"So are you—what?" retorted Mrs. Wren, angrily tapping the perch on which she sat with her foot.
"Sure what your dear papa would have done, my dear, under the circumstances. Ha, ha, ha!" and Mr. Wren flirted his tail over his head and hopped about in anything but a dignified or warrior-like manner.
Mrs. Wren surveyed him with contempt and surprise.
"Of all the ex-as-per-at-ing creatures," she said, "you are the worst. First you whispered and bid me be silent, and now just look at you hopping about and jibbering like an idiot! I wish Mr. Blue Jay would come over here and——"
"Come over here?" Mr. Wren almost turned a somersault in his glee. "Come over here, my dear! Not much! Don't you see that Kingbird over there with his eye on Mr. Jay! There's going to be a fight, a real knock-down, feather-pulling fight, and I—I won't be in it!" and Mr. Wren whistled and chattered and flirted his tail in a greatly relieved and truly funny manner.
"If I wasn't so anxious about the eggs," said Mrs. Wren, "I'd stay here and see the fight, too. They are well matched, both such fine, handsome birds—especially Mr. Jay. Ah, how it does all remind me of dear papa."
Mr. Wren could have laughed aloud when he thought of her plain, crooked-legged little father, but he only sniffed and said something about Mr. Jay being a saucy, impudent dude.
"But really, now, he is handsome," repeated Mrs. Wren, "only see how his head feathers stand up! My, how angry they both are. What can be the matter, I wonder?"
"If you will stop talking for a minute," returned Mr. Wren, "perhaps we can hear. Mr. Blue Jay is a great coward when it comes to fighting one of his size. More than likely he will sneak away, or fly off screaming loudly at the first signs of attack."
"If you will stop your chatter," sharply retorted Mrs. Wren, "we may hear what they are saying. Listen, can't you?"