26 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
to roost, courting the safety which they had come 
to associate with the clearings of human pioneers 
in the jungle. A box on a bamboo stalk drew 
forth joyous hymns of praise from a pair of little 
God-birds, as the natives call the house-wrens, 
who straightway collected all the grass and 
feathers in the world, stuffed them into the tiny 
chamber, and after a time performed the ever- 
marvelous feat of producing three replicas of 
themselves from this trash-filled box. The 
father-parent was one concentrated mite of song, 
with just enough feathers for wings to enable 
him to pursue caterpillars and grasshoppers as 
raw material for the production of more song. 
He sang at the prospect of a home; then he sang 
to attract and win a mate; more song at the joy 
of finding wonderful grass and feathers; again 
melody to beguile his mate, patiently giving the 
hours and days of her body-warmth in instinct- 
compelled belief in the future. He sang while 
he took his turn at sitting; then he nearly choked 
to death trying to sing while stuffing a bug down 
a nestling’s throat; finally, he sang at the end of a 
perfect nesting season; again, in hopes of per- 
suading his mate to repeat it all, and this failing, 
sang in chorus in the wren quintette—I hoped, in 
