"I'm truly glad they are gone," said Mrs. Wren, as her spouse flew over to the tin pot. "It makes me very nervous when they all stand about and stare at me so." "Of course it does," sympathizingly replied Mr. Wren, "but now, let me get another peep at the little darling. My, what a lovely little creature it is?" and Mr. Wren whisked his tail and chirped to the baby in a truly papa-like fashion. "And to think that moon-faced Bridget said it was the 'skinniest, ugliest little baste she iver saw'," indignantly returned Mrs. Wren, mimicking Bridget's brogue to perfection. "The precious little thing?" turning the birdling over with her bill, "why, he is the very image of his father." "Do you think so?" a little doubtfully, "It seems to me that--that----" "Oh, you will see when his hair, or rather feathers grow out and his lovely black eyes open. Just look at his dear little tootsy-wootsy's," kissing the long scrawny toes, "my, how glad I am that the eldest is a boy. Little Dorothy will have a brother to protect her, you know." "Don't count your chickens before they are hatched, my dear," warned Mr. Wren, never forgetful of the many dangers surrounding a nest full of eggs, or young birds. "Mr. Jay, or Mr. Owl, or Mr. Hawk, might yet pay us a visit and----" "Or a collector might come along," said Mrs. Wren, "and carry off eggs, birdling, and all. Oh how that thought frightens me," and the poor little mother cowered deeper down in the nest uttering a plaintive, shuddering cry. "There, there!" said Mr. Wren, caressing her with his bill, "time enough to cross the stream when we come to it. Our landlord will protect his tenants, I am sure, so sit here and croon a lullaby to the baby while I go to market. I heard of a place yesterday where I can get some of those delicious thousand legs of which you are so fond. Ta, ta, love," and away he flew, fully alive to the fact of another mouth in the home-nest to feed. Every day for six, a little yellow bill pecked its way out of the shell, and every day a delighted and curious group of children peeked into the tin-pot at the nervous Mrs. Wren and her family. "Their eyes look so big, and so do their mouths," she lamented after one of these visits. "I am always reminded of that story our landlady one afternoon told the children." "What story?" tenderly inquired Mr. Wren. "Of the wolf and Little Red Riding Hood. Ugh! imagine anything eating up our dear little Dorothy!" and Mrs. Wren stood on her feet, fluffed her feathers in a pretty motherly way and gathered her brood more closely under her. Very little time, now, had Mr. Wren to spare for singing or flying about with his neighbors, so occupied were he and Mrs. Wren in providing food for their family.