148 



Wrens in a Coffee Pot. 



easier to slide down on a moonbeam. Here, 

 let me hold the pots while you get astride 

 of this one." 



Charley handed her the plantain tree, and 

 got astride of the moonbeam, but directly 

 he mounted he began to slide down at a 

 rapid rate. The Maid of the Moon reached 

 out the pots to him, but Charley had to 

 hold on with both hands, and was already 

 out of reach. The Maid wept copiously as 

 usual, but you couldn't judge from that 

 how sorry she was as she stood there hold- 

 ing out the two pots, while Charley was 

 gliding down like a streak of greased light- 

 ning. Oh: what a delightful sensation it 

 was, but it came to an end at laSt. After 

 sliding so long that he never thought of 

 coming to the bottom, he suddenly came 



kerllop on the ground, with a shock that 

 made him rebound like a rubber ball. This 

 awoke him. He was lying on the floor by 

 his bed. The moon was shining in at the 

 window, and the moonbeam just reached 

 to his feet. 



He was soon asleep again, and when his 

 mother came to wake him she took up his 

 trousers, and noticed that the seam was 

 split. 



"Oh! Charley," said she, ''why didn't 

 you tell me last night? " 



" But it wasn't torn last night," said 

 Charley. 



"Then, when did you tear it? " asked 

 his mother. 



" I think I must have done it when I was 

 sliding down the moonbeam," said Charley. 



C. F. Amery. 



WRENS IN A COFFEE POT 



SOME time ago two wrens entered my 

 cabin through some of the numerous 

 cracks, and set to work exploring it. I sat 

 still at my table watching them. Their be- 

 havior showed that they were hunting a 

 place to nest. They peeped into every 

 nook and corner, and finally left in a way 

 that seemed to show that they thought 

 they might be able to find better quarters 

 elsewhere. However, in half an hour they 

 returned and began their examinations as 

 before. This time they seemed to reach 

 the conclusion that my cabin would be a 

 desirable place, provided I would move out 

 of it. Having no intention to do this, but 

 wishing to do all I could to please the 

 little birds, I seized an old coffee pot and 

 hung it on a tree near my door, tying it 

 firmly so that the wind would not shake it. 

 In a little while the wrens discovered it 

 and entered it. It appeared to strike them 

 at once as a charming place, a veritable 

 palace, suitable as a residence of the most 

 exacting aristocrats. From their maneuvers 



they evidently thought they had struck it 

 very rich, and blessed their stars for so 

 good fortune. I must confess that I too 

 felt quite a degree of pleasure in perceiving 

 how happy I had made my little visitors. 

 And yet it had all been done by fastening 

 an old worn-out coffee pot in a tree. 



In a little while they were busy transport- 

 ing leaves into the coffee pot, the male 

 laboring as heartily as the female. This 

 shows that he perfectly understood what 

 was going to take place, and what duty 

 demanded of him as a little man. Next 

 day the nest was finished, and it was 

 curious to observe how soft and comfortable 

 they had made it. Inside they had lined 

 it thickly with bits of feathers, shreds of 

 wool, and downy substances picked from 

 the wild flowers; so that to the finger it 

 felt like rich velvet. The next day I found 

 a tiny egg in the nest, and another the day 

 following. After this I failed to count the 

 eggs; for when I looked again a few days 

 afterward the little dame was sitting, and I 



