He was at home, and we sat down on a bench by the door to rest.

Thinking he might know about the nest of the Rock Wren,--for an old miner knows a great many things he never thinks of making a book about,--I asked him if there were any Wrens around there.
"'Wall, I should smile, stranger! Lots on 'em--more'n one kind, too--but mostly not the reg'lar kind they have where you tenderfoots live--bigger, and pickeder in front, and make more fuss.

When they fust come, 'long about May, or nigh onter June, they act kinder shy like, but they get uster to yer, soon's they find nobody ain't goin' to bother with 'em, and stay around altogether, mostly in the rocks.

Last y'ar there was two on 'em come nigh chinking up this shebang with trash they hauled in for a nest, afore they got it fixed to suit 'em, and had it chuck full o' speckled eggs.

Then one of these yere blamed pack-rats tore it all up, and they had to start in to hauling more trash.' "So you see, children, this miner knew a Rock Wren--do you know a Jenny Wren ?" The Rock Wren Length nearly six inches.
Back gray, with fine black-and-white dots.
Under parts no particular color.
Some of the tail-feathers with black bars and cinnamon-brown tips.
A Citizen of the United States from the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific Ocean.
A Ground Gleaner THE HOUSE WREN "We all know Jenny Wren!" cried the children.