feathers of which it was made were scattered all about, and the eggs, with the little birdies inside, would have been all broken ker-smash, only that they happened to fall down on some soft moss.
"Oh, dear!" cried Mrs. Wren, sorrowfully. "Now see what that crow has done! My home is broken up, and my birdies will be killed."
"Caw! Caw! Caw!" cried the crow as unkindly as he could, and it sounded just as if he laughed "Haw! Haw! Haw!"
"Oh, whatever shall I do?" asked Mrs. Wren. "My birdies will have no nest, and I haven't time to make another and break up the little fine sticks that I need and gather the feathers that are scattered all over. Oh, what shall I do? Soon my birdies will be out of the shells."
"Never fear!" said Uncle Wiggily, bravely. "I will help you. I'll gather the sticks for you."
"Oh, but you haven't time; you must be off seeking your fortune," answered the wren.
"Oh, I guess my fortune can wait. It has been waiting for me a long time, and it won't hurt to wait a bit longer.
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