"Robin, robin redbreast,
Singing on the bough,
Come and get your breakfast,
We will feed you now.
Robin likes the golden grain,
Nods his head and sings again:
'Chirping, chirping cheerily,
Here I come so merrily,
Thank you, children dear!'"
Thus sang Phyllis one morning during the second week in March.
In the topmost bough of the old apple-tree sat Robin Redbreast, looking altogether doubtful as to whether he liked the little girl's song.
But when he saw the grains of wheat which the child was scattering on the ground for his breakfast, he thought better of his doubt.
He hopped lower on the branches. He turned his little head on one side and looked at Phyllis in a very friendly fashion.
"Come on down!" Phyllis begged. "I am so glad that you have returned. I am so glad that you came to this very apple-tree and sang so strong and loud and clear!"
"Chirp! Chirp!" and the robin hopped again nearer.
"You see," Phyllis went on, in her coaxing little voice, "my brother Jack, being a boy, said he would be the one to see the first robin this year.
"But I made up my mind that if watchful eyes and careful ears could help a little girl, I would get ahead of Jack.
"Sure enough, the first thing I heard this morning was your sweet song. When did you arrive? Aren't you rather early?"
By this time the robin was on the ground, pecking away at the grain. As he ate his breakfast he told his story.
[Illustration: "By this time the robin was on the ground"
(missing from book)]
"I have been south all winter long," he said. "It is very lovely in the southland. Food is plenty, the days are long, and the sunshine is golden, bright, and warm.
"But as soon as the spring days came I grew restless. I knew the snow was beginning to melt and the grass to grow green in my old home country. I wanted to start north at once.
"I spoke to my little mate about it, and found her to be as homesick as I. So we flew north a little earlier than usual this year, and arrived ahead of the others. We are now quite anxious to get to housekeeping, and are already looking for a suitable place for a nest."
"If you will build near us," said Phyllis, "I will help you care for your little ones. I will give you all the crumbs that you can eat."
"Oh! oh!" chirped the robin; "you are very kind, Phyllis, but I hardly think you would know how to feed bird babies.
"You see our babies are so fond of bugs and worms and all sorts of insects, that they do not care for crumbs when they can have nice fat worms.
"We sometimes feed berries and cherries to our babies. We older birds often eat fruit, but really we like worms and bugs better."
"The robins ate all the cherries from the top of our cherry-tree last year," said Phyllis.
"Yes, we did eat some of your cherries," admitted the robin. "They were very sweet and juicy.
"There are people who say that we robins are a nuisance, and that we destroy so much fruit that they wish we would never come near them. The fact is, we do more good than harm to your orchards and berry patches. Just think how many insects we destroy! If it were not for us I think much more fruit would be destroyed by insects. And worms and caterpillars would be crawling everywhere.
"A robin is a very greedy fellow. He eats nearly all the time. I could not begin to tell you how many insects I have eaten during my life.
"There are cutworms, too, which live underground. During the night they come out for food. We robins are early risers, and often catch the slow worms before they can get back to their underground homes."
"Ah," laughed Phyllis, "that must be the reason that we say that the early bird catches the worm."
"When our babies come," said the robin, "we are very busy, indeed. Those young mouths seem always to be open, begging for more food.
"My mother says that when I was a baby robin she was kept busy all day long.
"There were four baby birds in the nest. I myself ate about seventy worms in a day. My brother and sisters had as good appetites as I."
"Will you build here in the apple-tree?" asked Phyllis. "I should so like to watch you. Besides, there is a garden just beneath with millions of bugs and insects there."
"Oh, yes," replied the robin. "We shall surely build there. You will find that robins like to build near your home. We have a very friendly feeling towards people. That is the reason that we hop about your lawn so much and that we waken you by singing near your window in the early morning."
"I have heard that robins are not very good nest-builders," said Phyllis. "I was told that a great number of robins' nests were blown down by every hard storm."
"More are destroyed than I like to think about," said the robin. "But my father and mother raised three families of birds in their nest last season.
