“FIDDLE-DIDDLE-DEE!”

Little Davie ran through the garden,—­a great slice of bread and butter in one hand, and his spelling-book in the other.  He was going to study his lesson for to-morrow.

You could not imagine a prettier spot than Davie’s “study,” as he called it.  It was under a great oak-tree, that stood at the edge of a small wood.  The little boy sat down on one of the roots and opened his book.

[Illustration:  The Little Brown Wren.]

“But first,” thought he, “I’ll finish my bread and butter.”

So he let his book drop, and, as he ate, he began to sing a little song with which his mother sometimes put the baby to sleep.  This is the way the song began: 

  “I bought a bird, and my bird pleased me;
  I tied my bird behind a tree;
  Bird said——­”

“Fiddle-diddle-dee!” sang something, or somebody, behind the oak.  Davie looked a little frightened, for that was just what he was about to sing in his song.  But he jumped up and ran around to the other side of the tree.  And there was a little brown wren, and it had a little golden thread around its neck, and the thread was tied to a root of the big tree.

“Hello!” said Davie, “was that you?”

Now, of course Davie had not expected the wren to answer him.  But the bird turned her head on one side, and, looking up at Davie, said: 

[Illustration:  The Little Bantam Hen.]

“Yes, of course it was me!  Who else did you suppose it could be?”

“Oh yes!” said Davie, very much astonished.  “Oh yes, of course!  But I thought you only did it in the song!”

“Well,” said the wren, “were not you singing the song, and am not I in the song, and what else could I do?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Davie.

“Well, go, then,” said the wren, “and don’t bother me.”

Davie felt very queer.  He stopped a moment, but soon thought that he must do as he was bid, and he began to sing again: 

  “I bought a hen, and my hen pleased me;
  I tied my hen behind a tree;
  Hen said——­”

“Shinny-shack! shinny-shack!” interrupted another voice, so loudly that Davie’s heart gave a great thump, as he turned around.  There, behind the wren, stood a little Bantam hen, and around her neck was a little golden cord that fastened her to the wren’s leg.

[Illustration:  The Speckled Guinea-Hen.]

“I suppose that was you?” said Davie.

“Yes, indeed,” replied the hen.  “I know when my time comes in, in a song.  But it was provoking for you to call me away from my chicks.”

“I?” cried Davie.  “I didn’t call you!”

“Oh, indeed!” said the Bantam.  “It wasn’t you, then, who were singing ‘Tied my hen,’ just now!  Oh no, not you!”

“I’m sorry,” said Davie.  “I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, go on, then,” said the little hen, “and don’t bother.”

Davie was so full of wonder that he did not know what to think of it all.  He went back to his seat, and sang again: