“It is a delightful place for us,” replied the Barn Swallow; “but now the House People who own the farm are coming back to live here themselves, and everything is turned topsy-turvy.  They should have asked us if we were willing for them to come.  Bird People are of a much older race than House People anyway; it says so in their books, for I heard Rap, the lame boy down by the mill, reading about it one day when he was sitting by the river.”

All the other birds laughed merrily at this, and the Martin said, “Don’t be greedy, Brother Barney; those people are quite welcome to their barns and houses, if they will only let us build in their trees.  Bird People own the whole sky and some of our race dive in the sea and swim in the rivers where no House People can follow us.”

“You may say what you please,” chattered poor unhappy Barney, “everything is awry.  The Wrens always built behind the window-blinds, and now these blinds are flung wide open.  The Song Sparrow nested in the long grass under the lilac bushes, but now it is all cut short; and they have trimmed away the nice mossy branches in the orchard where hundreds of the brothers built.  Besides this, the Bluebird made his nest in a hole in the top of the old gate post, and what have those people done but put up a new post with no hole in it!”

“Dear! dear!  Think of it, think of it!” sang the Bluebird softly, taking his place on the wire with the others.

“What if these people should bring children with them,” continued Barney, who had not finished airing his grievances—­“little boys and cats!  Children who might climb up to our nests and steal our eggs, boys with guns perhaps, and striped cats which no one can see, with feet that make no sound, and such claws and teeth—­it makes me shiver to think of it.”  And all the birds shook so that the wire quivered and the Bank Swallow fell off, or would have fallen, if he had not spread his wings and saved himself.

The Martin had nothing to say to this, but the little Bank Swallow, though somewhat shaken up, whispered, “There may be children who do not rob nests, and other boys like Rap, who would never shoot us.  Cats are always sad things for birds, but these House People may not keep any!” And then he moved down a wire or two, frightened at having given his opinion.

At that moment a Chimney Swift joined the group.  This Swift, who nests in chimneys, is the sooty-colored bird that flies and feeds on the wing like a Swallow, and when he is in the air looks like a big spruce cone with wings.  He was followed by a Catbird, who had been in a honeysuckle, by one of the farmhouse windows, and peeped inside out of curiosity.  Both were excited and evidently bubbling over with news, which half the birds of the orchard were following them to hear.  “I know all about it,” cried the Swift, settling himself for a long talk.