STORIES ABOUT BIRDS. 17 



a very indifferent marksman — and lie fell 

 down from the bushes, fluttered a few minutes, 

 gasped a few times for breath, and died. I 

 wept a long time about that tragic affair. The 

 image of the dying robin did not leave my 

 mind for the entire summer, and I did not love 

 to go near the spot where he died for months 

 afterward. 



A small family of robins were in the habit, 

 one summer, of coming into the garden belong- 

 ing to a gentleman of my acquaintance, and of 

 helping themselves to cherries and currants. 

 Well, there was plenty of fruit that year, 

 enough for the family, and the birds, too. So 

 the visitors were welcome. By and by, they 

 grew very tame, and one day, when the win- 

 dows were open, one of the robins entered the 

 house and remained, apparently yerj contented 

 and happy, a good while. Then he flew away, 

 and joined his companions. Little Mary was 

 sure he came to thank her father's family for 

 their kindness in the matter of the cherries and 

 currants. Perhaps he did. I am not inclined 

 to dispute her, at any rate. Birds have a 

 language of their own, and as I have never 

 been able to understand it very well, it would 

 be very foolish in me to undertake to tell what 

 Mary's robin said and what he did not say, 



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