Bird on a stone, each added his appeal to eye and ear, till Sam
exclaimed:

"Oh, ain't that awful nice?" and Yan was dumb with a sort of saddened
joy.

Birds hate the wind, and this was one of those birdy days that come
only with a dead calm.

They passed a barn with two hundred pairs of Swallows flying and
twittering around, a cut bank of the road had a colony of 1,000 Sand
Martins, a stream had its rattling Kingfishers, and a marsh was the
playground of a multitude of Red-winged Blackbirds.

Yan was lifted up with the joy of the naturalist at seeing so many
beautiful living things. Sam felt it, too; he grew very silent, and
the last half-mile to the "Corner" was passed without a word. The
boots were got. Sam swung them around his neck and the boys set out
for home. The sun was gone, but not the birds, and the spell of the
evening was on them still. A Song Sparrow by the brook and a Robin
high in the Elm were yet pouring out their liquid notes in the
gloaming.

"I wish I could be always here," said Yan, but he started a little
when he remembered how unwilling he had been to come.

There was a long silence as they lingered on the darkening road. Each
was thinking hard.

A loud, startling but soft "Ohoo--O-hoo--O-hoooooo," like the coo of a