"Yes—that is, about some House People."
"I wish so many of the Bird Brotherhood did not leave in the winter; it makes me quite sad," murmured the Bluebird.
"Yes. Stay-at-homes, like yourself and Robins and Finches, must feel very lonely without us," said Barney kindly; "but I think likely these House People will scatter food about, so that at least you will not be hungry—that is, unless they migrate too, as the Catbird says they sometimes do." "Dear, dear! Think of it, think of it!" warbled the Bluebird.
"Zeay! zeay!" screamed the Catbird, flying up. "N-e-w-s! N-e-w-s! The House People are to stay at our farm all winter! The man who owns this farm, the big girl, and the little girl and boy—and the mother and father bird they belong to—they are all down in the orchard, talking about it now—how they are going to something they call 'school,' over in the village, and how that boy who hops along on one leg with a stick under his wing is going with them."
"Did they say anything about the Bird Brotherhood?"
"No, but I heard them say that when the snow falls they are going up to those horrid dark Owl woods to see the foxes and little fur beasts—'Four-footed Americans' our House Man calls them."
"He gave me a better name than that," said the Barn Swallow, "one day when he was telling the children about the Brotherhood, over in the old barn. He looked straight at me and said a whole tree full of nice things."
"What did he call you? What did he say about the Brotherhood?" asked all the others, crowding around Barney.
"He said that I swept the sky free of evil insects, that I was patriotic in coming back to my birthplace to nest, and that I worked to pay my rent and taxes, and—"
"And what?" cried the others in excitement.