5G THE FLOEAL WORLD AND GARDEN GUIDE. 



" Yes, and narrowly escaped with your life. The gardener there might have 

 killed you times without number. You are always at his heels, following his spade 

 wherever it goes." 



" Yes, picking up grubs and such tit bits. He likes me for that. I only take 

 what he can do without. You never heard tell of a gardener killing a robin red- 

 breast, and in all your journeyings— oh ! I beg your pardon, Mr. Sparrow, you take 

 only one journey in the year to the stubble fields — but you never saw a skeleton 

 robin hung by one leg over peas or fresh sown seeds, a dreadful warning to all other 

 birds. 1 have seen lots of sparrows in my time." And up flew the robin into a 

 leafless old apple-tree, and chanted forth its autumn son". 



"I cannot tell how it is people make such a fuss about you," said the sparrow. 

 " You are notbing to look at. Why, any town-bred sparrow has a brighter brown 

 coat than you, and a much smarter figure ; and, as for work, it is all make believe. 

 I do not think you pick up anything but sand just for your own pleasure. You put 

 on a wise look and a fearless manner, and make yourself very busy if a few brown 

 leaves fall before their time. Then gardeners say they must look after their tender 

 plants, for winter is coming earlier than common, or you would not be about so soon. 

 And nine times out of ten you are nothing but a false prophet, and ever an un- 

 welcome one, for frost comes soon enough, however late it be." 



" Thank you ; but I could not keep my clothes bright, to say nothing of warm, 

 living on sand during the winter. And as for fuss, why at this day most of us get 

 as much as we are worth ; and you know you are not worth much in a garden if it 

 is close to a house, for you are so afraid of missing bread crumbs and chicken's meat 

 that you dare not fly about seeking ; so others eat up your natural food, and then 

 you can be very well spared, for all your work takes the shape of undoing, or of 

 mischief." 



"Oh!" sighed the sparrow, "I remember a time when so much a head was 

 offered for us. What a life we had of it then to be sure ; but the evil turned 

 round. They gladly doubled the amount to have us back again. I cannot think 

 how it is we lose favour, every one throws stones at us poor sparrows. I begin to 

 think it is our numbers ; there are too many of us." 



" That is just how it is," replied the robin. "You have such large families, so 

 many children and grandchildren, and you keep them all near you so long as there 

 is building space. It is no concern of yours if the spouts are blocked up, the water 

 will go somewhere ; but then, you see, the people don't like it. And they are not 

 pleased when you pull up whole beds of little green things, to eat the soft seeds. 

 And when you turn out in a body to take your daily bath, think of the hills and 

 hollows you leave on the finely raked over border. And when they go to gather 

 peas, and find only empty pods, do you wonder they should throw stones ?" 



" Any more bad deeds ?" said the old sparrow, with a great fluster and flourish, 

 flying up into the apple-tree, close to the robin. 



" Yes, in spring you destroy the crocuses before they bloom, you nibble down to 

 the very base of the petals, and scatter the poor, torn fragments on the damp soil, 

 and never a flower opens perfect. You used to be content with ravaging the yellow, 

 now white and blue share the same fate. If there were not so many of you crowding 

 in one house, you would not require so much medicine to keep you well; and the 

 gardener would like you better if you left his saffron to grow for some other purpose." 

 And the robin sang out gaily, in a louder, clearer tone than before. 



"I do not like your singing," grumbled the sparrow. "You seem so glad the 

 summer is gone ; that white, culd sky foretels frost and winter in earnest. I do not 

 know how we shall get through it." 



" I am not afraid of the winter," replied the robin. "I have friends in every 

 house where little children grow, or gentle women rule, for soon as the snow covers 

 up the hard ground with its white blanket, they think of, and feed, the dear little 

 singing bird — the winter songster. So good-bye to you, Mr. Sparrow, wishing you 

 more work, and better times." Claude. 



