62 BIRD STORIES FROM BURROUGHS 



of the wrens was the little spruce, into which 

 their pursuer made no attempt to follow them. 

 The female would sit concealed amid the branches, 

 chattering in a scolding, fretful way, while the 

 male with his eye upon his tormentor would 

 perch on the topmost shoot and sing. Why he 

 sang at such times, whether in triumph and de- 

 rision, or to keep his courage up and reassure his 

 mate, I could not make out. When his song was 

 suddenly cut short, and I glanced to see him dart 

 down into the spruce, my eye usually caught a 

 twinkle of blue wings hovering near. The wrens 

 finally gave up the fight, and their enemies reared 

 their second brood in peace. 



