“Dear James,
Do you want me to write you a little letter about a robin? I think you do. Well; I will write it. Now I will begin. A robin is a bird. A robin has two wings and two legs; he flies in the air; it is his wings make him go. When he comes down to the ground, he hops along on his two legs. When he sees a worm he picks it up with his bill. Do you know what his bill is? It is a mouth. Then he picks it up just as the hen does, and eats it. Now for the story.
Near the house where I live, there is a field; and in the field there is a tree. I was walking in the field, and went near the tree; as I went near it, a bird darted out of the tree, and sung out very loud; it made me start. When I saw it was a bird, I looked among the leaves and branches of the tree, and found there a pretty robin’s nest, and three eggs. Only think, a beautiful nest, with three eggs. I looked at them for a minute, and then went away and left them there. The next day, I walked down to the tree again, to see the nest and the pretty eggs. I pulled away the leaves, but the nest was not there. I stooped down on the ground, looked into the grass, and there I saw the robin. The poor robin was dead, the nest was torn in pieces, and the eggs were broken. I would send you one of the eggs, but it is broken so much, that I think it will not do. When the little robin was alive, he sung pleasantly, he made him a nest, and handsome eggs; but now the robin is dead, the nest is torn in pieces, and the eggs are broken. Poor robin; poor robin.
I have written this story of the robin for little James. I am very sorry that any boy should kill the poor robin and spoil its nest.
This is from your affectionate,
Uncle.”
