The Tale Of Rusty Wren Part 1

The Tale of Rusty Wren.

by Arthur Scott Bailey.

I

A PLEASANT HOME

Now, Rusty Wren had found--and shown to his wife--a hollow apple tree and a hole in a fence-rail, either of which he thought would make a pleasant place in which to live.

But since the little couple were _house wrens_, Rusty's wife said she thought that they oughtn't to be so far from the farmhouse.

"Why not build our nest behind one of the shutters?" she suggested.

But Rusty shook his head quickly--and with decision.

"That won't do," said he. "Somebody might come to the window and close the shutter; and then our nest would fall to the ground. And if we happened to have six or eight eggs in it, you know you wouldn't like that very well."

Rusty's wife agreed with him on that point. But she still insisted that she wanted to live near the farmhouse; and she said that she expected her husband to find a good spot for their nest, for she certainly wasn't going to spend the summer in a hole in a fence-rail, or in an old apple tree, either.

Rusty Wren saw at once that there was no sense in arguing with her.

If he wanted any peace, he knew that he might as well forget the old hollow apple tree and the hole in the fence-rail too. He had better forget them and resume his search for a home. So he gave his plump little cinnamon-colored body a shake and held his tail at even a higher angle than usual, just to show people that he was going to be the head of the house--when they should have one. Then with a flirt of his short, round wings he hurried over to Farmer Green's dooryard--after calling to his wife that he would come back and tell her if he had any luck.

Rusty Wren spent some busy moments about Farmer Green's buildings.

And since he loved to be busy and was never so happy as when he had something important to do, he hopped and climbed and fluttered to his heart's content, looking into a hundred different holes and cracks and crannies.

But he didn't find a single one that suited him. Every place into which he peered was either too big or too little, or too high or too low; or it was where the rain would beat upon it; or maybe it was so situated that the cat could thrust her paw inside. Anyhow, every possible nook for a nest had some drawback. And Rusty was wondering what he could say to his wife, who was sure to be upset if her plans went wrong, when all at once he came upon the finest place for a house that he had ever seen. One quick look through the small round opening that led to it was enough.

He knew right away that his search was ended. So he hurried back to the orchard to find Mrs. Rusty and tell her the good news.

"I've found the best spot for a house in all Pleasant Valley!" he cried, as he dropped down beside her and hopped about in his excitement.

"Is it in a good neighborhood?" she inquired calmly.

"Yes, indeed!" he replied. "It's in a tree close to Farmer Green's bedroom window."

"A hole in a tree!" she exclaimed somewhat doubtfully. "Not an old squirrel's nest, I hope?"

"No, no!" he a.s.sured her. "It's not really _in_ a tree. It's nailed to a tree. Come with me and I'll show you."

At that the bustling little pair hastened toward the farmhouse.

And, to Rusty's delight, the moment his wife saw what he had found she said at once that it was exactly the sort of house she had always hoped to have, some time.

II

JOHNNIE GREEN'S IDEA

It happened that just before Rusty Wren and his wife came to Pleasant Valley to look for a home, Johnnie Green had an idea.

He found the idea in the weekly paper which the letter-carrier left each Friday in the mail box at the crossroads. On the Children's Page Johnnie read a story about a pair of house wrens. And he learned then that an old tin can nailed to a tree makes exactly the sort of house that wrens like.

Well, Johnnie Green began at once to look for a tin can. He had made up his mind that he would try to coax a couple of those busy little songsters to nest near-by, where he could have fun watching them.

Not finding an _old_ tin can that suited him, Johnnie took a shiny maple syrup can, which his father said he might have. It seemed to him that it was just the kind he needed, for the only opening in it was a small round hole in the top, hardly bigger than a twenty-five-cent piece. (The story in the weekly paper said that the wrens' doorway should be as small as that, so that no ruffianly English sparrows could enter the house and disturb the little people that were to dwell there.)

Johnnie Green punched a few nail holes in the sides of the syrup can, because he thought that if _he_ lived in such a place, he would want plenty of fresh air. Then he nailed a board to the can.

And next he nailed the board to a cherry tree close to the house.

After that Johnnie had nothing more to do but wait. And he had not waited two days before Rusty Wren discovered the bright tin can that was to be his summer home.

As soon as she saw it, Rusty's wife said that there must be kind people living in the farmhouse, or they never would have driven nails through a spick-and-span can just to make strangers happy.

Since their search was ended, the tiny pair began building their nest right then and there. In a surprisingly short time they had completely filled their new house with twigs. And as soon as they had done that much, in the center of the ma.s.s of twigs they built a nest of dried gra.s.ses, singing the merriest of songs while they worked.

Of course, Johnnie Green was delighted. All the time the lively little couple were at work upon their new home it was easy to find Johnnie. But it was hard to get him to do any errands, because he didn't want to stir from the dooryard, he was so interested in what was going on.

Farmer Green, too, seemed pleased. And though he didn't spend much time watching Mr. and Mrs. Rusty (he said that he had to work, the same as they), he remarked to Johnnie that he was glad to see that the newcomers were already paying rent for their house.

Johnnie Green looked puzzled.

"Rent?" he exclaimed. "I don't understand."

"Just hear them!" his father replied. "Isn't their singing pay enough for the use of a tin syrup can?"

"That's so!" cried Johnnie. "I never thought of that. Why, they've turned that can into a regular music-box!"

III

THE ALARM CLOCK

All summer long Farmer Green rose while the world was still gray, before the sun climbed over the mountain to flood Pleasant Valley with his golden light.

One might think that Farmer Green would have had some trouble awaking so early in the morning. And perhaps he might have overslept now and then had he not had a never-failing alarm clock to arouse him.

It was not one of those man-made clocks, which go off with a deafening clatter and bring a startled body to his feet before he is really awake. No! Farmer Green had something much pleasanter than that; and it was not in his bedroom, either.

His alarm clock was in his dooryard, for it was Rusty Wren himself who always warned him that day was breaking and that it was time to get up and go to work.

Every morning, without fail, Rusty sang his dawn song right under Farmer Green's window. His musical trill, sounding very much like the brook that rippled its way down the side of Blue Mountain, always made Farmer Green feel glad that another day had come.