"'No robin or chickadee could build such nests as the swallow'"
"I notice there are a great many chicken feathers in the barnyard. I shall line my nest with the softest, fluffiest feathers that I can find there.
"By and bye my little mate will sit in the dear clay nest and over four or five or possibly six little eggs."
"I shall never be able to see them," sighed Phyllis. "They are up so high. Tell me about them."
"Oh, my eggs are beautiful," said the swallow. "They are white with just a little rose tint. They are spotted with fine dots of brown and purple, and are about three-quarters of an inch long.
"We shall probably have three broods of birdlings this summer. What a happy, happy time we shall have!"
All this time the swallow was darting and wheeling and circling about Phyllis in a most graceful manner.
"Are you never still?" asked Phyllis, at last. "I do not believe you even stop to eat."
"I do not," said the swallow, darting after a big blue fly. "I eat on the fly." And then he burst into a giggling twitter.
"I catch nearly all my food on the wing. No one can complain—as they do of the robin—of our destroying fruit.
"We do not care for fruit at all. I would rather have a dozen nice fat flies than all the cherries in the world!"
"Well," laughed Phyllis, "I'd rather have a dozen ripe cherries than all the flies in the world!"
"Tastes differ," twittered the swallow.