest, and a deep blue collar, all of the finestfeathers. He loved the young Swallow whom he was following, and hewanted to tell her so.
"There is the nest where I was hatched," she said. "Would you think Iwas ever crowded in there with five brothers and sisters? It was acomfortable nest, too, before the winter winds and snow wore it away. Iwonder how it would seem to be a fledgling again?" She snuggled down inthe old nest until he could see only her forked tail and her dainty headover the edge. Her vest was quite hidden, and the only light feathersthat showed were the reddish-buff ones on throat and face; these werenot so bright as his, but still she was beautiful to him. He loved everyfeather on her body.
"I don't want you to be a fledgling again," he cried. "I want you tohelp me make a home under the eaves, a lovely little nest of mud andstraw, where you can rest as you are now doing, while I bring food toyou. Will you?"
"Yes," she cried. "Tittle-ittle-ittle-ee! Oh, tittle-ittle-ittle-ee!"And she flew far up into the blue sky, while he followed her,twittering and singing.
"Where are those young people going?" said an older Swallow. "I shouldthink they had flown far enough for to-day without circling around forthe fun of it."
"Don't you remember the days when you were young?" said the Swallow nextto him.
"When I was young?" he answered. "My dear, I am young now. I shallalways be young in the springtime. I shall never be old except when I ammoulting."
Just then a family of Doves came pattering over the roof, swaying theirheads at every step. "We are so glad to see you back," said the father."We had a long, cold winter, and we thought often of you."
"A very cold winter," cooed his plump little wife.
"Tell me a story," said a young Dove, their son.
"Hush, hush," said the Father Dove. "This is our son," he added, "andthis is his sister. We think them quite a pair. Our last brood, youknow."
"Tell us a story," said the young Dove again.
"Hush, dear. You mustn't tease the Swallow," said his mother. "They areso fond of stories," she cooed, "and they have heard that your familyare great travellers."
"But I want him to tell us a story," said the young Dove. "I think hemight."
This made the Swallow feel very uncomfortable, for he could see that thechildren had been badly brought up, and he did not want to tell a storyjust then.
"Perhaps you would like to hear about our journey south," said he. "Lastfall, when the maples began to show red and yellow leaves among thegreen, we felt like flying away. It was quite warm weather, and theforest birds were still here, but when we feel like flying south wealways begin to get ready."
"I never feel like flying south," said the young Dove. "I don't see whyyou should."
"That is because I am a Swallow and you are a farmyard Dove. We talkedabout it to each other, and one day we were ready to start. We all hadon our new feathers and felt strong and well. We started out together,but the young birds and their mothers could not keep up with the rest,so we went on ahead."
"Ahead of whom?" said the young Dove, who had been preening his featherswhen he should have been listening.
"Ahead of the mothers and their fledglings. We flew over farms wherethere were Doves like you; over rivers where the Wild Ducks were feedingby the shore; and over towns where crowds of boys and girls were goinginto large buildings, while on top of these buildings were large bellssinging, 'Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.'"
"I don't think that was a very pretty song," said the young Dove.
"Hush," said his mother, "you mustn't interrupt the Swallow."
"And at last we came to a great lake," said the Swallow. "It was sogreat that when we had flown over it for a little while we could not seeland at all, and our eyes would not tell us which way to go. We justwent on as birds must in such places, flying as we felt we ought, andnot stopping to ask why or to wonder if we were right. Of course weSwallows never stop to eat, for we catch our food as we fly, but we didsometimes stop to rest. Just after we had crossed this great lake wealighted. It was then that a very queer thing happened, and this isreally the story that I started to tell."
"Oh!" said the young Dove and his sister. "How very exciting. But waitjust a minute while we peep over the edge of the roof and see what thefarmer is doing." And before anybody could say a word they had patteredaway to look.
The birds who were there say that the Swallow seemed quite disgusted,and surely nobody could blame him if he did.
"You must excuse them," cooed their mother. "They are really hardly morethan Squabs yet, and I can't bear to speak severely to them. I'm surethey didn't mean to be rude."
"Certainly, certainly," said the Swallow. "I will excuse them and youmust excuse me. I wish to see a few of my old friends before the sungoes down. Good afternoon!" And he darted away.
The young Doves came pattering back, swaying their heads as they walked."Why, where is the Swallow?" they cried. "What made him go away? Rightat the best part of the story, too. We don't see why folks are sodisagreeable. People never are as nice to us as they are to the otheryoung Doves."
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p; "Hush," said their mother. "You mustn't talk in that way. Fly off forsomething to eat, and never mind about the rest of the story."
When they were gone, she said to her husband, "I wonder if they did hurtthe Swallow's feelings? But then, they are so young, hardly more thanSquabs."
She forgot that even Squabs should be thoughtful of others, and that noDove ever amounts to anything unless he begins in the right way as aSquab.
Among the Farmyard People Page 4
