MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



to my restaurant from the time the little creat- 

 ures leave the nest, and I have the delight of 

 watching them all through the various stages 

 that lead to complete emancipation. One young 

 robin, easily recognizable by a slight peculiarity 

 of plumage, shows such an obstinate predilection 

 for the table d'hote as to cause his parents no lit- 

 tle anxiety and discomfort. When they first 

 brought him to the restaurant, he was at the age 

 of senseless diving and lunging after twigs and 

 pebbles and other equally indigestible articles, 

 which, human infant-like, he did his best to 

 swallow. Now he is a handsome, well-developed 

 fellow, but a baby still in many respects notwith- 

 standing his size. In spite of his parents' expos- 

 tulations and entreaties, and in spite of the duti- 

 ful example of his brothers and sisters, he often 

 persists in spending entire days at the table d'hote, 

 and I fancy that his father and mother sometimes 

 regret having ever introduced him to the fasci- 

 nating quarter. All day long he chatters and 

 coos contentedly to himself, samples goodies, 

 bathes, flits in and out among the brush-heap 

 boughs, makes short tours through the maple-tree 

 branches, and enjoys himself as thoroughly as if 

 he were a model of obedience. Were it not for 



