By Elanora Kinsley Marble.

Mr. Wren had no need to inquire the cause of his mate's distress, for at this moment a loud and vehement Jay-jay-jay, resounded from an adjacent tree.

"Ha!" said he, "it is that villian Mr. Blue Jay at last. I have been expecting a call from him for some time. I heard yesterday that he was caught sucking the eggs of Mrs. Red-eyed Vireo, and that Mrs. Dove was mourning more than usual because out of four beautiful eggs she had only one left. But never you mind, my dear, never you mind! He daren't go near our nest you see, for Bridget is out there with her broom, and if he should dare attack us, why——"

"Well!" chirped Mrs. Wren, who at once saw the force of his reasoning, "what would you do, Mr. Wren, should he attack us? I'd like to know because? I am quite sure what dear papa would have done under the circumstances."

"So am I," responded Mr. Wren with a chuckle, "so am I."

"So are you—what?" retorted Mrs. Wren, angrily tapping the perch on which she sat with her foot.

"Sure what your dear papa would have done, my dear, under the circumstances. Ha, ha, ha!" and Mr. Wren flirted his tail over his head and hopped about in anything but a dignified or warrior-like manner.

Mrs. Wren surveyed him with contempt and surprise.

"Of all the ex-as-per-at-ing creatures," she said, "you are the worst. First you whispered and bid me be silent, and now just look at you hopping about and jibbering like an idiot! I wish Mr. Blue Jay would come over here and——"

"Come over here?" Mr. Wren almost turned a somersault in his glee. "Come over here, my dear! Not much! Don't you see that Kingbird over there with his eye on Mr. Jay! There's going to be a fight, a real knock-down, feather-pulling fight, and I—I won't be in it!" and Mr. Wren whistled and chattered and flirted his tail in a greatly relieved and truly funny manner.

"If I wasn't so anxious about the eggs," said Mrs. Wren, "I'd stay here and see the fight, too. They are well matched, both such fine, handsome birds—especially Mr. Jay. Ah, how it does all remind me of dear papa."

Mr. Wren could have laughed aloud when he thought of her plain, crooked-legged little father, but he only sniffed and said something about Mr. Jay being a saucy, impudent dude.

"But really, now, he is handsome," repeated Mrs. Wren, "only see how his head feathers stand up! My, how angry they both are. What can be the matter, I wonder?"

"If you will stop talking for a minute," returned Mr. Wren, "perhaps we can hear. Mr. Blue Jay is a great coward when it comes to fighting one of his size. More than likely he will sneak away, or fly off screaming loudly at the first signs of attack."

"If you will stop your chatter," sharply retorted Mrs. Wren, "we may hear what they are saying. Listen, can't you?"

"You old thief and pickpocket," shrieked Mr. Kingbird, his head feathers standing up like an Indian chief's, "whose nest around here are you lying in wait to rob?"

"What business is it of yours?" retorted Mr. Jay with a sneer. "You old tyrant! A nice fellow, indeed, to be calling people names. The pot calling the kettle black. Humph!"

Mr. Kingbird, aware of the many young birds he had eaten in his time concluded he had best confine himself exclusively to the question of eggs.

"It's only a sneak," he replied, "that will creep up when the mother bird is off her nest and suck the eggs. Nobody but a coward would do it. The Mourning Dove's cries the other day were truly heartrending. I made up my mind then that the very first time you crossed my path I would thrash you."

"That's right, give it to him, give it to him!" cried the birds in chorus, a large number of which, attracted by the quarrel, had formed themselves into a ring about the tree tops. "He's not only a thief but a bully, always ready to whip a bird under his size."

Mr. Blue Jay winced for a second, for it is not pleasant to find one's self hated, by all his fellow kind.

"I'll swear," said he, lifting up one foot solemnly, "that I have not been near the Mourning Dove's nest this season."

"Nor the Red-eyed Vireo's?"

"Nor the Red-eyed Vireo's," affirmed Mr. Blue Jay, slightly closing one eye, and coughing behind his foot.

"Oh, oh, oh!" chorused a dozen voices, "we saw him around there this very morning."

"And I," said a Bluebird, "saw him destroy the eggs in Mrs. Mourning Dove's nest, myself."

"So," sternly said Mr. Kingbird, "the rascal adds perjury to his other crimes. It is the duty of every honest citizen of the woods and orchards to rid the world of such a villain. Defend yourself, Mr. Jay, or——"

At this moment a loud and vehement "Zeay, ze-a-y," broke in upon Mr. Kingbird's speech.

"Ah! Mr. Catbird," said he, his crest suddenly falling, "I think, I—will attend to this case another time," and much to the disappointment of the assembled crowd Mr. Kingbird took wing and flew away.

No sooner was he gone than Mr. Blue Jay nearly doubled himself up with laughter.

"I thought that would make his feathers fall," he said, resuming his braggart manner. "I have noticed how quickly he gets out of the way of Mr. Catbird, though he will fight a Hawk, or a Crow, or even an Eagle. He! he! he! I imitated Mr. Catbird very well, didn't I?" and the rogue, to show his powers of mimicry, cried Zeay, ze-a-y, again, then Caw, caw, like a Crow, meowed like a cat, barked like a dog, crowed like a Rooster, and finished with a loud, harsh Kee-oo, kee-oo, which put all the birds to flight.

"The Red-shouldered Hawk," they one and all cried with frightened glances into the air, and Mrs. Wren, forgetting for the moment that it was only Mr. Jay imitating Mr. Hawk, flew over to her nest in the greatest consternation.

"Well, well," she said afterward with a laugh, "it was 'much ado about nothing' after all. But what a clever fellow that Mr. Jay is to be sure! Really I cannot help but admire him, rogue though he is," and with a pretty flutter of her wings Mrs. Wren gathered the six speckled treasures under her breast and sat down to brood.

"I don't see how you could have covered more than six eggs, my dear," said Mr. Wren tenderly. "You are such a little body, you know. Mrs. John last year, though, had ten in one brood, did she not?"

"Yes," sniffed Mrs. Wren, "and her neighbors have never heard the last of it. Such a gossip and braggart as she is. Why, she tells every lady bird that calls on her that her Mr. Wren had three furnished houses when he proposed to her; one in a knothole of an apple tree, one on top of a very high pole, and the other—well, really I forget; under the roof of a meeting house, I believe."

"Hm!" said Mr. Wren, turning up his bill, "that's the reason she accepted him, I suppose. To my notion he is a most unattractive fellow, ugly as he is proud."

"Oh, handsome is as handsome does," returned Mrs. Wren, "as our landlady says. But you can't deny that he makes my cousin a good husband. It is very foolish for them to boast so, for they can only occupy one house at a time, and surely they have to earn their food by searching for insects and worms, precisely as we do. Then, too, riches take wings sometimes, and fly away, and as I told one of my neighbors the other day, I am just as happy in this old tin pot as I would be on top of the highest pole."

"How glad I am to hear you say that," returned Mr. Wren, tears glistening in his little black eyes, "for there can be no true happiness without contentment—as our landlord says. Dear little mate! Fourteen days you must sit on the nest. How tired you will be!"

"Oh, I don't mind that," replied Mrs. Wren, "if only our birdlings hatch out pretty and good. Once in a while I will fly off for a little exercise, you know, and, like Mr. John, you will take my place on the nest and keep the eggs warm."

"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Wren, ruefully; "I hadn't calculated on doing that. But we will see. I'm off, now, to get something to eat, and will fetch you as delicious a spider or nice fat canker worm as I can find. Ta, ta, love!" and off Mr. Wren flew to the orchard, singing as he went.