"Oh, its only fair, fair to middlin'," returned Mrs. John, poking her bill about the edge of the nest as though examining its lining. "I told Mr. John this morning that I would be but a shadow of myself after fourteen days brooding, if he was like the other gentlemen Wrens in the neighborhood. Catch me sitting the day through listening to him singing or showing off for my benefit. No, indeed! He is on the nest now, keeping the eggs warm, and I told him not to dare leave it till my return."
Mrs. Jenny said nothing, but she thought what her dear papa would have done under like circumstances.
"All work and no play," continued Mrs. John, "makes dull women as well as dull boys. That was what my mama said when she found out papa meant her to do all the work while he did the playing and singing. Dear, dear, how many times I have seen her box his ears and drive him onto the nest while she went out visiting," and at the very recollection Mrs. John flirted her tail over her back and laughed loudly.
"How many eggs are you sitting upon this season, Aunt?" inquired Mrs. Jenny, timidly.
"Eight. Last year I hatched out nine; as pretty a brood as you would want to see. If I had time, Jenny, I'd tell you all about it. How many eggs are under you?"
"Six," meekly said Jenny, who had heard about that brood scores of times, "we thought—we thought—"
"Well?" impatiently, "you thought what?"
"That six would be about as many as we could well take care of. I am sure it will keep us both busy finding worms and insects for even that number of mouths."
"I should think it would" chuckled Mrs. John, nodding her head wisely, "but—" examining a feather which she had drawn out of the nest with her bill, "what is this? A chicken feather, as I live; a big, coarse, chicken feather. And straw too, instead of hay. Ah! little did I think a niece of mine would ever furnish her house in such a shabby manner," and Mrs. John, whose nest was lined with horse-hair, and the downiest geese feathers which her mate could procure, very nearly turned green with shame and mortification.
Mrs. Jenny's head-feathers were bristling up again when she gladly espied Mr. Wren flying homeward with a fine wriggling worm in his bill.