114 OUR FEATHERED FRIENDS. 
life and health, she was taken with the same disease 
and died in a short time. We asked a doctor what he 
thought it was, and he said he “guessed it was the 
orip. 
The little widower did not pine away and die from 
99 
grief; he was too sensible for that, and life was very 
pleasant to him. He took to singing with all his 
might as he had never sung before. For four hours in 
the early morning he never rested his bulging little 
red throat, not even to eat his breakfast. The old- 
fashioned robin notes, which he had made believe he 
never knew before, came bubbling out in a wild glee 
that made the neighborhood ring. People inquired all 
around to know where that robin was. 
He was very fond of spiders, and when we took the 
broom in our hands he watched us closely. The large 
gray house spider was his favorite. 
We think a good deal of these spiders, and were very 
sorry to give them to the robin, but we were afraid he 
would die if he had none. In whichever room we were 
when we found one of these spiders, we had only to 
call out, “ Here’s a spider, Robby,” and the bird would 
chirp his answer, hopping to the corner of the cage 
nearest the door. Here he would wait for us to give 
him the insect. If we found a bug or a worm, we had 
but to call out, “Quick, Robby,” and he would dart 
nervously from side to side of his big cage in his eager- 
ness not to keep us waiting. He would take berries 
from our mouths, many a time giving our lips a tweak 
