OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



didyma) ; over this scarlet mass of bloom we counted 

 more than twenty hummers wheeling and fluttering in 

 excited competition. 



"We will make the bed twice as large next year," 

 cries the Constant Improver. 



July i. What is the small wren scolding about? 

 I hear his insistent notes as, scissors in hand, I stand 

 over the snapdragons, and as it continues I must search 

 out the cause of the disturbance. Usually it is noth- 

 ing more important than the too close proximity of a 

 pert chipmunk. Evidently her little ones have made 

 their first flight, or possibly one may still be in the 

 box just under the eaves at my west window. 



We had been in the house five years before any 

 of the wrens deigned to accept the offers that we made 

 them to come and live with us. In vain we nailed 

 up comfortable boxes with an entrance cut just the 

 right size, in the most desirable places; fruitlessly we 

 put out birch-bark wigwams and hollow gourds rec- 

 ommended by interested friends. Down by the brook, 



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