Rearing a Wren Family 97 



But what of his actions? He had either gone crazy 

 or he was a most selfish little tyrant, for he flew about the 

 alder stump, calling now in a softer tone to his children 

 within, and finally swallowed the grub himself. Two or 

 three times he did this, until I was so disgusted I could 

 hardly endure him. If he were hungry, why could he not 

 skirmish for his own bugs? 



While I was chiding him for his infamous action, the 

 mother appeared with a large moth, which he readily took. 

 Among the alder limbs he flew, and finally up to the nest 

 hole, out of which was coming such a series of hungry 

 screams as no parent with the least bit of devotion could 

 resist. Hardly could I believe my eyes, for the little knave 

 just went to the door, where each hungry nestling could 

 get a good view of the morsel, then, as if scolding the little 

 ones for being so noisy and hungry, he hopped back down 

 the tree into the bushes. 



This was, indeed, cause for a family revolt. The 

 brown nestling nearest the door grew so bold with hunger 

 that he forgot his fear and plunged headlong down, catch- 

 ing in the branches below where the father perched. And 

 the precocious youngster got the large moth as a reward 

 for his bravery. 



Not till then did it dawn upon me that there was a 

 reason for the father's queer actions. The wrenlets were 

 old enough to leave the nest. Outside in the warm sun- 

 shine they could be fed more easily and would grow more 

 rapidly, and they could be taught the ways of woodcraft. 

 In half an hour, one after another, the little wrens had 

 been persuaded, even compelled, to leave the narrow con- 

 fines of the nest and launch out into the big world. 



