AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 23 



Jack waited^, and waited, till finally upon one May morning, Sir Christo- 

 phr Wren and his wee wife, Jenny, came to town; they were looking for a 

 rent, and when they saw the barrel in the oak they decided that 

 nothing could suit them better and at once proceeded to engage summer 

 apartments. 



With an unlimited amount of chattering, the furnishing was begun. 

 Twigs, hay, feathers were carried in. Over and over again did Jenny 

 attempt to enter with a stick so long that it was forced from her bill to the 

 ground below by the lintels of the small doorway. 



The English Sparrows made many an assault upon them, but once within 

 the house, the Wrens were safe, and uttered cries of defiance against the 

 foreign intruders. 



In the course of time the nest was completed, and patiently Jenny sat 

 upon seven thickly speckled eggs — all through incubation and until the little 

 ones went out into the world to seek their fortunes. Sir Christopher sang a 

 merry roundelay, and the yard seemed very lonely and quiet when our nine 

 diminutive neighbors flew away, hundreds of miles to a winter home. 



That was a year ago. With the return of spring, back came our jolly 

 brown couple. Meantime winter rains and Jack Frost's freezes had warped 

 the round house in the oak. The head of the barrel, which was next to the 

 tree trunk had sprung away, leaving a gap of nearly an inch at the rear. 

 Would Jenny and Chris approve of such quarters? They spent several days 

 arguing, scolding and even quarreling over the situation, then disappeared, 

 no doubt to search for a more up-to-date residence. But perhaps desirable 

 rents were scarce, or the love of the old homestead prevailed, for in the 

 course of a week, to Jack's great delight, they reappeared, and the story of 

 the previous summer was repeated, disproving the tradition that one ray 

 of light would addle the eggs of a wren. 



The middle of July brought a week of stifling heat, then the wisdom of 

 the Wren's choice was made evident. With a front door and a back door 

 too, the babies received the benefit of every passing breeze. Father Wren 

 would rush to the garden, seize a plump worm, or insect, return with it to 

 the top of the barrel, and with palpitating wings burst into a paroxysm 

 of song, then slip over the roof to the back door entrance, and pass down 

 the choice morsel to Mother Wren within : with another outburst of song, 

 away he would dash after more food. I would not dare say how many 

 times an hour this performance was repeated. 



Occasionally Jenny, herself, would venture forth, but she always seemed 

 to choose the circular front door for her exit and entrance. Should Father 

 Wren chance to come before her return home, he would enter the back door, 

 feed the children, and slip through the house out of the front door. He al- 

 ways announced his arrival in an excited burst of song, as if to say, "I'm 