"Early in the spring they were very busy about their nest-building. First they brought sticks, straw, weeds, and roots. With these they laid the foundation in what seemed a very careless fashion, among the boughs.
"Then here on this foundation they wove the round nest of straws and weeds. They plastered it with mud. They lined it with soft grasses and moss.
"In this nest my mother laid four beautiful greenish-blue eggs. From the first egg that cracked open I crept out. From the three other eggs came my brother and sisters.
"We were not handsome babies. I don't believe bird babies ever are beautiful at first. We had no feathers, and our mouths were so big and yellow.
"We were always hungry, for we were growing very fast. Our mouths flew open at every little noise. We thought every sound was the flutter of our parents' wings. They always brought such fine food for us."
The robin pecked away at his breakfast for some time before he spoke again. Then he again took up the story of his life.
"How well I remember being taught to fly," he said. "How our mother coaxed us to try our wings. How timid and feeble we were One of my sisters fell to the ground and a great gray cat caught her.
"Our wings were very weak then and our feathers were still short. I then had no beautiful red breast. It was just a rusty looking white spotted with black.
"My mother's breast was not so red as my father's. She was of a paler colour and she sang much less than he. She was a very happy little mother, however, and she chirped very sweetly to her babies.
"After we flew from the nest, and were able to look out for ourselves, my mother laid four more greenish-blue eggs in the same nest. By and bye four more young robins were chirping about in the garden.
"Quite late in the season my parents were again nesting. But it was rather unfortunate that they did so. A great storm came up and a branch broke from the tree and destroyed the four blue eggs.
"It was shortly after this mishap that the robins flew south for the winter.
"My brother, who was always a brave, cheery fellow, thought he would rather stay here. I wonder how he fared. I have not yet seen him."
"I have not seen him lately, but he was here during the winter," said Phyllis. "I dare say you will find him soon."
"Well," said the robin, picking up the last grain of wheat, "I thank you, Phyllis, for this fine breakfast.
"I will only say 'good morning.' I think you will see me again. Perhaps I will show you where we build our nest."
"I am grateful to you," replied Phyllis. "You see the cherry-tree grows beside Jack's window. You might have sung your morning song there."
THE ROBIN'S RED BREAST[1]
It was very cold in the north country. The ice was thick and the snow was deep.
The seal and the white bear were happy. They liked the ice, the snow, and the cutting north wind, for their fur was thick and warm.
One night the great white bear climbed to the top of an immense iceberg. He looked far across the country. The fields of snow and the beautiful northern lights made the night almost as light as day.
The white bear saw no living thing save a few fur-clad animals and a little gray robin chirping cheerily as it picked away at an old bone.
Again the white bear looked down. Almost at the foot of the iceberg crouched a hunter and his little son. Between the two a tiny fire was blazing.
When the white bear saw the hunter and the boy guarding the fire he growled terribly. He leaped across from one iceberg to another. He went into his icy cave still growling.
"It is the only fire in the whole north country," growled the white bear to himself. "If I could only put out that fire the land of ice and snow would be mine.
"Neither the hunter nor the hunter's son could live, without fire. I will watch my chance. Perhaps some day I shall be so lucky as to put the fire out."
Now the Eskimo night is weeks long. All through the long night the hunter kept the fire. All through the long night the white bear crouched near and growled deeply.
At length the hunter fell ill. The brave little boy kept the fire burning. He also cared for his sick father.
The white bear crept closer now, and growled more loudly.
He longed to jump on the fire with his wet feet and tramp it out. But he dared not. The boy's bright eyes watched faithfully. The hunter's arrows were deadly, and the boy's aim was true.
But by and bye the boy could endure the long watch no longer. His head drooped. His eyes closed. He slept.
The white bear's growl sounded like a hideous laugh. The little gray robin twittered loudly in warning. But the poor tired little fellow heard neither the white bear's growl nor the gray robin's twitter.
Then the white bear ran swiftly to the fire. He tramped upon it with his cold wet feet. He rolled upon it with his cold wet fur. The cheerful blaze died out.
