THE ROBIN 19 



scampered back to the nest, and climbed into it 

 like a frightened child. It had made its first jour- 

 ney into the world, but the home tie had brought it 

 quickly back. A few hours afterward it journeyed 

 to the end of the plate again, and then turned 

 and rushed back. The third time its heart was 

 braver, its wings stronger, and, leaping into the 

 air with a shout, it flew easily to some rocks a 

 dozen or more yards away. Each of the young 

 in succession, at intervals of nearly a day, left 

 the nest in this manner. There would be the first 

 journey of a few feet along the plate, the first 

 sudden panic at being so far from home, the 

 rush back, a second and perhaps a third attempt, 

 and then the irrevocable leap into the air, and a 

 clamorous flight to a near-by bush or rock. 

 Young birds never go back when they have once 

 taken flight. The first free flap of the wings 

 severs forever the ties that bind them to home. 



I recently observed a robin boring for grubs 

 in a country dooryard. It is a common enough 

 sight to witness one seize an angle-worm and 

 drag it from its burrow in the turf, but I am not 

 sure that I ever before saw one drill for grubs 

 and bring the big white morsel to the surface. 

 The robin I am speaking of had a nest of young 

 in a maple near by, and she worked the neigh- 



