WHAT I HAVE DONE WITH BIRDS 



courting. He really looked apologetic when he flew down on the 

 lawn with his second choice and introduced us. No wonder ! She 

 was a young thing, she looked bedrabbled, and she was one of 

 those foolish, jumpy, nervous birds that never will act with sense, 

 because they have none. 



If ever a male tried to dominate the choice of a location it was 

 our Robin. I gave up long before he did. He carried grass- 

 blades to the old location. Oh, dear no, she never would enter a 

 veranda. He tried the wistaria. Mercy, she would be killed if 

 she went near it. He dilated on the plum-tree. Shocking! It 

 was entirely too close to the cabin. Then he took every tree of the 

 orchard and the big forest trees in turn, and carried grass-blades, 

 and worked and worked. But no! She was a deep-wood bird, 

 and she was not going to be fooled into any such location. 



Sadly he and I watched her select a big hickory across the 

 street, and begin her nest. I honestly don't think she got much 

 help with it, and it is the truth that Robin's song was a failure in 

 comparison with his former efforts. The dear bird loved us. He 

 knew his home, and it seemed to me, even after the new mate was 

 brooding, that he bewailed his first love and his old location as he 

 sang. He did his duty when it came to feeding, but he always 

 came to me to search for food and to bathe and sing. 



The next year it was on the twenty-fifth of February, three 

 weeks to the day before the other Robins arrived, that he an- 

 nounced himself at the well. Again we hurried to meet and 

 welcome him. No mate was with him and none arrived later. 

 He was still growing and was an immense fellow. Shortly 

 after his arrival he was attracted by a long-haired white spaniel, 

 a new possession of Molly-cotton's, and he seemed unable to 

 decide whether it was a dog or cat. 



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