THE BLUEBIRD. 221 



their honeymoon was over the bluebirds returned. 

 I knew something was wrong before I was up in the 

 morning. Instead of that voluble and gushing song 

 outside the window, I heard the wrens scolding and 

 crying at a fearful rate, and on going out saw the 

 bluebirds in possession of the box. The poor wrens 

 were in despair ; they wrung their hands and tore 

 their hair, after the wren fashion, but chiefly did they 

 rattle out their disgust and wrath at the intruders. 

 I have no doubt that if it could have been interpreted 

 it would have proven the rankest and most voluble 

 Billingsgate ever uttered. For the wren is saucy, 

 and he has a tongue in his head that can outwag any 

 other tongue known to me. 



The bluebirds said nothing, but the male kept an 

 eye on Mr. Wren ; and when he came too near, gave 

 chase, driving him to cover under the fence, or under 

 a rubbish-heap or other object, where the wren would 

 scold and rattle away, while his pursuer sat on the 

 fence or the pea-brush waiting for him to reappear. 



Days passed, and the usurpers prospered and the 

 outcasts were wretched; but the latter lingered 

 about, watching and abusing their enemies, and hop- 

 ing, no doubt, that things would take a turn, as they 

 presently did. The outraged wrens were fully 

 avenged. The mother bluebird had laid her full 

 complement of eggs and was beginning to set, 

 tfhen one day, as her mate was perched above her 

 on the barn, along came a boy. with one of those 

 wicked elastic slings and cut him down with a pebble. 



