“The scars of battle are not to be laughed at, Mr. Wren,” loftily said Mrs. Jenny, “Papa’s one eye and crooked leg were objects of great pride to his family.”
“The old scoundrel,” muttered Mr. Wren, who looked upon his father-in-law as no better than a robber, but to keep peace in the family he said no more, and with a gush of song flew off to gather some particularly nice sticks for the nest.
For some days Mr. and Mrs. Wren were too busy to pay much attention to their neighbors. Mr. Wren, unlike some birds he knew, did not do all the singing while his mate did the work, but fetched and carried with the utmost diligence, indeed brought more sticks, Mrs. Wren told her friends, than she had any use for.
“Such a litter, ma’am,” said Bridget the next morning to the mistress of the house, “as I do be afther sweepin’ up from the porch ivery day. A pair of birds, I do be thinkin’, are after building a nest in that owld tin pot on the wall. It’s this day I’m goin’ to tear it down, so I am. Birds are nuisances anyway, and it’s not Bridget O’Flaherty that’s goin’ to be clanin’ afther them, at all, at all.”
“Oh don’t!” chorused the children, “we want to see with our own eyes how the birds go to housekeeping in the Spring. It’s ever so much better than just reading about it. Tell Bridget, mamma,” they pleaded, “to leave the pot alone.”
Mamma, who found bird-life a delightful study, was only too willing to give the desired command, and thus it chanced that Mr. and Mrs. Wren grew quite accustomed to many pair of eyes watching them at their work of building a nest, every day.
“Do you know,” said Mrs. Wren, placing a particularly fine feather in the nest one day, “that I have a notion to name our birdlings, when they come out of their shell, after our landlady’s family? I think it is not more than fair, since we have got a cute apartment and no rent to pay.”
“A capital idea!” chirped Mr. Wren, “her children have such pretty names, too.”
“And pretty manners,” returned Mrs. Wren, who, being of such genteel birth, was quick to recognize it in others. “Let me see, there’s just six. Pierre, Emmett, Walter, Henry, Bobby, and that darling little fair-haired girl, Dorothy. I had my head tucked under my wing the other evening, but all the same I heard her speaking a piece that she said she had learned at school that day.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Wren, tilting his tail over his back and singing loudly, “I think we are very fortunate to have such a family for our neighbors. You can pick up so many things their mamma says to the children, and teach our birdies the same lessons, you know.”