ON THE SHORE By the first of August, bird housekeeping was over at Orchard Farm.

The Barn Swallow had guided her last brood through the hayloft window, without having it closed upon her as she had feared.

The friendly Robins had left the Orchard and lawn, to moult in the quiet of the woods.

The Thrashers, and Catbirds too, were quite silent and invisible; of all the voices that had made the last three months so musical, the Red-eyed Vireo and the Song Sparrow alone persisted in singing, aided by a few Wood Thrushes.
"Rap says that August is a poor month for birds about here," said Nat to his uncle; "do you think there will be more of them down at the shore ?" "That we cannot tell until we go there, but we are likely to meet some of the Wading and Swimming Birds who have nested in the far North, and are on their southward journey.

If the weather is pleasant, they often pass by far out at sea; but if it is foggy or stormy, they may stop awhile to rest and feed." "Do many of these birds nest near our beach ?" "A few, but the greater number breed further north.