One fine summer morning two old robins were consulting about breaking up their household. In other words, they thought the time had come when their young ones should turn out of the nest and find food for themselves. There were five little birds in that nice, warm nest, but it was much too small for them now that they were so well feathered; and as they quarrelled terribly about getting the best place, the weakest one was in danger of being tumbled over the side with the pushing and struggling that went on. Then they were such hungry birds that their parents could not find enough of food to satisfy them, and the poor old birds were getting quite thin, and were tired flying from their nest to the plot where the gardener was raising some early potatoes, which was the best place to find food, and back with their mouths full.

Cock Robin said to his wife,—

“This is going to be a very warm day, and I am not going to work all through the sunshiny hours feeding birds old enough to look after themselves. We shall say we are going away for a holiday, as we require change of air, and they must go and find their own food. Don’t look so sad, my dear; it is the way of the world. The same thing happened to us. I wonder what my father would have said had I screamed to him for food when I was the age my sons are?”

Mrs. Robin listened dutifully to this long speech, and, like a good wife, acquiesced in what her husband said. But as she flew with him to tell the youngsters of the change awaiting them, her heart was a little sore on account of her latest hatched birdie. He was not so big or so strong as the others, and she feared he might be caught by a cat or die of cold. However, it was no use dwelling on these dismal ideas; he must just take his chance, as all birds before him had done. She would give him some good advice as to avoiding cats, and the proper drying of his feathers when they got wet, so that he should not get rheumatism in his bones.

On reaching the nest, they found there had been a fierce fight among their children. All the five were out of the nest, and four of them were on the ground fluttering and screaming, each trying to tell its own story and throw the blame on its neighbour.

“What is the meaning of this noise?” said Cock Robin.

“Where is Robinette?” cried Mrs. Robin. “Has a cat or a weasel been here?”

Chip, chip, chip was heard among the leaves close to the deserted home, and the mother flew up to see if her darling was all right, leaving the father of the family to settle matters with the others. Robinette was safe, and as he took the breakfast his mother had brought him, he told her what a fight there had been, and how he in the struggle had been pushed over the side. He also told her he could use his wings so well that he had been able to steady himself and keep from falling, until he found a branch that he could rest on comfortably. And there he had waited for his mother’s return, knowing that she would bring him something good to eat.

The poor mother was wondering how she was to tell her wee birdie that this was the last breakfast she would bring him, when he introduced the subject himself by saying he wished he had not to get back into that nest. Indeed he did not think he could do it, for his wings were so stretched with using them that he was sure they would never crumple up into so small a space as they used to occupy.

“Seeing that your wings are grown, my son, your father has decided we must all fly away. Let us join him now, and hear what he is saying to your brothers and sisters. He is very angry about this quarrelling, which is out of all order, and quite contrary to the doctrine taught by Dr. Watts that ‘Birds in their little nests agree;’ and he does not like to think that his children are naughty beyond all others.”

Robinette obediently accompanied his mother to the ground, and Mrs. Robin was glad to see how cleverly he managed both legs and wings. They found Cock Robin still haranguing his unruly family; but on seeing his wife, he concluded his remarks thus,—

“You are old enough and strong enough to do for yourselves, so off you go. Your mother and I will look after Robinette, and keep an eye on you for a day or two to see how you get on. I hope the gardener will be considerate enough to leave those worm-enticing carrots in the ground, for then there will be plenty of food for us all. Now good-bye.”

Cock Robin, having dismissed the four, turned to his wife and Robinette.

“I hope, my dear, he was not hurt by his rough brothers and sisters?”

“No,” she replied, “he was not hurt; and I am now satisfied that his legs and wings are all they should be. As for his brains, he has more in his little head than all the others put together. I feel sure Robinette will have a history.”

Cock Robin put his head first to one side, then to the other, and gave a funny, chirrupy laugh.

“Ah! you mother birds are all alike; you think your special nursling is sure to turn out the flower of the flock.”

“Let us fly away. There is an uncomfortable feeling about my feathers, plainly telling me there is a cat near us.”

