“I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Mr. Wren, who in his joy had been treating his mate to one of his fine wooing songs, and at length coaxed her from the nest, “but I dare say we would have named them after some of our relatives.”
“Why, of course,” assented Mrs. Wren, “I certainly would have named one after my dear, brave papa. Mrs. John Wren says that boys named after a great personage generally develop all the qualities of that person.”
“Oh, indeed!” sniffed Mr. Wren, “that was the reason she named one of her numerous brood last year after our rascally neighbor, Mr. Jay, I presume. Certainly the youngster turned out as great a rascal as the one he was named after.”
Mrs. Wren’s head feathers stood on end at once.
“For the life of me,” she said tartly, “I cannot see why you always fly into a passion, Mr. Wren, whenever I mention dear papa, or Mrs. John, or in fact any of my relatives. Indeed—but sh-sh! There’s one of our neighbors coming this way. I verily believe it is, oh yes, it is, it is——” and Mrs. Wren wrung her toes, and cried cheet, cheet, cheet, and dee, dee, dee! in a truly anxious and alarming manner.
[to be continued.]