The Audubon Societies 391 



palm of my hand. When three weeks old he enjoyed a morning bath in a large 

 wash-basin. When five weeks old, he was fully fledged and very beautiful. 



At night, when he went to sleep with his head under his wing, I covered the 

 chair with a heavy bath-towel, leaving one side open. At 10 p.m. I fed my little 

 friend a worm and then he slept until 5.30 a.m., when he expected breakfast. 

 If I did not rise at his call, he flew around to the side of my bed and 

 made excited chirpings. He would have hked me to feed him, but as he was 

 able to pick up his food, I did not do so. It was amusing to see him tackle 

 the wriggling worm. 



When he was six weeks old I decided to set him free. One Sunday evening, 

 at 6 o'clock, I went into the open in front of the old farm. The place is sur- 

 rounded with beautiful trees and lilac bushes. He was sitting on my finger, 

 then, with a chirp, flew to the top of a very high weeping willow. I grieved 

 to see him take flight, but was glad he was strong and beautiful. 



Next morningp at 5.30, I went out, whistling and calling him, but never 

 expecting a response. In an instant, however, he was on my shoulder, and I 

 I gave him his breakfast of worms. The next morning I called from my window; 

 he entered, made himself perfectly at home, took his bath, then hopped out 

 into the simshine, preened, shook his wet feathers and made himself beautiful. 



All this was most enjoyable, but one morning I saw the barn cat stalking 

 'Pretty,' so decided I must place him elsewhere. I gave him to a lady living 

 some distance from the farm. She had neither dog nor cat, just a sweet little 

 boy who was charmed with the Robin, and 'Pretty' was satisfied with his new 

 home, which greatly resembled the farm. 



Now comes the sad part of the story. The lady to whom I gave the Robin 

 had two little nieces who came on a visit for a few days. The little Robin had 

 the habit of perching on the back of the baby's chair (the family took break- 

 fast on the porch), and before anyone could prevent, the little niece grabbed 

 the bird, squeezed him, and pulled out part of his tail. He escaped and was 

 never seen again. 



Let us hope he recovered from the rough handling and was able to migrate 

 with his feathered companions. — Gabrielle LePerrier, Rockledge Manor, 

 Yonkers, N. Y. 



[Mrs. Le Perrier has experienced the joy of saving the life of a wild bird and feeling its 

 response to her kindness. The pleasure which one derives from a wild bird's coming to 

 one's call is greater by far than one ever gets from a bird in a cage. The sad ending of 

 the story shows the necessity for boys and girls learning gentleness in all things and 

 especially in their attitude toward birds and animals. — A. A. A.] 



