THE HOUSE WREN 51 



tion of vacating the premises so early in the sea- 

 son. Day after day, for more than two weeks, the 

 male bluebird had to clear his premises of these 

 intruders. It occupied much of his time and not 

 a little of mine, as I sat with a book in a summer- 

 house near by, laughing at his pretty fury and 

 spiteful onset. On two occasions the wren rushed 

 under the chair in which I sat, and a streak of 

 blue lightning almost flashed in my very face. 

 One day, just as I had passed the tree in which 

 the cavity was located, I heard the wren scream 

 desperately; turning, I saw the little vagabond 

 fall into the grass with the wrathful bluebird 

 fairly upon him ; the latter had returned just in 

 time to catch him, and was evidently bent on 

 punishing him well. But in the squabble in the 

 grass the wren escaped and took refuge in the 

 friendly evergreen. The bluebird paused for a 

 moment with outstretched wings looking for the 

 fugitive, then flew away. A score of times during 

 the month of June did I see the wren taxing 

 every energy to get away from the bluebird. He 

 would dart into the stone wall, under the floor of 

 the summer-house, into the weeds, anywhere 

 to hide his diminished head. The bluebird, with 

 his bright coat, looked like an officer in uniform 

 in pursuit of some wicked, rusty little street 

 gamin. Generally the favorite house of refuge 