At this moment there was a rustle among some leaves, and a beautiful tabby cat came into view close to where the birds were. Robinette got such a fright that he rose suddenly from the ground, and he seemed to go on rising, rising, until he was far away from his home in the rhododendron bush.

In his pleasure at finding himself going along so easily up in the air he quite forgot the cat, and, alas! he forgot his parents too. He forgot everything but himself.

“What a big place the world is!” thought he, as he sat on a branch of a large walnut-tree and looked round about him.

He was rather tired, so he rested there a while. Then he remembered that he had no one to bring him his food now; he must look for it himself. So he spread his wings and let himself gently down to the ground, where he soon found some earth newly turned over, and there was a feast for a king. Oh, those thoughtless wire-worms playing in the sunshine, they little knew who was just going to pounce upon them!

Robinette was now quite “on his own hook,” as people who speak slang say. There was no one to consult as to what he should do; and though this freedom was enjoyable in the full daylight, he began to feel lonesome as evening drew on. He found a good supper where he had found his dinner, then crept into a nice, thick rose-bush, dropped a silent tear as he thought of his mother, and tucking his head under his wing, fell fast asleep.

For some time Robinette’s life was much the same day by day. He met with no accidents, and had no adventures. However, one morning he saw something new and strange. He was on his usual point of observation—the branch of the walnut-tree—when he saw the gardeners bringing a long seat and putting it against the trunk of his tree. Then a neat maid from the house brought cushions and rugs. Next came a lady, and seated herself comfortably among those cushions and rugs.

“This must be ‘the mistress’ I hear the men speak about. She is evidently at home here, and looks as though she were some one of importance; but, poor thing, she seems lonely. I am lonely too. I don’t care for the other birds in the garden; they are a common lot with no manners. I’ll get acquainted with ‘the mistress.’ From what the men say, it is a wise thing to be on friendly terms with those in authority. I’ll go down and speak to her.”

With this he flew down near to the lady’s feet. She was reading The Standard with close attention, and did not see the wee bird.

“Chip, chip, chip,” said Robinette—his way of saying “good-morning,” you know.

Down went the newspaper with a crackling noise that somewhat alarmed him, so he withdrew to what he thought a safe distance. He flew to a dahlia stake, and from there again addressed the lady.

“Chip, chip, chip. Ah! she sees me now,” he said to himself.

The lady looked and saw him. He came near her, almost to her feet again. Robinette was very brave—whether from real courage or from ignorance is a disputed point.

“What a very friendly bird! You seem quite tame.”

“I wonder what she means,” thought the birdie. “Chip, chip, chip,” he said.

“Come near, robin; I shall not hurt you. Sing me a song.” And the lady made that curious, kissing sound with her lips that people always make when speaking to birds.

Robinette thought she was very polite to sing to him on such a slight acquaintance; and not to be behind in his manners, he sang to her with his strange, twittering note. The two conversed and sang to each other for some little time, when another lady came under the tree.

“Do look at that funny, little bird, Polly; it has been hopping about close to me, and seems very tame. We must bring some crumbs next time we come out.—Good-bye, Robin; but really you are so small that we shall call you Robinette.”

The ladies moved away, and the bird was left wondering what “crumbs” were like.

For some days after this the rain came down so fast that poor Robinette had much ado to keep himself dry. He cowered under his rose-bush or kept close to the thick hedge; but all the places got so very wet that the poor wee birdie thought life was not worth living. However, just as he was in the depths of despair, out came the sun from behind the clouds, and soon all nature was rejoicing again. The two ladies came out from the house to breathe the perfume-laden air and to enjoy the sounds of reviving nature. Robinette was so glad to see them that he flew quite close to them, saying in his own way, “Good-day to you—chip, chip, chip.”

“There is Robinette, I declare,” said Polly; “how wet and draggled he looks, poor birdie! He needs the sun to dry his wings.”

