ROBIN 



Soon I noticed him perching on the back of an oaken bench 

 that stood on the front veranda, its back directly across a big 

 six-foot-square plate-glass window. I sat at my desk a few feet 

 away and he sat there looking at me. He came more and more 

 frequently and stayed longer each time, and at last a heavy snow 

 fell, covering everything several inches deep. Then he adopted 

 the bench back and for an hour at a time would perch there. 



Our movements did not worry him in the least and unless the 

 little dog jumped to the deep seat of the window inside he seldom 

 took flight except for food and water. One day he sat motionless 

 so long, while I waited for an idea, that one other than that for 

 which I waited struck me. Why not take his picture? 



There sat that blessed bird, now of four long years' acquaint- 

 ance, through his love for and trust in us, our guest three weeks 

 before any of his kind had come ; and the fence in front and the 

 logs of the veranda railing were covered with three inches of 

 snow, the ground with six. Surely that was a picture to material- 

 ize as well as to live in the heart. 



I polished the glass to the last degree inside and out, set a 

 camera oh the library table and focused on the bench back. The 

 shutter was set at a bulb exposure, the long hose attached and the 

 bulb laid on my desk, and time after time I made exposures on 

 him. I had to work against strong light, for there was the snow 

 outside, and his face and breast were in the shadow, but I did my 

 best. I had thought he remained motionless much longer than he 

 did, when it actually came to counting off time in seconds. I 

 couldn't get just as long an exposure as I wanted, he would 

 turn his head, ruffle his feathers a bit or draw a foot out of the 

 cold. But I got several good pictures that were precious to all of 

 us, for there was the window-seat cushion for a foreground, the 



