On the broad, brown salt meadows that skirt the Housatonic river just above its mouth is a vast colony of marsh wrens. In the acres of tangled tules and cat-tails they have built nests innumerable, prettily woven affairs of reed and cat-tail leaves. The nests, which are as large as one’s head, are so compactly constructed and so thoroughly thatched as to be entirely weather-tight. As a rule, the thrifty little chattering wrens prefer not to occupy a last year’s nest, so there are eery season hundreds of empty ones. They are not allowed to remain vacant long, however, for there are too many creatures seeking just such snug shelters.
One species of field or meadow mice, take possession of a great many of them, and the old mice can be seen at all times of the day nimbly running up and down the reeds, coming to an going from their cosy homes. Like most squatters, they are not the most desirable settlers, and, sad to say, frequently repay their open-hearted landlords by eating all the pink eggs in the near-by wrens’ nests. If caught in the act, a dozen of the excited birds will organize a vigilance committee, trail the thief to his home and drive him and his family from the nest, tearing it to pieces to prevent any return.
Big spiders, too, love to nest in the abandoned basket-like abodes, and live for many seasons in them.
The most desirable tenants of all are the big black and white hornets. By fare the greater number of the old nests are inhabited by these fiery fellows, and, odd to relate, they are best of friends with the landlords. As if by agreement with the wrens, they keep a perpetual guard over the new nests, as well as those where they live. Let a dog, an unconscious rail or snipe shooter, a bird’s-egging boy, or any creature whatever approach the nests within a few yards, and, suddenly, without warning, a cohort of winged warriors will fall on the intruder, and flight is the only safe course. To fight would mean death, for the hornets would soon be reinforced by other nestfuls until they would cover the victim and sting him to death.
The wrens seem fully conscious of the value of such sentinels, for they take care to build their new nests always very near the old. The birds are themselves very defenseless, and, their nests being easily located on account of size and the noise made by the wrens, they have been in some localities entirely wiped out by egg-collectors. The boys have learned to give this colony a wide berth, however, and the Housatonic marsh-wrens are fast increasing in numbers, and, unless the hornets shift their quarters, are likely to sing happily there in the reeds and raise many a brood of young in years to come.