incubation began. And in spite of the 
heat everything went on happily in this 
unique domicile. 
We soon became the most sociable 
friends. Their quaint and charming 
ways made them very amusing pets. 
They became so tame that they would 
approach me fearlessly, even alighting 
on my head, and would let me examine 
their nest without being frightened. 
The wren is a very lively and active 
bird, and sings incessantly throughout 
the breeding-season, and these were 
not an exception, but were forever 
darting in and out, their actions ac- 
companied by a sweet warble. Mr. 
Wren would positively quiver all over 
with delight, while regaling Mrs. Wren 
and me with his exuberant melody. 
They were the cheeriest little compan- 
ions imaginable. Every morning as I 
entered the kitchen I was greeted 
heartily by my small neighbors, who 
bustled about in the preparation of the 
morning meal as busily as I. Mean- 
while Mr. Wren merrily sang his 
innocent matin song, and_ spontane- 
ously I would find myself singing too, 
as I went about my work. 
One day there was great excitement 
in the shoe and, when I looked in, five 
featherless mites with huge mouths 
were to be seen. Mrs. Wren was now 
a veritable ‘told woman who lived in a 
shoe.” But she did not treat her chil- 
dren as did the old woman of nursery 
fame, though she was kept very busy 
in supplying their wants, even with the 
assistance of Mr. Wren. 
These birds subsist on small insects 
and consume a considerable quantity. 
With much satisfaction I watched them 
slay a host of ants that were invading 
the kitchen; running up and down the 
wall with much agility, they picked 
the ants off. 
Real warm weather had set in by the 
time the nestlings were ready to try 
their wings, and I thought, of course, 
my friends would desert me for a 
cooler resort out of doors, in which to 
pass the heated term. But O, no, they 
were too loyal for that, so to make 
their house more commodious, another 
room was added by building a nest in 
the other shoe. And the family raised 
in the second shoe was not a whit less 
interesting than the first. 
THE CHICKADEE. 
SIDNEY DAYRE. 
“Were it not for me,” 
Said a chickadee, 
“Not a single flower on earth would be; 
For under the ground they soundly 
sleep 
And never. venture an upward peep, 
Till they hear from me, 
Chickadee-dee! 
“I tell Jack Frost when ’tis time to go 
And carry away the ice and snow; 
And then I hint to the jolly old sun, 
‘A little spring work, sir, should be 
done. 
And he smiles around 
On the frozen ground, 
And I keep up my cheery, cheery 
sound, 
Till echo declares in glee, in glee, 
‘Tis he! ’tis he! 
The chickadee-dee! 
168 
‘‘“And then I waken the birds of spring— 
‘Ho, ho! ’tis time to be on the wing.’ 
They trill and twitter and soar aloft, 
And I send the winds to whisper soft, 
Down by the little flower-beds, 
Saying, ‘Come show your pretty heads! 
The spring is coming, you see, you see! 
For so sings he, 
The chickadee-dee!” 
The sun he smiled; and the early flow- 
ers 
Bloomed to brighten the blithesome 
hours, 
And song-birds gathered in bush and 
ineer 
But the wind he laughed right merrily, 
As the saucy mite of a snowbird he 
Chirped away, ‘‘Do you see, see, see? 
I did it all! 
Chickadee-dee!”’ 
