"Gee! Look at the birds!" exclaimed Michael. "Wait till I shy a rock at them."
"No, you don't," replied Jeanne, firmly. "Those are Old Captain's birds. I'll tell him to thrash you if you bother them. He showed them to me last night. Now watch."
Everybody watched. The birds were flying in a wide circle above the top of the old chimney. They had formed themselves into a regular procession. They circled and circled and circled; and all the time more birds arrived to join the procession. They were twittering in a curious, excited way. This lasted for at least ten minutes. Then, suddenly, part of the huge circle seemed to touch the chimney top.
"Why!" gasped Michael, "they look as if they were pouring themselves right into that chimney like—like—"
"Like so much water. Yes, they're really going in. See, they're almost gone. They're putting themselves to bed. They're chimney swallows—they sleep in there. See there!"
Two belated birds, too late to join the procession, scurried out of the darkening sky, and twittering frenziedly, hurled themselves into the mouth of the towering stack.
"They're policemen," said Michael. "They've sent all the others to jail."
"Then what about that one!" asked Jeanne, as a last lone bird, all but shrieking as it scurried through the sky, hurled itself down the chimney.
"That one almost got caught," said Sammy. "See, there's a big bird that was chasing it."
"A night-hawk," said Jeanne. "Old Captain says there's always one late bird and one big hawk to chase it. Now we must hurry back—it'll soon be dark."