“Oh, indeed!” said Mr. Wren, “I presume he would have attacked Bridget over there, and the whole family. To hear you talk, Mrs. Wren, one would think your father was a whole host in himself.”
“And so he was,” said she, loftily, “I have seen him attack a Bluebird and a Martin at the same time and put them both to flight. An Owl had no terrors for him, and as for squirrels, why——” Mrs. Wren raised her wings and shrugged her shoulders in a very Frenchy and wholly contemptuous manner.
“I’m a peace-loving sort of a fellow, that you know, Mrs. Wren, deploring the reputation our tribe has so justly earned for fighting, and scolding, and jeering at everything and everybody. Indeed they go so far as to say we trust no one, not even our kindred. But mark me, Mrs. Wren, mark me, I say! Should any rascally Jay, neighbor or not, ever dare approach that tin pot over yonder, or ever alight on the roof of the porch, I’ll, I’ll——” Mr. Wren fairly snorted in his anger, and standing on one foot, doubled up the toes of the other and struck it defiantly at the imaginary foe.
“Oh, I dare say!” tauntingly said Mrs. Wren, “you are the sort of fellow that I heard little Dorothy reading about the other day. You would fight and run away, Mr. Wren, that you might live to fight another day.”
Mr. Wren lifted one foot and scratched himself meditatively behind the ear.
“Good, very good, indeed, my dear! It must have been a pretty wise chap that wrote that.” And Mr. Wren, who seemed to find the idea very amusing, laughed until the tears stood in his eyes.
Mrs. Wren smoothed her ruffled feathers and smiled too.
“Tut, tut, Jenny,” said the good-natured fellow, “what is the use of us newly married folk quarreling in this fashion. Think how joyous we were less than one short hour ago. Come, my dear, the family have all left the porch, save Emmett. Let us fly over there and take a look at our treasure.” And Mrs. Wren, entirely restored to good humor, flirted her tail over her back, hopped about a little in a coquettish manner, then spread her wings, and off they flew together.
Mrs. Wren the next day deposited another egg, and the next, and the next, till six little speckled beauties lay huddled together in the cosy nest.
“Exactly the number of our landlord’s family,” said she, fluffing her feathers and gathering the eggs under her in that truly delightful fashion common to all mother birds. “I am so glad. I was greatly puzzled to know what names we should have given the babies had there been more than six.”