Mr. and Mrs. Wren flew about Bobbie uttering cries of distress.
"Fair play, fair play," cried papa Jay, flying down almost upon Mr. Wren's back. "Give the young ones a chance, or——"
A loud, sharp twitter from the tree top caused Mr. Jay to glance up.
"My old enemy," he exclaimed, his crest falling at once, as a low crown encircling a pompon of orange-red showed itself among the green branches. "That tyrant, Mr. Kingbird. He's always meddling in other people's affairs, he is. I'd like to wring his neck. Come, Mrs. Jay; come, my son," he screamed, and off they flew to boast of the victory among their neighbors.
"I hope your little boy is not much hurt," said Mr. Kingbird rather pompously, "I arrived just in the nick of time, I think."
"Oh, my Bobby," wailed Mrs. Wren, wiping the blood from his face, "that dreadful Jay has scratched out one of his eyes."
"How did it happen?" sternly inquired Mr. Wren, "tell me the truth or——"
Dorothy interrupted her father with loud sobbing.
"I—I was flirting," she stammered "just a little, with young Mr. Jay, papa—you know how handsome he is, and bold—when Bobby steps up, and he says—he says—"
"Well, go on, my little miss," said Mr. Kingbird, deeply interested, "what did your brother say?"