“It is ash-colored, with brown wings and tail, and a black stripe across the forehead. Its dress is simple, you see, as is always the case with those that possess real merit. The blue tit has rich plumage, but when it comes to nest-building it can only pile feathers on top of one another at the bottom of a tree-hollow. The penduline is of modest appearance, but it builds the most wonderful nest it is possible to find. To each his portion, talent or fine clothes.” “All of us here choose talent,” declared Jules. “Never, my children,” urged Uncle Paul, “be untrue to that sentiment.” “We should have to forget your teachings,” the other replied, “before we could do that.” “And what are the eggs like?” asked Emile. “Emile is bound to have all I can tell him about the penduline. Does this builder of felt nests interest you, then, so very much?” “Yes, it does,” Emile assured him. “Well, the eggs are quite white and rather long. There are three or four of them to a nest.” “No more than that, when the other tomtits have twenty?” “No more; but to make up for it there are two layings a year.” CHAPTER XXVIII THE WREN AND THE KINGLET “Another highly talented architect, past master in the building of nests, is the wren, known in learned language as the troglodyte. If you ask me the meaning of this strange name I shall reply that it is a Greek word signifying ‘dweller in holes.’ Some inventor of names, more in love with Greek than desirous of being understood, thought he was doing a fine thing when he gave this big name to the little bird that worms its way into small holes as a mouse would. Perhaps my description will be more easily understood than his hard name. The troglodyte or wren is a fluffy bunch of plumage resembling that of the woodcock. With trailing wings, beak to windward, and tail erect over its rump, it is always frisking and hopping about, uttering the while its cheery cry of teederee, teeree, teeree.” “I know that bird,” Jules broke in. “It isn’t much bigger than a walnut, and every winter it comes flying about the house, hunting in the woodpile and in holes in the walls, and darting into the thickest parts of bushes. From a distance you would take it for a bold little rat.” “That is it, that is the wren. In summer it lives in densely grown woods. There, under the arch formed by some large upward-curving root coated with a thick fleece of moss, it builds a home for itself in imitation of the penduline’s nest. The materials it uses are bits of moss, which make the nest look like its support. It forms them into a large hollow ball with a very narrow opening on one side. It is lined with feathers. Occasionally the wren builds its nest in some chimney or a pile of fagots, a thick clump of ivy or a natural cavity in the bank of a shady stream. The laying consists of about ten white eggs dotted with red at the large end.