OUR VALLEY. 9 



one of her little birds lay dead at the foot of the 

 tree, and I trembled for the others, for the school- 

 children were near neighbors. Surely the old 

 bird needed all her devices to protect her young". 

 One day I saw on one side of the nest, below 

 the big ears of the mother, the round head of a 

 nestling. 



It was pleasant to leave the road to ride out un- 

 der the oaks along the way. There was always the 

 delightful feeling that one might see a new bird 

 or find some little friend just gone to housekeep- 

 ing. One morning I discovered a bit of a wren 

 under an oak with building material in her bill. 

 She flew down to a box that lay under the tree 

 and I dismounted to investigate. A tin can lay 

 on its side in the box, and a few twigs and yellow- 

 ish brown oak leaves were scattered about in a 

 casual way, but the rusted lid of the can was half 

 turned back, and well out of sight in the inside 

 was a pretty round nest with one egg in it. I 

 was delighted, — such an appropriate place for a 

 wren's nest, — and sat down for her to come back. 

 She was startled to find me there, and stopped on 

 the edge of the board when just ready to jump 

 down. She would have made a pretty picture as 

 she stood hesitating, with her tail over her back, 

 for the sun lit up her gray breast till it almost 

 glistened and warmed her pretty brown head as 

 she looked wistfully down at the box. After 

 twisting and turning she went off to think the 



