172 A-BIRDING ON A BRONCO. 



The mother bird fed them several times when 

 I was watching only a few feet away. She would 

 come ambling along in the pretty wren fashion, 

 with her tail over her back ; creeping down the 

 side of a lath, running behind a rafter, scolding 

 as though to make conversation, and then wind- 

 ing down to the nest through a crack. One day 

 she hesitated, and waited to spy at me, since I 

 had thought it polite to stare at her ! When sat- 

 isfied, she hopped along from beam to beam, her 

 bright e}^es still upon me. Then her mate joined 

 her. He had been suspicious of me at our first 

 meeting, but apparently had changed his mind, 

 for, seeing his spouse hesitate, he glanced at me 

 unconcernedly, as much as to say, " Is she all 

 you 're waiting for ? " and flew out, leaving her to 

 my tender mercies. She hopped meekly into the 

 bag after that rebuke, but stretched up to peer at 

 me once more before settling down inside. 



One day when I looked in to see how wren 

 matters were progressing, to my amazement and 

 horror, instead of my wren's nest I found another, 

 high in the mouth of the bag with one fresh egg 

 in it ! The egg was a linnet's, and the nest had 

 been built right on top of the wren's. Such a 

 stench came from the bag that I took out the 

 upper nest and found the four little wrens dead 

 in their crib. 



I had become very fond of the winsome mother 

 bird, and so much interested in her brood that 



