4 JRtn^ntu of f^t tRvttu 



Cockrobin had builded his nest in the 

 old elm, so near to the window that I 

 could almost touch it with my hand. 

 The last thing that I remembered at 

 night, when the sleepy man came for me 

 from over the slumbrous hills, was the 

 tender twilight reverie of robin, and the 

 first sound that broke upon my waking 

 senses was his morning rhapsody. 



There were other songs too, even 

 more bewitching than robin's, including 

 the wonderful liquid notes of the oriole, 

 and the gurgling of blithe bobolink 

 down in the orchard, but robin lived so 

 near to my trundle-bed that he seemed 

 a part of my slumbers, and his song as 

 much a prelude to slumber as mother's 

 " TwiHght Stories." 



My second passion, one that nearly 

 every country child experiences, was for 

 flowers and bouquets of all kinds. Some 



