upon a sure foundation. Love makes 

 her home there, too. Dear little tin- 

 pot ! Chicken feathers or straw, what 

 does it matter ? " and home Mrs. Jenny 

 hastened, very thankful in her dream 

 for the protecting walls, and over- 

 hanging porch, as well as the feeling 

 of security afforded by her sympathetic 

 human neighbors. 



The fourteen days in truth did seem 

 very long to Mrs. Wren, but cheered 

 by her mate's love songs and an 

 occasional outing — all her persuasions 

 could not induce Mr. Wren to brood 

 the eggs in her absence — it wasn't a 

 man's work, he said — the time at 

 length passed, and the day came when 

 a tiny yellow beak thrust itself through 

 the shell, and in a few hours, to the 

 parents delight, a little baby Wren 

 was born. 



Mr. Wren was so overcome with joy 

 that off he flew to the nearest tree, and 

 with drooping tail and wings shaking 

 at his side, announced, in a gush of 

 song, to the entire neighborhood the 

 fact that he was a papa. 



"A pa-pa, is it?" exclaimed Bridget, 

 attracted by the bird's manner to 

 approach the nest. " From watchin' 

 these little crathers it do same I'm 

 afther understandin' bird talk and bird- 

 ways most like the misthress herself," 

 and with one big red finger she gently 

 pushed the angry Mrs. Wren aside and 

 took a peep at the new born bird. 



" Howly mither ! " said she, retreat- 

 ing in deep disgust, "ov all the skinny, 

 ugly little bastes ! Shure and its all 

 head and no tail, with niver a feather 

 to kiver its nakedness. It's shamed 

 I'd be, Mr. Wren, to father an ugly 

 crather loike that, so I would," and 

 Bridget, who had an idea that young 



birds came into the world prepared at 

 once to fly, shook her head sadly, and 

 went into the house to inform the 

 family of the event. 



One by one the children peeped 

 into the nest and all agreed with 

 Bridget that it was indeed a very ugly 

 little birdling which lay there. 



" Wish I could take it out, mama," 

 said Dorothy, "and put some of my 

 doll's clothes on it. It is such a 

 shivery looking little thing." 



"Ugh!" exclaimed Walter, "what 

 are those big balls covered with skin 

 on each side of its head ; and when 

 will it look like a bird, mama?" 



" Those balls are its eyes," she 

 laughingly replied, " which will open 

 in about five days. The third day 

 you will perceive a slate-colored down 

 or fuzz upon its head. On the fourth 

 its wing feathers will begin to show. 

 On the seventh the fuzz will become 

 red-brown feathers on its back and 

 white upon its breast. The ninth day 

 it will fly a little way, and on the 

 twelfth will leave its nest for good." 



" An' its a foine scholard ye's are, to 

 be shure, mum," said Bridget in open- 

 mouthed admiration. " Whoiver 'ud 

 hev thought a mite ov a crather loike 

 that 'ud be afther makin' so interes- 

 thing a study. Foreninst next spring, 

 God willin,' she added^ " its meself, 

 Bridget O'Flaherty, as will be one ov 

 them same." 



" Oneof them same what ?" inquired 

 her mistress laughingly. 



" Horn-ith-owl-ogists, mum," replied 

 Bridget, not without much difficulty, 

 and with a flourish of her fine red arms 

 and a triumphant smile upon her 

 round face, Bridget returned to her 

 kitchen and work again. 



[TO BE CONTINUED] 



159 



