THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD-HOUSE
Under the cornice of the tool-house was an old cigar-box with a tinydoorway cut in one end and a small board nailed in front of it for aporch. This had been put up for a bird-house, and year after year apair of Wrens had nested there, until they began to think it reallytheir own. When they left it in the fall to fly south, they alwayslooked back lovingly at it, and talked over their plans for the nextsummer.
"I think we might better leave this nest inside all winter," Mrs. Wrenalways said. "It will seem so much more home-like when we return, andit will not be much trouble to clear it out afterward."
"An excellent plan, my dear," her cheerful little husband would reply."You remember we did so last season. Besides," he always added, "thatwill show other birds that Wrens have lived here, and they will knowthat we are expecting to return, since that is the custom in ourfamily."
"And then do you think they will leave it for us?" Mrs. Wren wouldask. "You know they might want it for themselves."
"What if they did want it?" Mr. Wren had said. "They could gosomewhere else, couldn't they? Do you suppose I would ever stealanother bird's nesting-place if I knew it?"
"N-no," said Mrs. Wren, "but not everybody is as unselfish as you."And she looked at him tenderly.
The Wrens were a most devoted couple,--all in all, about the nicestbirds on the place. And that was saying a great deal, for there weremany nesting there and others who came to find food on the broadlawn. They were small birds, wearing dark brown feathers on the upperparts of their bodies and lighter grayish ones underneath. Even theirbills were marked in the same way, with the upper half dark and thelower half light. Their wings were short and blunt, and they had ahabit of holding their tails well up in the air.
People said that Mrs. Wren was very fussy, and perhaps it was true,but even then she was not a cross person. Besides, if she wished to doa thing over five times in order to make it suit her, she certainlyhad a perfect right to do so. It was she who always chose thenesting-place and settled all the plans for the family. Mr. Wren wasquite content to have it so, since that was the custom among Wrens,and it saved him much work. Mr. Wren was not lazy. He simply wanted tosave time for singing, which he considered his own particularbusiness. Besides, he never forgot what had happened to a cousin ofhis, a young fellow who found fault with his wife and insisted onchanging to another nesting-place. It had ended in his going, and herstaying there and marrying another Wren. So he had lost both his homeand his wife by finding fault.
Now the April days had come, with their warm showers and green growinggrass. A pair of English Sparrows, who had nested in the woodbine thesummer before and raised several large broods of bad-manneredchildren, decided that they would like to try living in thebird-house. Having been on the place all winter, they began workearly. The Blackbirds were already back, and one reminded them that itbelonged to the Wrens.
"Guess not now," said Mr. Sparrow, with a bad look in his eyes."Nothing belongs to anybody else if I want it. Do you see?" Then hepicked up and swallowed a fat Grub which the Blackbird had uncoveredfor himself and left lying there until he should finish talking. Onecould hardly blame the Blackbird for being vexed about this, foreverybody knows that English Sparrows really prefer seeds, and thatthis one ate the Grub only to be mean. It did not make the Blackbirdany happier to hear his relatives laugh at him in the evergreensabove, and he made up his mind to get even with that Sparrow.
The Sparrows pitched all the old nest out of doors and beganquarrelling with each other about building their own. They alwaysquarrelled. Indeed, that was the way in which they had courted eachother. Mrs. Sparrow had two lovers, and she married the one who wouldstand the worst pecking from her. "For," she said, "what is the use ofhaving a husband unless you can beat him when you fight with him?"
Now they stuffed the dainty little bird-house full of straws, sticks,feathers, and anything they could find, until there was hardly roomleft in which to turn around. They were just beginning to wonder ifthey must throw some out when they heard the happy song of Mr. Wren.
"Get inside!" cried Mr. Sparrow to his wife. "I will stand on theporch and fight them."
Down flew Mr. and Mrs. Wren. "Oh, isn't it pleasant to get homeagain?" she exclaimed. "But what is that Sparrow doing on our porch?"
"This is our home now," said Mrs. Sparrow, "and we are very busy. Getout of my way."
"Your home?" cried the Wrens. "How is that? You lived in the woodbinelast season and knew that this was ours. You are surely not inearnest."
Mr. Wren looked at his wife and she nodded. Then he flew at Mr.Sparrow and they fought back and forth on the grape trellis near bythem, in the air, then on the ground. Mrs. Sparrow peeped out of theopen door to see if her husband needed help. He was the larger of thetwo, but not so quick in darting and turning. Now they passed out ofsight behind the tool-house and she forgot Mrs. Wren and flew down tosee better. She was hardly off the tiny porch when Mrs. Wren dartedin. Mrs. Sparrow saw when it was too late what a mistake she had made,and tried to get back. She reached the porch again just in time tohave a lot of straws, twigs, and feathers poked into her face by theangry Mrs. Wren.
"I am cleaning house," said Mrs. Wren. "My house, too! Get out of myway!" Then she pushed out more of the same sort of stuff. Mrs. Sparrowtried to get in, and every time she put her head through the doorwayshe was pecked by Mrs. Wren. And she deserved it. She called Mr.Sparrow, but he could not help her, and Mr. Wren was so pleased thathe sat on top of the tool-house and sang and sang and sang. To look athim you would have thought he was trying to kill himself. He puffed uphis throat and swelled up his body and sang so fast that he seemed tobe saying about four words at a time.
THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD HOUSE. _Page 18_]
"Good for you! Good for you! Good for you!" he sang. "Stick to it!Stick to it! Stick to it! I'm here! I'm here! I'm here, here, here!"
Mrs. Wren was too busy to say much, but she did a great deal. Everyscrap of the nest was thrown out, and as she worked she decided tokeep that house if she starved there.
This was in the middle of the morning and she could not get out tofeed until late in the afternoon. Mr. Wren found some deliciousinsects on the grapevines, and tried to carry a few billfuls to hiswife, but the Sparrows prevented him. He would have enjoyed his owndinner better if she could have eaten with him. When he asked how shewas, she chirped back that she was hungry but would not give up. Mr.Wren spent most of his time walking around the roof of the tool-housein circles, dragging his wings on the shingles, and saying,"Tr-r-r-r-r-r!" He was so angry that sometimes he could not sayanything else. The Sparrows sat on the grape trellis and said meanthings.
They were still doing this late in the afternoon, while the treeshadows grew longer and longer on the lawn with the lowering of thesun. Suddenly a Blackbird alighted on the trellis. It was the same onewhose fat Grub Mr. Sparrow had stolen.
"This has gone far enough," said he. "This house belongs to the Wrensand they are going to have it. _I_ say so. If I catch either of youSparrows around here again, I will drive you off the place. I can doit, too. You may think it over until the next time that grapevine isblown against the tool-house. If you do not go then, there will be_trouble_." He ruffled up his feathers and glared with his yelloweyes. That was all he had to do. Before the grapevine swayed again,the Sparrows were far away.
The Wrens thanked him, even before Mrs. Wren ate her late dinner. "Youare welcome," he said. "It was just fun for me. I cannot bear thoseSparrows, and I hoped they would stay and give me a chance to fightthem. How I wish they had stayed!" He looked sad and disappointed.
"I'll never have another such good chance," said he. And he never did.Perhaps it was just as well, although there are times when it is notwrong to fight, and the Wrens think this would have been one.
Dooryard Stories Page 4
