THE NEW TENANTS, 



By Elanora Kinsley Marble. 



The next day Mrs. Jenny retired into 

 the tin pot, and later, when Mr. Wren 

 peeped in, lo! an egg^ all spotted with 

 red and brown, lay upon the soft lining 

 of the nest. 



" It's quite the prettiest thing in the 

 world," proudly said Mr. Wren. 

 "Why, my dear> I don't believe your 

 cousin, Mrs. John Wren, ever laid one 

 like it. It seems to me those spots 

 upon the shell are very remarkable. 

 I shouldn't be surprised if the bird 

 hatched from that shell will make a 

 name for himself in bird-land some 

 day, I really shouldn't." 



" You foolish fellow," laughed Mrs. 

 Wren, playfully pecking him with her 

 bill, " If you were a Goose your Gos- 

 lings, in your eyes, would all be Swans. 

 That's what I heard our landlady say 

 to her husband last night, out on 

 the porch, when he wondered which 

 one of his boys would be president of 

 the United States." 



Mr. Wren chuckled in a truly papa- 

 like manner and pecked her bill in 

 return, then fairly bubbling over with 

 happiness flew to a neighboring limb, 

 and burst into such a merry roundelay, 

 one note tumbling over another in 

 Wren fashion, that every member of 

 the household came out to hear and 

 see. 



" There he is," cried Pierre, as Mrs. 

 Wren left her nest and flew over beside 



him, " with tail down and head up, 

 singing as though he were mad with 

 joy." 



"Sucn a rapturous song," said 

 mamma. "It reminds me of two almost 

 forgotten lines : 



'Brown Wren, from out wbose swelling throat 

 Unstinted joys of music float.' " 



" How v/ell we are repaid for the 

 litter they made, are we not? " 



" And sure, mum," said Bridget, 

 whose big heart had also been touched 

 by the sweet song, " its glad I am, for 

 sure, that I wasn't afther dispossessin' 

 your tinents. Its innocent craythurs 

 they be, God bless 'em, a harmin' ov 

 no wan. Sthill — " 



" Well," queried her mistress, as 

 Bridget paused. 



" Sthill, mum, I do be afther won- 

 derin' if the tin-pot had been a hangin' 

 under the front porch instead of the 

 back, would ye's been after takin' the 

 litter so philosophyky like as ye have, 

 mum, to be sure." 



The mistress looked at Bridget and 

 laughingly shook her head. 



"That's a pretty hard nut to crack, 

 Bridget," said she. " Under those 



conditions I am afraid I " What 



ever admission she was going to make 

 was cut short by a burst of laughter 

 from the children. 



" Look at him, mamma, just look at 

 him," they cried, pointing to Mr. Wren, 



77 



