FUSS AND FEATHERS 



nest. One thing arrested my attention; the box had a 

 big crack in it from the entrance nearly to the bot- 

 tom. This crack the wren had evidently essayed to 

 stop with twigs. At first sight my impression was 

 that the twigs had accidentally got caught in the 

 crack in the bird's effort to get them into the nest. 

 But, after carefully considering the matter, I see I 

 must credit him with a purpose to mend his house. 

 He had first put two small twigs into the crack and 

 then finished the job with a much larger twig, eight 

 inches long, which closed the opening very effectu- 

 ally. This last twig was larger and longer than wrens 

 ever use in their nests. It was a very clever stroke. 

 I think the male wrens have sham battles as well 

 as sham nests; they must work off their superfluous 

 animation in some way. For hours one early July 

 afternoon two males, one of whom had a cock nest 

 a few yards below me in a box on a grape-post, and 

 the other a few yards above me in a box on the 

 corner of the veranda, amused and delayed me in 

 my eager reading of the war news (the British had 

 just begun their great offensive in France) by en- 

 gaging in what appeared to be a most determined 

 song contest from their respective perches a few 

 yards apart. How their throats were convulsed! 

 Under what pressure of jealousy or rivalry they did 

 hurl shrill defiance at each other in that, to me, 

 languid summer afternoon! Back and forth, back 

 and forth, went the voluble challenges, the birds 



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