The next day was all that could be wished in the way of heat and bright sunshine, so the ladies came to the garden seat. Robinette was looking out for them, and could scarcely wait for the older lady to be settled among the cushions and wrapped up in the rugs by her daughter. There are treacherous draughts under trees, and Polly was very careful of her mother. At last all arrangements were complete, and Mrs. Lewis opened her book to read. Suddenly Robinette flew on to it, quite startling her by such an approach. But she was charmed with his trusting familiarity, and at once asked Polly for the crumbs she had brought out. Polly produced them from her useful apron pocket, and threw some gently on the grass at her feet, and Robinette was soon eating the finest feast he had ever had.

You may be sure, after having eaten these good things, Robinette was always watching for the ladies, and he hopped beside them and sang to them as they walked or worked in the garden. He was soon tame enough to eat from their hands, and Polly, looking upon him as a great curiosity, wished to show him off to some gentlemen friends. But Robinette obstinately refused to be made a spectacle of. Not the most enticing crumbs would bring him to her hands if strangers were near, particularly of the male sex. He had no faith in men.

As the summer days passed away, and autumn came and went, the days became shorter and colder, and Robinette found his way into the house, and soon was as much at home there as in the garden. He made friends with the cook in the kitchen, and had many a rich meal when she was preparing the family dinner. He knew all the meal-times. He came in by the morning-room window in time for breakfast. But there he ran some risks. He sometimes encountered the table-maid, who was very cross with him; and perhaps not without reason, for he was not particular to wipe his feet before flying on to the clean white table-cloth, and often left the marks of his claws all over it; so she feared her mistress would insist on her changing the cloth. As this young woman especially disliked extra work, she used to frighten Robinette nearly out of his senses by shaking her duster at him and pretending to catch him.

Whenever the ladies came downstairs he was quite safe. They let him do what he liked. He tasted the bacon, he feasted on butter, he burned his toes on the tea-pot—in fact, he did whatever came into his little head. At lunch he again presented himself, and he came to the drawing-room for afternoon tea.

With all this high living he became a big, fat bird, and I am sorry to say he was very selfish and very jealous. He could not endure the thought of any other bird sharing his privileges, as the following incident proves.

One morning after breakfast he heard a noise in the hall.

“Whoever is Polly speaking to? It must be another bird,” said he to himself. “That is the way she speaks to me. I must see to this. If it is another robin, I shall be the death of him.”

He ruffled up his feathers and flew into the hall, prepared to do battle with any intruder. He was very angry to hear Polly speak in such petting tones to any bird but himself, and he was tempted to give her ear a bite as he sat on her shoulder. He found he had put himself in a rage very needlessly. It was not another robin, but a little wren.

“Oh!” he thought, “I wonder what she wants.—Good-day, Miss Wren; are you coming to live here?”

“I was thinking of it,” she replied, tossing her head; “but I don’t think the society is very select.”

As she made this speech, she gave it point by looking straight at Robinette.

“Indeed,” he said, “you are rather a small person to have formed such a large opinion; but as you are so small, you are welcome to stay as long as you do not interfere with me.”

“Thank you for nothing, Cock Robin. I shall stay or I shall go without asking your leave.”

“You are a very rude bird, Jenny Wren.”

“Am I, Cock Robin? There are various opinions about that. What a great, fat, clumsy bird you are, to be sure! I would not have you for a husband though there were not another bird in the garden.”

“You will perhaps wait until you are asked, Miss Wren,” replied Robinette, feeling he had better retire from the argument after this retort, for Jenny, like all females, would try to have the last word.

Polly had been watching the birds fluttering towards each other, and was a little fearful Robinette might be rough with Jenny, so she was glad to see them part company after simply speaking, as she thought.

This is the only incident worth mentioning that occurred during the winter months. Robinette’s life was happy and comfortable. Free to come and go as he pleased, he always felt himself a guest—never a prisoner.

At last winter was over, and the garden was beginning to have more attractions. There were some rather pretty Miss Robins flying about, and our bird thought he must go a-courting. He could not easily make up his mind whether he should bring a wife into the house, or whether he should go and live in the garden with her. Finally he decided on the latter plan.

One very fine morning he dressed his feathers most carefully, saw that each one was lying exactly over the other, that his brown coat was perfect and his red waist-coat faultless. He practised his singing until his love-song was all he could wish it. He was wonderfully well satisfied with himself; but Jenny Wren’s impertinent speeches would recur to his mind. The words fat and clumsy had especially annoyed him, and he never could altogether rid himself of their effect.

