that he carried in food, and on
coming out he alighted on a dead bush, and sang under his breath. Here,
then, was the nest, and all his pretense of scolding across the brook
was but a blind! Wary little rogue! Who would ever suspect a house wren
of shyness?

I had evidently done him injustice when I regarded the scolding as his
family manner, for here in his home he was quiet as a mouse, except when
his joy bubbled over in trills.

To make sure of my conclusions I went close to the house, and then for
the first time (to know it) I saw his mate. She came with food in her
beak, and was greatly disturbed at sight of her uninvited guest. She
stood on a shrub near me fluttering her wings, and there her anxious
spouse joined her, and fluttered his in the same way, uttering at the
same time a low, single note of protest.

On looking in through the window, I found that the cottage was a mere
shell, all open under the eaves, so that the birds could go in and out
anywhere. The nest was over the top of a window, and the owner thereof
ran along the beam beside it, in great dudgeon at my impertinent
staring. Had ever a pair of wrens quarters so ample,--a whole cottage to
themselves? Henceforth, it was part of my daily rounds to peep in at
the window, though I am sorry to say it aroused the indignation of the
birds, and always brought them to the beam nearest me, to give me a
piece of their mind.

Bird babies grow apace, and baby wrens have not many inches to achieve.
One day I came upon a scene of wild excitement: two wrenlings flying
madly about in the cottage, now plump against the window, then tumbling
breathless to the floor, and two anxious little parents, trying in vain
to show their headstrong offspring the way they should go, to the
openings under the eaves which led to the great out-of-doors. My face at
the window seemed to be the "last straw." A much-distressed bird came
boldly up to me behind the glass, saying by his manner--and who knows
but in words?--"How can you be so cruel as to disturb us? Don't you see
the trouble we are in?" He had no need of Anglo-Saxon (or even of
American-English!). I understood him at once; and though exceedingly
curious to see how they would do it, I had not the heart to insist. I
left them to manage their willful little folk in their own way.

The next morning I was awakened by the jolliest wren music of the
season. Over and over the bird poured out his few notes, louder, madder,
more