"We would have you to wit, that on eggs though we sit, And are spiked on the spit, and are baked in a pan; Birds are older by far than your ancestors are, And made love and made war, ere the making of man!" A party of Swallows perched on the telegraph wires beside the highway where it passed Orchard Farm. They were resting after a breakfast of insects, which they had caught on the wing, after the custom of their family. As it was only the first of May they had plenty of time before nest-building, and so were having a little neighborly chat.…
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