As he flew past the greenhouse he saw a bucket with pure, clear water in it. He thought he would rest on the edge and take a drink. Imagine his delight when he saw reflected in the water a perfectly beautiful cock robin, as charming a bird as any one could desire to see. After such a vision, what cared he for Jenny Wren and her impudence? Away he went, flying up and down the garden, quite sure that no Miss Robin in her senses would say “no” to him.

He rested a while on the branch of an apple-tree, while he meditated on the various Miss Robins, and considered to which he should pay his addresses. He was startled by a slight movement of some leaves just beneath him, and on looking down to find the cause, he saw his too candid friend Jenny.

“So you are come out a-courting?” said she. “You are not a bit thinner. Which of the Miss Robins do you think will have you—a fat, over-fed house-bird?”

“You are quite mistaken, Miss Wren, if you think I am out for any such purpose. I am only taking an airing this fine day. A-courting, indeed! A bird like you would frighten any bachelor. I am sorry for your husband, if you ever get one.”

Away he flew, for he did not like Miss Wren’s remarks. You see, he had not mixed much with other birds, so he had not, as it were, found his level. He was in danger of thinking too much or too little of himself; and then, you perceive, he was thin-skinned.

Poor birdie! That pert young Jenny had put his spirits down to his very toes. Had it not been for the glimpse he got in the bucket, he would have returned to the house discouraged for that day. However, like many other creatures, he did not know what the near future had in store for him.

The time of day was noon, and he bethought him the kitchen dinner would be ready; so he prepared to fly towards the house, as he was very hungry. Just at this moment he caught sight of the gardener turning over some stuff for a hot-bed, and he also saw some fine, fat worms thrown to the surface by the fork. He concluded to dine there that day, and proceeded to make a very satisfactory meal. He had with some difficulty swallowed a very large worm, when he heard the gardener say, “Hush! gently; now we shall see some fun.” Robinette looked up. He saw, and he loved. The daintiest Miss Robin in all the garden was hopping towards him. Alas! beside her was a fine cock robin, and they seemed on the pleasantest terms with each other, and hopped along, quite unaware of Robinette’s presence. To be ignored was what he could not stand. So he came near to them, made a deep bow to the lady, and ruffled his feathers and scowled at his rival. A fierce rage and jealousy took possession of him. He would kill this bird or die in the fight. The other cock robin was as eager for the fray as he was; so these two little birds were soon fighting savagely for the lady of their choice. She watched the duel from a twig close by. She had made up her mind to marry the winner, and it did not seem to matter much which that was. Both were handsome; and the victor would prove himself the stronger. The birds were very equally matched, and fought for some time with varying fortune. At last, however, Robinette was conqueror, and he flew at once to the lady and claimed her as his bride. He knew he now had a right to her; but just in case her mind should waver towards another, he placed before her the advantages of an alliance with him, the chief one being that he could get as much food as ever they could eat, with very little trouble, and the food was of the most rare and nourishing kind.

“I can get some for you now, for I see my friends in the garden, and Polly is sure to have crumbs in her pocket. Wait here until I come back.”

The ladies had come out for a stroll in the garden. What a garden that was! At almost any season it was beautiful, but in the summer it was a paradise alike for birds and human beings. It was surrounded by grand old trees of many kinds and flowering shrubs as large as trees. Then the wealth of roses and sweet-scented, old-fashioned flowers of all sorts, mixed here and there with their more modern sisters, made it a perfect dream of delight. How the town-wearied friends rejoiced when they were bidden to visit that garden! There their eyes were refreshed by the softly-blended colouring and exquisite beauty of the whole scene. They breathed in the delicious air, and thought it better than wine as a restorer of strength. No words can describe the feeling to the feet of those soft, green avenues—the grass so short that the most delicate could walk there without harm, and so smooth that a child’s bare foot could run there scathless. That garden is now to those dear friends a place in their memory only. The ladies have passed away from it, and strangers are in possession.

Excuse this digression.

