94 American Birds 



it be possible the nest was deserted? Visions of all sorts 

 of bird accidents flashed through my mind as I swung up 

 into the branches and rapped at the round door. All was 

 dark within ; not even the white eggs could be seen. This 

 was bad luck indeed, I thought. Then, with the aid of 

 a little mirror that is always handy to examine dark 

 cracks, I reflected a ray of light through the door to the 

 innermost depths. There sat the mother, her brown back 

 almost indistinguishable from the dry sides of the house, 

 but those round dark eyes gleamed out from the gloom. 

 Nor did she have any idea of deserting her post for all the 

 knocking without. 



When I visited the little wooden home the first week 

 in July there was a decided turn in the tide of wren affairs. 

 The news was heralded from the tree-tops. The energy 

 that had been used in keeping the secret of the little home 

 a week previous was doubled in the eagerness to spread 

 it among feathered neighbors far and wide. For two long 

 weeks the mother and father had covered and caressed 

 their five eggs of speckled white until they suddenly 

 teemed with inward life, and five tiny bodies burst forth 

 from the prison walls. 



The father wren — It Is often the case — was rather 

 timid while we were around. He had a particular fear 

 and dislike for the great three-legged, one-eyed creature — 

 my camera — that was hidden dragonlike so near his 

 home. Birds have many enemies, and a nest Is seldom left 

 without its guard. We soon discovered that this was the 

 father's duty. His harsh, scolding note, sounded from 

 the surrounding boughs, always reminded us that we were 

 trespassing. 



