dicular side of the box and sang, peeped in again, clung to the side and nearly 

 split his throat with the excess of his jubilation. Next day he did the same again, 

 and we judged that by this time all four of the eggs were hatched. 



Up to this time the favorite stage for the vocal exhibitions of the male had 

 been the telephone wire between the tree and the house, and one morning at five 

 o'clock, all unbeknown to him, a tally was made of the number of warbles he gave 

 per minute, and the record runs like this: 9, 7, 9, 9, 8, 2 — 7, 6 — 10, 5, 8, 2 — 

 8, 7, 7 — 10, 10, 7, 6. Sometimes he paused for a brief flitting. But more than 

 three hundred times an hour for three hours every morning and evening he uttered 

 his cheerful trill, besides singing so often all through the day that you never 

 noticed he had stopped at all. 



But alas! for this happy family! On the morning of June 25th a squirrel 

 visited this and the neighboring tree and thereafter the parents were troubled, 

 never leaving the nest without sitting in the door for several minutes, looking up 

 into the tree and all around to see if that foe of birds was near. It was not until 

 four days later that the blow fell; and to this day no one but the birds knows 

 just what the blow was. During our absence on the 29th the top of the box 

 was thrown to the ground, the nest torn out, and mother and young had disap- 

 peared. The same day two eggs had been taken from a Robin's nest near by, 

 and the nest of a Brown Thrasher across the street on the Normal campus had 

 been torn down. Workmen who left at five o'clock had noticed no disturbance 

 and whether the mischief had been done by the squirrel or by a prowling cat or 

 a boy we shall never know. 



Silence reigned in Wrendom for a while. 



Then on July 8th a male Wren took possession of an old birch bark nest on 

 a post near to the osage tree, and we thought and still believe he was the bereft 

 father and husband. The birch house had once been a thing of beauty. It was 

 round, and there had been a cute steeple-attic above the ceiling of the main room. 

 For two successive summers prior to this, two broods of Wrens had been reared 

 in it. But wind and rain had demolished the steeple, English Sparrows had pulled 

 and pecked at the doorway, tearing off strips of bark till the opening was large 

 and ragged. The glory of the tiny castle had departed ; but it suited this chastened 

 widower and in it he decided to dwell as befitting to one who, like it, had seen 

 sad days. 



He hovered lovingly about it, singing and carrying in sticks. Sometimes he 

 sang on the top of it; sometimes on the doorstep; oftener from the peach tree 

 beside it. Whenever we went near, he protested, Celling us plainly that his sign 

 of "No trespass'* must be respected. If we went up on the step ladder and looked 

 in, and even when we tied a piece of sand-paper over part of the double doorway 

 made by the Sparrows so that these omnipresent creatures could not enter, — even 

 then he complained at us and, most suspiciously and discourteously, went into 

 the house and all around it before we were out of sight to see if we had robbed it 

 or displaced any of his treasures. 



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