The martins perched on the wires in front of the house and made a saucy chatter, calling the sparrows all sorts of names, I suppose. The sparrows jabbered back at them. In about an hour the martins left.
Early the next morning another flock of martins came. Some perched on the wires, some on the roof, and some on the porches of the martin house. Others flew around in big circles. All were twittering and calling in their happiest manner.
THE MARTINS’ AIRCASTLE
I had driven the sparrows away the night before, and this is how I did it: I put a few big nails into a tin can, then closed the can and tied it to a long stick. With this stick I banged the can against the martin house pole again and again. It frightened the sleeping sparrows. By the moonlight I could see six come out and fly away; but I think there were more.
Two pairs of sparrows came back in the morning. They had made their nests side by side in the third story. Long grasses were hanging out from the entrances. Perhaps the martins were sorry for them; anyway, it looked as if they were willing to play fair. They did not chase them off any more; and the sparrows, being now so few, no longer molested the martins.
The martins now began to clean house. There were wads of chicken feathers and some broken eggs among the rubbish which they threw out. This was soon replaced by straws and sticks which they brought for their own nesting. I could only count twelve pairs of martins, so that there were plenty of rooms for them and the sparrows too. I suppose one reason why the sparrows were unwelcome is because they are such untidy housekeepers as to render close neighboring with them insanitary.
The more I see of martins, the better I like them. They are always cheerful, always busy. Their shiny, purple plumage, broad shoulders, and tapering body give them a distinguished air. These purple birds are the father martins. The mother martins’ back feathers, when exposed to the sunlight, have all the shades of violet. In front they are cream-colored, and finely speckled.
These violet-colored ones stayed around home more than the others; this is why I took them to be the mothers. The father martins flew around and brought in the provisions, which they caught on the wing. On returning a martin would sometimes sit on the porch and sing into the room to his mate; or she would come out to him, and the two would coo to each other in the most affectionate manner.
The martins were also friendly with all their bird neighbors. But they were so high up that their housekeeping was for the most part a secret which they wanted to keep to themselves. It was hard to tell what they had to eat, except when one caught a dragonfly or a grasshopper. When one got a big catch like that, he usually held it squirming in his bill a while as if he was proud of it and wanted to show it off. Or maybe he tried in this way to prolong the enjoyment of it. When it began to disappear in his bill the body always went first and the wings last.