The Tale Of Rusty Wren Part 3

VII

A NEAT HOUSEKEEPER

Rusty Wren's wife was a very neat housekeeper. Every day she carefully cleaned her house, chirping while she worked. Sometimes her voice was sweet and pleasant. But at other times--though it was still sweet--it was not pleasant at all. And whenever Rusty heard that second kind of chirp he was always careful to find some errand that took him away from home.

You see, Rusty Wren was not so orderly as his wife. Often he scattered things about the house in a very careless fashion.

For instance, if he happened to notice a bit of moss--or a burr--clinging to his coat, just as likely as not he would brush it off and let it fall upon the floor. And when Mrs. Rusty found anything like that in her cottage, she always knew how it came there.

Rusty sometimes remarked that it was a good thing he didn't smoke.

"How would you like it if I dropped bits of tobacco, or ashes, and maybe burnt matches for you to pick up?" he asked his wife.

"You couldn't come inside my house if you used tobacco," she always replied. And she would get quite excited at the mere thought of such an untidy habit.

And then Rusty would smile--but he always took good care not to let his wife see him.

"Don't worry!" he would say, if she became too stirred up. "I've never smoked yet--and I never expect to."

One can see that Rusty Wren was somewhat of a tease. And as it usually happens with people who amuse themselves at the expense of others, there came a time when Rusty's teasing landed him in trouble.

One day after he had come home from an excursion to the pasture (he seldom strayed so far from home as that!), Mrs. Rusty began sniffing the air. Her nose would have wrinkled--only it couldn't, because it was so hard. She looked at her husband suspiciously. And it seemed to her that he had a guilty manner.

"I declare," she said, "I believe you've been smoking." And she started to scold so angrily that Rusty Wren knew she must be in a temper.

Seeing signs of trouble, Rusty began to fidget. And he moved about so uneasily that his wife was all the surer of his guilt. She stopped right in the middle of her scolding to say, "I smell smoke!"

"Perhaps you do," Rusty admitted. "But it's certainly not tobacco smoke."

"Ah!" she exclaimed. "Then you've been smoking corn-silk, or hayseed--and that's almost as bad."

But Rusty said that it must be the smoke of a pine stump that she noticed.

"Farmer Green is burning some old stumps in the pasture," he explained. "And I flew through a cloud of it."

Just then he happened to notice a bit of something or other clinging to one of his tail feathers. And though his wife was looking straight at him, he flicked the tiny sc.r.a.p upon the floor, without thinking what he was doing.

"There you go again!" Mrs. Rusty Wren cried. "Here I've just finished cleaning the house and you're littering it all up! You don't care how much work you make for me." And she pounced upon the brownish bit, intending to pick it up and throw it out of the house.

Rusty had already decided that he had better go away from home for a little while, until things were pleasanter, when his wife suddenly faced about and fixed him with her glittering eyes.

"Ha!" she cried, holding up the sc.r.a.p in her bill for him to see.

"Tobacco!" she screamed. "And what, pray, have you to say to me now?"

VIII

RUSTY IN TROUBLE

Rusty Wren edged toward the door--that little opening in the syrup can, only slightly bigger than a twenty-five-cent piece. He wished he was already safely through it, for he did not like the look in his wife's eyes.

"I must be going now," he said faintly--though he was generally as bold as bra.s.s.

"Wait a moment!" Mrs. Rusty ordered. "Where did this tobacco come from?" She spoke somewhat thickly, for she still held the bit of brown leaf in her bill.

"I can't imagine," he stammered. "I never knew it was sticking to my tail until I saw it and brushed it off----"

"On my clean floor!" his wife interrupted. "Goodness knows it's bad enough to have you forever doing things like that without your bringing _tobacco_ into my clean house--and without smelling of smoke, too."

For almost the first time in his life Rusty Wren was really worried. Somehow, he had managed to get into something a good deal like a sc.r.a.pe. It seemed to him that the house was terribly hot and stuffy; and always before he had thought it quite comfortable.

"I'm going out for a breath of fresh air," he protested feebly. And before Mrs. Rusty could stop him he dodged past her and slipped through the tiny doorway, leaving her to scold to her heart's content.

All this happened in the middle of the morning. And the cuckoo clock in Farmer Green's kitchen had sung the hour six times before Rusty Wren returned.

Never before had he stayed away from his snug house so long. And, naturally, that made him have a guilty feeling, as if he had really done something to be ashamed of. As for smoking, he had (as he said) never smoked in his life. It was true that Farmer Green was burning stumps in the pasture that morning, and that the odor of the smoke had clung to Rusty's feathers.

But the bit of tobacco that had clung to his tail was a mystery that he couldn't explain. It was a most unfortunate accident. But Rusty hoped that by that time--it was then the middle of the afternoon--he hoped that his wife had recovered from her displeasure. Usually, when they had any little difference of opinion, she felt better if he gave her plenty of time in which to scold. But now Rusty was not quite sure of his welcome. He had never seen Mrs. Rusty so upset.

"Are you there, my love?" he asked softly, as he alighted on the roof of his house. He did not care to go inside until he was quite sure that his wife was in better spirits.

"The smoker has come home again," a peevish voice called out. And instead of bursting into the merry song which Rusty had been all ready to carol, he flew off across the yard and began hunting for something to eat.

Since he couldn't very well go home, he thought that he might as well enjoy a good meal, at least.

IX

ALL'S WELL AGAIN

After Rusty Wren had revived his drooping spirits by eating heartily of three dozen insects of different kinds and sizes, he felt so cheerful that he couldn't help trilling a few songs. It was almost evening; and he was glad not to let the sun go down without thanking him in that way for shining so brightly all day.

Though it was so late, Farmer Green still toiled in the fields; but Rusty could hear Johnnie and old dog Spot driving the cows down the lane towards the barn.

Now, above the wide door of the carriage house a window was open--a window through which Rusty had flown early in the morning. Unlike old Mr. Crow, Rusty Wren was not in the least afraid to enter any of the farm buildings. Perhaps if Rusty had been in the habit of taking Farmer Green's corn he would have thought twice before he ventured inside the cow barn or the carriage house. But since he never damaged the crops, and always helped them by destroying a great number of insects that ate all sorts of growing things, Rusty had nothing whatever to fear from anybody in the farmhouse--except the cat, of course.

There was really no reason for Rusty's flying through the open window, beyond the fact that he liked to prowl around the great, dusty room under the eaves, to see what he could find. Once he was inside, he noticed something that had not caught his eye on his former visit. Hanging from a rafter, where the slanting rays of the setting sun fell squarely upon it, was a big bunch of brown tobacco leaves.

Rusty Wren gave a chirp of pleasure at the sight. That was where he must have picked up the bit of tobacco that had clung to his tail feathers and upset his wife's good nature.