THE NEW TENANTS. 



By Elanora Kinsley Marble. 



Under the eaves in an old tin pot, 



Six little birds lie in a nest; 

 The mother bird broods them with her wings, 



And her downy-feathered breast. 

 With "coos" and "chirps" she tells her love 



As human mothers do, 

 Says "tootsy, wootsy, mammy's dove, 



And papa's tootsy, too." 



Pierre gazed after Bridget with a 

 perplexed look. 



"A-a-what?" he inquired: " I never 

 heard that word before." 



" Oh, you did'nt," returned Henry 

 with a wise air, " if I'm not mistaken 

 a Hornithologist has reference to a 

 Horned Owl. Has it not. Mama?" 



"It might if there were such a word," 

 she replied, with a laugh. " Bridget 

 meant an Ornithologist, the scientific 

 name for students of birds and their 

 ways. But come, Mrs. Wren shows 

 signs of uneasiness; we must not dis- 

 turb her again to-day." 



"I'm truly glad they are gone," 

 said Mrs. Wren, as her spouse flew 

 over to the tin pot. "It makes me 

 very nervous when they all stand 

 about and stare at me so." 



" Of course it does," sympathizingly 

 replied Mr. Wren, " but now, let me 

 get another peep at the little darling. 

 My, what a lovely little creature it 

 is ? " and Mr. Wren whisked his tail 

 and chirped to the baby in a truly 

 papa-like fashion. 



"And to think that moon-faced 

 Bridget said it was the 'skinniest, 

 ugliest little baste she iver saw'," 

 indignantly returned Mrs. Wren, 

 mimicking Bridget's brogue to perfec- 



tion. "The precious little thing?" 

 turning the birdling over with her 

 bill, " why, he is the very image of 

 his father." 



" Do you think so?" a little doubt- 

 fully, " It seems to me that-that " 



" Oh, you will see when his hair, or 

 rather feathers grow out and his lovely 

 black eyes open. Just look at his dear 

 little tootsy-wootsy's," kissing the long 

 scrawny toes, "my, how glad I am 

 that the eldest is a boy. Little 

 Dorothy will have a brother to protect 

 her, you know." 



" Don't count your chickens before 

 they are hatched, my dear," warned 

 Mr. Wren, never forgetful of the many 

 dangers surrounding a nest full of 

 sggs, or young birds. "Mr. Jay, or 

 Mr. Owl, or Mr. Hawk, might yet pay 

 us a visit and — " 



"Or a collector might come along," 

 said Mrs. Wren, " and carry off eggs, 

 birdling, and all. Oh how that 

 thought frightens me," and the poor 

 little mother cowered deeper down in 

 the nest uttering a plaintive, shudder- 

 ing cry. 



"There, there!" said Mr. Wren, 

 caressing her with his bill, " time 

 enough to cross the stream when we 

 come to it. Our landlord will protect 



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