SALLY THE HOUSE WREN SOI 



I tell the story of Sally the house wren, an old friend 

 of my boyhood days, because Sally was such a shrewd, 

 bright, pert little mother and was so typical of the family 

 that her story will give a good idea of wrens in general. 



One day late in April I was visiting my old uncle, 

 David Halferty. I liked to visit there, for Uncle Dave was 

 a most interesting story-teller and Aunt Polly was a master 

 hand at fishing. I thought their house was the most beau- 

 tiful in all the world, and it was situated in the only 

 spruce grove I ever saw in my childhood days. The spruce 

 had been set out; but those who planted them had been 

 wise enough not to put them in straight rows, so no 

 one would have known that they had not come up them- 

 selves. 



Another interesting thing to me was their well. Our 

 well at home was properly covered with a platform on 

 which was a pump, and when we wanted water we simply 

 pumped it. The same was true of all the neighbors' wells, 

 but Uncle Dave's well was different. It was some forty- 

 five feet deep, had a beautiful old well house over it, and 

 the water was drawn with a windlass and two buckets. One 

 of the first things that always happened when I reached 

 that place was that I suddenly became thirsty and ran 

 to the well for the novelty of pulling up a great brimming 

 pail of water and watching the other pail go down and 

 sink out of sight in the depths below. Another attraction 

 was that the only hammock I had ever seen was stretched 

 between two of these great spruce trees, and a boy was free 

 to play in it as much as he pleased. 



I went over to Uncle Dave's early one morning in 

 spring. As usual. Uncle Dave took it upon himself to 

 entertain me until dinner by showing me about the placet 



