" Oh, my Bobby," wailed Mrs. Wren, 

 wiping the blood from his face, " that 

 dreadful Jay has scratched out one of 

 his eyes." 



" How did it happen ? " sternly in- 

 quired Mr. Wren, " tell me the truth 

 or " 



Dorothy interrupted her father with 

 loud sobbing. 



" I — I was flirting," she stammered 

 "just a little^ with young Mr. Jay, papa 

 — you know how handsome he is, and 

 bold — when Bobby steps up, and he 

 says — he says — " 



" Well, go on, my little miss," said 

 Mr. Kingbird, deeply interested, "what 

 did your brother say ? " 



" He said," wiping her eyes with a 

 corner of her wing, "that 'birds of a 

 feather flock together,' and a girl with 

 such a grandpa as I had should be 

 ashamed to associate with the son of a 

 robber and coward like Mr. Bluejay. 

 and so " 



"And so young Mr. Jay pitched into 

 me," interrupted Bobbie, "and I 

 pitched into him. I'd a licked him, 

 too. Pop," he added, flourishing his 

 crippled leg, "if his old pa and ma 

 hadn't come up when they did and 

 told him to hit me in the eye." 



"A chip off the old block, ma'am," 

 said Mr. Kingbird, who had heard of 

 Mrs. Wren's fighting papa, "a chip off 

 the old block, I see. Well, good-day 

 all, good-day. As your son wisely 

 says 'birds of a feather flock together,' 

 and it wouldn't look well, you know, 

 for a person of my aristocratic appear- 

 ance to be seen in such humble com- 

 pany. So good-day, good-day," and 

 off the pompous fellow flew leaving 

 Mr. and Mrs Wren decidedly angry 

 though grateful. 



Another week found the pair build- 

 ing a nest in the cavity of a maple 

 tree near the study window. To the 

 sticks and straws which Mr. Wren had 

 placed therein early in the season, 

 Mrs. Wren added spider webs and 



cocoons, lining the nest, or furnishing 

 it as she called it, with horsehair and 

 the downiest goose and duck feathers 

 she could procure. 



" There! " said she, when all was 

 completed and the first o.'g'g laid, "Mrs. 

 John can't sneer at our home now. 

 No coarse chicken feathers, or stable 

 straw this time, Mr. Wren. We will 

 use the other apartment you chose for 

 the third brood, for three we are to 

 have this summer as well as Mrs. John. 

 When we go south in November, our 

 family I intend shall be as large as 

 hers." 



Mr. Wren made no answer, but, 

 possibly being such an uncommonly 

 wise bird, inwardly marveled over that 

 imperious force, that wonderful in- 

 stinct which made it necessary for 

 them and all the feathered tribe to 

 reproduce their kind. 



Very carefully, one winter's day, 

 Bridget removed the nest from the tin- 

 pot and wreathing it in ribbons, hung 

 it above her chest of drawers in the 

 the attic. 



" It do same," said she to the chil- 

 dren, who prided themselves upon their 

 knowledge of the looks and habits of 

 the House Wren, " that in sthudoin 

 the birds this summer I do be afther 

 learnin' a lesson I wasn't expectin^ 

 meself at all." 



"A lesson?" said they curiously. 



" Indade! Its young ye's aire, me 

 darlint's, to be thinkin' of the same, 

 but sure its not meself that'll ever be 

 forgetten the patience, ingenuity, 

 industhry, and conjoogal love of 

 the wee pair. Faith but it was a 

 purty sight. Dumb animals indade ! 

 Niver sphake to me of dumb animals, 

 for be St. Patrick, if them two blessed 

 little crathers didn't talk, schold,make 

 love, and sing in a langwidge all their 

 own, then me grandfather's name 

 wasn't Dinnis, and I'm not Bridget 

 O'Flaherty, at all, at all." 

 [the end.] 



