a tree, and in ten seconds every little 

 head was under a wing, and every 

 little Wren sound asleep. 



" Well," said Mr. Wren one day, 

 " the children are old enough now to 

 take care of themselves, and we must 

 begin, my dear, to build a nest in which 

 once more to begin housekeeping." 



" It will not be in an old tin pot this 

 time," replied Mrs. Wren, with a toss 

 of her head, " and furthermore, Mr. 

 Wren, I intend to have entirely new 

 furniture." 



" Of course, of course," assented her 

 mate, " whoever heard of a Wren rais- 

 ing a second brood in the same nest? 

 We are much too neat and nice for 

 that, my dear." 



u We," sniffed Mrs. Wren, ever ready 

 for -quarrel. " I'd like to know, Mr. 

 Wren, what you had to do with build- 

 ing the nest, I would, really! Humph!" 

 and Mrs. Wren flirted her tail over 

 her head and laughed shrilly. 



"I brought the first sticks, my 

 dear," he answered mildly, " and didn't 

 I do all the house hunting ? Besides, 

 I forgot to tell you, that when looking 

 about in April, I found two other 

 apartments which, if the tin-pot had 

 not appeared suitable, I intended to 

 offer you. In order to secure them I 

 partly furnished each, so that other 

 house hunters would know they were 

 not 'to let.'" 



" Humph ! " returned Mrs. Wren, 

 though exceedingly well pleased, u I'll 

 wager we'll find a Sparrow family in 

 each one of them." 



" No we won't," chuckled Mr. Wren 

 " for the houses I selected were much 

 too small for Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow to 

 squeeze in." 



" You clever fellow," exclaimed Mrs. 

 Wren, pecking him gleefully with her 

 bill. " I am proud of my hubby, I am, 

 indeed," and Mr. Wren laughed, and 

 hopped about, never hinting to his 

 innocent spouse that all the gentlemen 

 Wrens did the same thing every year. 



The next day, while preening their 

 feathers, and getting ready for a visit 

 to the apartments Mr. Wren had 

 spoken of, a cry of distress smote upon 

 their ears. 



" That sounds like our Dorothy's 

 voice," said Mrs. Wren, her little 

 knees knocking together in fright. 



" It is Dorothy calling for help," 

 assented Mr. Wren. " I left the 

 children in the orchard. Come, let us 

 fly over there as quickly as we can." 



On the ground, under some bushes, 

 they found huddled their frightened 

 group of little ones, while above, on a 

 limb of a tree, perched Mr. and Mrs. 

 Jay, uttering at intervals their harsh 

 cry of jay, jay, jay. 



" Its our Bobbie," cried Mrs. Wren, 

 aghast, after she had counted her 

 brood and found one of them missing, 

 " look at him fighting over there with 

 that young Jay." 



" That's it, give it to him," screamed 

 the delighted Mr. Jay to his young 

 son, " hit him in the eye, my boy, hit 

 him in the eye." 



Mr. and Mrs. Wren flew about Bob- 

 bie uttering cries of distress. 



" Fair play, fair play," cried papa 

 Jay, flying down almost upon Mr. 

 Wren's back. " Give the young ones 

 a chance, or " 



A loud, sharp twitter from the tree 

 top caused Mr. Jay to glance up. 



" My old enemy," he exclaimed, his 

 crest falling at once, as a low crown 

 encircling a pompon of orange-red 

 showed itself among the green 

 branches. " That tyrant, Mr. King- 

 bird. He's always meddling in other 

 people's affairs, he is. I'd like to 

 wring his neck. Come, Mrs. Jay; come, 

 my son," he screamed, and off they 

 flew to boast of the victory among 

 their neighbors. 



" I hope your little boy is not much 

 hurt," said Mr. Kingbird rather pomp- 

 ously, " I arrived just in the nick of 

 time, I think." 



