A Study of a House Wren 203 



Wren that will see the danger in this habit, and refuse to do so, will have a better 

 chance to live long. At the corner of the porch was a spreading funkia. Under 

 it our cat loved to lie, though always driven away when found there, — he may 

 have spent the night there. It is a question what to do with cats in the bird-nesting 

 season. On the morning of the sixth, the tragedy must have taken place before I 

 took my place on the porch, for the mother bird came no more. The male bird 

 fretted for her and came and dropped a moth inside the nest, though he knew she 

 was not there. He hung above the cup with his neck stretched down to look in the 

 door, and then uttered his discontented call. Once before, when she was lost, he 

 had used this querulous call and it had driven her back to the nest, — she was neg- 

 lecting her duties. Now it was the only sound he made; there was no more song. 



The family came home. If the boy could not see a nestful of young birds he 

 should at least see the eggs ! I went to the nest — the eggs were gone — not even a 

 shell was left — and the eggs were not on the ground — there was nothing to show 

 there had ever ever been an egg in the nest ! The doorway was too small for any 

 bird but a Wren to enter, — what had he done with those eggs ? Some one said 

 "He must have eaten them." Perish the base thought! — until it is proved 

 against him. 



On the same day in which the loss of the eggs was discovered, the Wren was 

 seized with a fury of industry, and back and forth from the nest to the pine tree 

 he flew, each time carrying out a single feather and dropping it from his perch in 

 the pine tree. When the feathers were all out, he carried out the hairs of which the 

 nest was made till the last one caught about a twig and hung from his doorway. 

 He did not carry out any twigs. What a sad piece of demolition it was. But, 

 fortunately the little fellow had a short memory, for now, on the other side of the 

 house, he at once began to sing for another mate ; and the song which had 

 before seemed so cheerful now seemed a very sad and lonely one. It was so 

 late in the season to have his hopes blasted, and how could he expect another 

 mate ? As he sang, I counted ten, then counted ten between the songs, — the song 

 and the silence were of the same length. Thus it went on, the bird occasionally 

 coming to the side of the house where the porch with the empty nest was. 



And one day she came and entered the little doorway, while his bubbling song 

 and lifted quivering wings testified to his delight. But she came out of the little 

 house, and flew away never to return. Did she feel there the presence of the ghost 

 of the murdered bird ? He followed her and never came back. In some happier 

 spot where death had not been, they may have made another home and raised 

 their brood. 



