the unfinished nest, accompanied by Madame 
Robin Two. Madame Robin Two was a demure 
bird, slow of speech and motion. She entered 
the tree from the top. Leisurely, almost lazily, 
she made her way to the neighborhood of the 
nest in the fork below, tipped it a casual glance 
from a branch just above, then tumbled, rather 
than dropped, into it. After a leisurely survey 
she hopped out, and the two birds, Robin and 
Madame Two, flew away. 
On Tuesday, ten days after the first and fruit- 
less effort, the nest was completed. Five eggs, 
one each day, were then deposited therein, and 
the duty of incubation began. Robin was song- 
ful and Madame Two faithful and patient, but 
their happy anticipations were not to be realized. 
A little later both Robin and Madame Two were 
trapped in the weed-patch and then — 
“Never a sign in the empty nest 
Tells of the love that mated, the love that sang.” 
The weed-patch was feeding ground for birds, 
and the happy hunting ground for bird-loving 
cats. 
“Yes, well your story pleads the cause 
Of those dumb mouths that have no speech, 
Only a cry from each to each, 
An inarticulate moan of pain — 
Something that is beyond the reach 
Of human power to learn.” 
More fortunate were two robins that a month 
later came prospecting to the birch by the south- 
front piazza. This first visit was made about the 
59 
