“I know what makes him so happy,” announced Henry, who, standing upon a chair, had peeped into the nest. “There’s a dear little egg in here. Hurrah for Mrs. Wren!”
“Do not touch it,” commanded mamma, “but each one of us will take a peep in turn.”
Mrs. Wren’s bead-like eyes had taken in the whole proceeding, and with fluttering wings she stood on a shrub level with the porch and gave voice to her motherly anxiety and anger.
“Dee, dee, dee,” she shrilly cried, fluttering her little wings, which in bird language means, “oh dear, oh dear, what shall I do?”
Her cries of distress were heard by Mr. Wren, and with all haste he flew down beside her.
“What is it?” cried he, very nearly out of breath from his late exertions. “Has that rascally Mr. Jay——”
“No, no!” she interrupted, wringing her sharp little toes, “It’s not Mr. Jay this time, Mr. Wren. It’s the family over there, our family, robbing our nest of its one little egg.”
“Pooh! nonsense!” coolly said Mr. Wren, taking one long breath of relief. “Why, my dear, you nearly frighten me to death. You know, or ought to know by this time, that our landlord’s family have been taught not to do such things. Besides you yourself admit them to be exceptionally good children and good children never rob nests. Fie, I’m ashamed of you. Really my heart flew to my bill when I heard your call of distress.”
Mrs. Wren, whose fears were quite allayed by this time, looked at her mate scornfully.
“Oh!” said she, with fine sarcasm, “your heart flew into your bill did it? Well, let me say, Mr. Wren, that if it had been my mother in distress, father at the first note of warning, would have flown to her assistance with his heart in his claws. He kept them well sharpened for just such occasions, and woe to any enemy he found prowling about his premises.”