THE WREN 295 



weather. So, too, on gorse and bramble-covered wastes, where the 

 undergrowth is thick, small birds find food and warmth amongst the 

 roots and branches of these low-growing shrubs. I have just placed 

 the thermometer behind the ivy against my fence and found it 

 registered 30 F. at 7 P.M., whereas on the open lawn it sunk to 

 18 F. Stable and farm-yards, too, abound with wrens in hard weather, 

 so that in the matter of food supply I cannot help thinking Nature 

 is kinder to her tiny children than to those of larger growth. In any 

 case, it must be a very severe frost to have any chastening effect upon 

 a wren's spirits, for the song may be heard more or less all the year 

 round. 



An interesting fact, recorded as long ago as 1844, in the Zoologist 

 of that year (p. 564), is worth noting in connection with the feeding 

 habits of the wren. One was distinctly seen to " walk over head into 

 the water by the shallow margin of a brook, as if in search of insect 

 food. This action it repeated several times in quick succession, and 

 then, as if it had secured the object of its search, darted off into a 

 neighbouring bush." The fact is all the more interesting, as it seems 

 to bring the wren closer, not only in structure, but also in habit, to 

 the dipper, the species to be described in the next chapter. 



Both male and female wrens take turns in incubating, and when 

 the clamorous brood is hatched, the parents have all their work cut 

 out to feed so many mouths. I unintentionally turned out a young 

 family from a nest beneath the thatch of a cow-shed last spring. 

 Some sat on the thatch, some on a fence, and one in a bush near at 

 hand. The adult birds scolded and raged, but did not neglect one 

 of the seven ; whether they lured them back into the old home at 

 night I don't know, but next day they were all in its vicinity. 



Even in these enlightened days the idea is afloat that the wren is 

 the robin's mate ! Ignorance and superstition die hard. It is all 

 owing to that fabulous little nursery story about Cock Robin and 

 Jenny Wren, and has no foundation in actual fact ; though, curiously 

 enough, in looking carefully through the Migration Reports of Mr. 



