"Besides, they sing their beautiful songs here. They never sing them in the South. We like to think that they love the North better. But, of course, we do not know."
"How can they find their way back?" asked Polly.
"We do not know that, either, Polly. Many birds fly in the nighttime. Then they rest a part of the day."
"I couldn't find my way in the dark," said Polly.
"But the birds can," said father. "We do not know how. The winter home of some of our birds is thousands of miles from here."
"I like to watch the swallows," said Polly. "They sit in a line on a telephone wire. Then one flies to another wire. In a minute they all fly, too.
"I think that they are talking about going away soon. I hope they will not get lost."
"Yes," said father. "They will soon be gone. But perhaps some of these very birds will come back here next summer."
"I wish we could know them," said Polly.
"We shall have a few birds left this winter," said father. "You know some of them. You know the chick-a-dees and the woodpeckers. And this winter I shall show you others."