116 OUR FEATHERED FRIENDS. 
When the tourist robins came in winter, we imag- 
ined our pet would remember his mate and be anxious 
to join the birds. But he took no notice, caring not 
so much for the robins as for the brown towhees who 
had always kept him company at the back door. 
Perhaps he thought his house was small, and if all 
“his folk” were intending to spend the winter with 
him he would be crowded “out of house and home.”’ 
He was not hospitable to them, nor had he “rooms to 
rent.” He not even answered them when the tourists 
chirped him a last good-bye and went away in early 
April, after they had eaten up all the pepper berries. 
Well, the longest story has an end. When our robin 
was in his fifth year he died, and we buried him beside 
our little humming-bird under the fig tree. The bees 
in the orange blossoms all about him sang him a dirge, 
and a royal mocking-bird carolled away with all his 
might. 
CHARTER 2cun: 
GOING TO BED AND GETTING UP. 
As we told you before, birds do not live in houses or 
sleep in bedrooms; though in some parts of the country 
they build their cradles in little bird-houses and boxes 
or anything of the sort which you will give them. But 
here we have never succeeded in making any of them 
occupy a place which we have prepared for them, 
