"But the glorious feeling of freedom!" said Mr. Thompson.
"Oh yes," answered the swallow, sarcastically. "Come with me; I'll show you."
The two flew out of the barn, and after wheeling around for a few minutes, flew up to a large vane on top of the carriage-house. Mr. Thompson had often seen the swallows perched on this vane, twittering and fighting among themselves. This morning he had a feeling of elation at being there himself, and shook his wings proudly. Bang! whiz! the shot flew around him, and two of his companions fell fluttering to the ground. Just then he heard two boyish voices exclaim,
"It's awful hard to hit a swaller on the wing, but you can shoot 'em sittin' like pie."
Mr. Thompson and his friend were uninjured; and as they flew away in alarm, the bird said, in an ironical tone, "Such a feeling of freedom!"
Mr. Thompson said nothing, but flew back to the barn. After resting for a moment, the swallow said, "Let's go up to the Sound and visit my cousins, the bank-swallows."
Mr. Thompson followed the bird, and skimmed over the fields, snapping up a fly or two by the way, until they reached the high sand-cliffs which border Long Island Sound. Here, high up on the cliffs, were a number of small round holes; flying about them, and darting out and in were a number of small gray birds; sitting on a fence rail not far off were nearly a hundred more solemnly sunning themselves.
"I'll introduce you to one of them, and he will show you around," said Mr. Thompson's friend.
After the introduction had been effected, the bank-swallow said, in an inquiring tone, "You are interested in birds?"
"Yes," said Mr. Thompson; "theirs is so glorious and free a life."