Robinette flew to Polly’s hand.

“So here you are, Bobbie. We wondered what had become of you, as you did not come in at lunch-time. Don’t fill your mouth so full; you will choke yourself. Oh! he is off.”

Polly had held the crumbs for him as usual, and he just stuffed his mouth full and flew in the direction of the greenhouse.

“Mother, Robinette must have a lady-love. He has taken the crumbs away; he did not swallow them.”

Mrs. Robinette was charmed with the crumbs—that kind of food suited her taste exactly; and she hoped her husband would keep her well supplied with them when she was too much occupied with other matters to seek food for herself. Robinette gallantly promised to do his best for her.

Now it was time to seek a place for their nest, and begin building. Like most young people under similar circumstances, they were difficult to please. Robinette, having been so much accustomed to a house, thought the greenhouse the best place; Mrs. Robinette, knowing nothing about houses, thought a nice, thick bush much superior. She, like a good wife, gave in to her husband, and allowed him to choose the site for their nest. He selected a nice, quiet corner of the greenhouse, beside some large flower-pots that looked as if they had not been disturbed for a century. Here they would be safe from storms and cats and all creatures which terrify small birds. As evening was drawing on, our little lovers parted, having appointed a place to meet next morning at sunrise to begin to build their nest.

The following day the sun rose bright and beautiful, making all things and creatures rejoice, and none more than our two little birds, who were soon as busy as possible, finding and bringing the materials necessary for their purpose.

They had such a happy time building that nest; he was so gallant and she was so sweet. How he sang to her when she was tired, and what delicious crumbs he brought her! Some shortbread had been sent to Polly as a present, and it is such a crumbling cake that the birds feasted royally while it lasted.

At last the nest was finished. The little builders looked it all over and could find no fault with it. As they were rather exhausted with their hard work, they agreed to rest themselves a while near the hot-bed where the memorable fight had taken place. There they could find plenty of worms without fatigue, and they would sleep or chat as they felt disposed. When they were sufficiently rested, they went back to look at their pretty, new house. Alas! alas! what desolation they found! The gardener, who had been cleaning his greenhouse, had moved the big, dirty flower-pots, and had thrown out the robins’ nest. Poor, tired birds, they had to begin all over again. Mrs. Robinette burst into tears, saying,—

“I told you not to choose a house to build in; I was sure a bush would have been safer. Do, dear husband, come away now to some other place; I do not like the men.”

Robinette was very angry at his work being spoiled, and he answered a little sharply,—

“Nonsense, my dear; I am not going to be driven out of my way by a stupid old gardener. We shall build here again. Let us set to work at once; and if that man interferes I shall tell the mistress. Hallo! here is a piece of good-luck for us; he has only thrown it down here. To be sure, it is torn to pieces. But never mind; we shall soon have it up again.”

You see Robinette had a temper; but he was a cheery wee bird, inclined to make the best of things. When his anger had cooled, he chirped to his down-hearted little wife so brightly that she was obliged to pluck up spirit, and they were soon as merry as before the terrible misfortune.

A few days after these events Mrs. Lewis came into her greenhouse, and seeing it look so much brighter and lighter than usual, she said to the gardener,—

“You must acknowledge that the house looks better for being clean. Try to keep it so.”

“I’ll try, ma’am; but it is not much use when these mischievous birds come in, bringing their stuff to build with. Just look there. I threw away a nest from that very spot three days ago, and there is another. And there is a robin in it.”

“It is Robinette,” cried Polly. “I am sure it is.—Bobbie, come for crumbs.”

Robinette, sly bird, had been watching and listening; and when he saw that attention was drawn to the nest, he sat down in it as though he were the lady on her eggs, knowing well “the mistress” would give orders that he was not to be disturbed. And when she saw it was her own pet robin, of course she was more decided, and told the gardener he was on no account to take down the nest, and every possible arrangement was to be made for the comfort and happiness of Robinette and his wife.

It is customary to close all stories when the hero marries. So, having come to the end of Robinette’s bachelor days, we shall take leave of him and his bride, hoping that, now they are married, they will “live happy ever after.”