When he arose the white bear saw only a little pile of gray ashes. He laughed so loudly that the boy awoke and snatched up his bow and arrows.
But the white bear ran away to his cave, still growling laughingly. He knew that no human being could live in that cruelly cold north country without fire.
Now when the white bear was gone, the little gray robin hopped near. Her chirp was quite sad. She, too, saw nothing but a little heap of ashes as gray as her own feathers.
She hopped nearer. She scratched among the ashes with her cold little claws. She looked eagerly at each cinder with her sharp little eyes. She found—a tiny live coal.
It was only the tiniest spark! The least flake of the fast-falling snow would put it out!
The little gray robin hovered over it that the cold wind might not reach the spark. She fanned it softly with her wings for a long, long time.
The gray robin hovered so close that the coal touched her gray breast. As she fanned it glowed larger and redder. Her breast was scorched quite red, as the coal grew.
But the robin did not leave until a fine red flame blazed up.
Then the robin with her poor scorched red breast flew away. She flew wearily, for she was very tired. Now and again she touched the ground.
And wherever the robin's red breast touched the earth a fire was kindled. Soon the whole north country was blazing with tiny fires over which the Eskimos might cook their food and dry their clothes.
The white bear crept far, far back into his cave. He growled fiercely. He knew now that he could never have the north country to himself.
WHICH WAS THE WISER?[1]
One morning in the early spring a raven was sitting on one of the branches of an old oak. He felt very ugly and cross, and could only say, "Croak! Croak!"
Soon a little robin, who was looking for a place to build her nest, came, with a merry song, into the same tree. "Good morning to you," she said to the raven.
But the raven made no answer; he only looked at the clouds and croaked something about the cold wind. "I said good morning to you," said the robin, hopping from branch to branch.
"You seem very merry this morning about nothing," croaked the raven.
"Why should I not be merry?" asked the robin. "Spring has come, and everybody should be glad and happy."
"I am not happy," said the raven. "Don't you see those black clouds above us? It is going to snow."
"Very well," answered the robin, "I shall keep on singing till it comes, at any rate. A merry song will not make it any colder."
"You are very silly," croaked the raven.
The robin flew to another tree and kept on singing; but the raven sat still and made himself very unhappy.
"The wind is so cold," he said. "It always blows the wrong way for me."
Very soon the sun came out warm and bright, and the clouds went away. But the raven was as sad as ever.
The grass began to spring up in the meadows. Green leaves and flowers were seen in the woods. Birds and bees flew here and there in the glad sunshine. The raven sat alone on the branch of the old oak.
"It is always too warm or too cold," said he. "To be sure it is quite pleasant just now; but I know that the sun will soon shine hot enough to burn one up. Then to-morrow it will be colder than ever before. I do not see how any one can be so silly as to sing at such a time as this."
Just then the robin came back to the tree, carrying a straw in her mouth.
"Well, my friend," asked she, "where is your snow?"
"Don't say anything," croaked the raven. "It will snow all the harder for this sunshine."
"And snow or shine," said the robin, "you will keep on croaking. For my part, I shall look on the bright side of everything, and have a song for every day in the year."
Which was the wiser, the raven or the robin?
ALL ABOUT THE ROBIN
SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS
One of the first birds to return in the spring—migrates north early in March—sometimes remains during winter—stays north as late as October or November.
Domestic—generally preferring to live near the home of man.
Song—though short and always the same is in tone wonderfully expressive of happiness, love, anger, or fear, as the case may be.
Black head—wings and tail brown—touches of white on throat—entire breast a rusty red.—Female duller and paler in colouring, growing almost as bright as the male in the autumn.
Food—principally insects and worms—does not disdain fruit, berries, cherries, etc., but prefers insect food—a ravenous eater.
Nest—outer layer composed of sticks, coarse grasses, etc., seemingly rather carelessly arranged—on this the rather large round nest is woven with grasses—plastered with mud—lined with softer grasses.
Eggs—greenish blue—four in number—young have black spots on breast—generally two broods reared in a season—sometimes three.
