FARMER SMITH was fond of birds. When he was young, married and settled in his new house, he planted trees about his home for the birds to live in. He made several pretty cages for the martins. Here and there he put small boxes among the tree-tops to draw certain birds that love to occupy houses that other folks have built. When boxes failed he would take old oyster cans instead. One day he picked up a leaky glue-pot and tied that on a young elm-tree. [Illustration: THE HOME OF THE WREN FAMILY.] The next day it was "rented" by a wren. There she continued year after year, taking a vacation in the winter in Florida for her health's sake. She had a way of paying her rent that quite satisfied Farmer Smith, as he never ejected or annoyed her. He probably got his rent in music. As the years went by, the young elm grew and grew till its top branches seemed almost to touch the sky. It spread, some said, over a half acre nearly. The glue-pot, or wren's nest, had gone up too, beyond the reach of bad boys that are not happy in seeing birds happy. One summer, when Mother Wren and Father Wren had gone away on a short visit, the children looked down from the door of their cottage and saw some strangers approaching. Among them was Farmer Smith. He was showing them over the grounds and pointing out this thing and that. They came under the elm and talked, and the young Wrens listened. And when the old people returned they related the conversation of Farmer Smith and the strangers. They were greatly excited, as something was said about cutting the "old elm" down. But the parents quieted their troubled wrenlets with a good supper and, putting them to sleep, they talked the matter over in a whisper with their heads close together. The next day, charging the children to listen carefully, they flew away, returning soon with a good dinner. As they sat eating, Miss Kittie Wren spoke up: "They came again, and I heard Farmer Smith say that this tree was indeed in the way. He could not raise anything about it, it shaded everything so. 'But I can't bear,' he said--I couldn't hear the rest. But I guess it was something awful, and we'll have to get right out of our pretty house or be cut down. O dear, dear!" And they all set up a cry, and were quieted only when told there was no danger, because Farmer Smith said "But." The next day, on their return, Master Fred related the talk. "Farmer Smith said: 'I can't get through winter, as I see, without cutting up "old elm" for wood. But, dear me, how can I? I set it out, and have enjoyed its shade so long. Yet I suppose some day it must come down for firewood.'" "No danger yet," said Mr. Wren. "So long as that 'But' stands there he can't strike 'old elm' one blow." The next day Deb told how he came and measured it and figured up how many cords of wood it might make, and then he guessed he might cut it next week.