68 birds' eggs 



few moments later, when the wren rushed by 

 me into the cover of a small Norway spruce, 

 hotly pursued by the male bluebird. It was a 

 brown streak and a blue streak pretty close 

 together. The wrens had gone to house-clean- 

 ing, and the bluebird had returned to find his 

 bed and bedding being pitched out-of-doors, 

 and had thereupon given the wrens to under- 

 stand in the most emphatic manner that he had 

 no intention of vacating the premises so early 

 in the season. 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, laugh- 

 ing 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 T had passed the tree in which the cavity 

 was placed, I heard the wren scream desper- 

 ately; 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 pun- 

 ishing 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 blue- 

 bird. He would dart into the stone wall, 



