"Is just what certain families want," interrupted Mr. Bluebird, smilingly. "Our enemies, the sparrows, cannot fly directly into a nest hole or box like this, as we can, but must have a perch upon which first to alight. It is for that reason, my dear, this house was built without doorsteps. No sparrow families are wanted here." Miss Bluebird at this juncture thought it proper to be overcome with a feeling of shyness, and could not be prevailed upon to enter the box. More than once her companion flew in and returned to her side, singing praises of its coziness as a place of abode. "With new furnishings it will do capitally," said he; "we might even make the Purple Martins' nest do with a little----" Miss Bluebird's bill at once went up into the air. "If there is anything I detest," said she, scornfully, "it is old furniture, especially second-hand beds. If that is the best you have to offer a prospective bride, Mr. Bluebird, I will bid you good-day," and the haughty young creature prettily fluttered her wings as if about to fly off and leave him. "Do not go," he pleaded; "if this house does not please you I have others to offer," and Miss Bluebird, moved apparently by his tender strains, sweetly said _tru-al-ly_ and condescended to fly down and enter the box. It was scarcely a minute ere she reappeared, and, flying at once to her favorite branch in the maple tree, called to him to follow. A scrap of paper, woven into his nest by the Purple Martin the past season, fluttered to the ground as she emerged from the box, and while the pair exchanged vows of love and constancy up in the maple tree, I picked it up and saw, not without marveling at the sagacity of Mr. Bluebird, who probably had dragged it into sight, a heart faintly drawn in red ink, and below it the words: "_Thou art my valentine!_" THE CLAPPER RAIL. (_Rallus longirostris crepitans._)