all.

But I must tell you the rest of the story of the bluebirds; and I am
sorry to say, they met with sad trials. The first encroacher, as
they supposed him to be, was a woodpecker; he seemed, as I thought,
to mean them no harm; but as soon as they heard his tap, tap, tap,
they flew at him very angrily and drove him away. A more dangerous
enemy was at hand, one that from his size you would not have
supposed dangerous to them. A little wren, not nearly so large as
the bluebird, came one day to the tree; and, seeing the jar, having
examined it, and being pleased with it, resolved to take it for
herself. The little thief waited till the bluebirds had gone upon
some expedition; and then, without any ceremony, without any fear of
any thing, she entered the jar, and was evidently confirmed in her
purpose of taking possession of it. Probably she held a consultation
with her mate; but this I did not witness, as I did that between the
two bluebirds. The next day this pert little Madam Wren, or her
mate, I could not tell which, came again, and, perching on the
topmost branch of the tree, poured forth a loud triumphant song, and
then, as soon as the coast was clear, entered the house she was
resolved to appropriate to herself. In a minute after, she appeared
at the mouth of the jar with her bill full of the dried grass of
which the bluebird's nest was made, which she threw out on the
ground disdainfully. Back again she flew, and in an instant brought
some more and threw it out. This she did with the most impudent look
you can imagine. Then she flew swiftly in and out, like a little
termagant, throwing out of the mouth of the jar, sticks, dead
leaves, grass, with all the nice soft things which the poor bluebird
had been a week in collecting. Every now and then, she came out for
a minute and sang as sweetly as if she were not engaged in such a