THE ROBIN CONVENTION. 



Orders, unions, circles and associations 

 are now the fashion of the age, and each 

 of these must have a convention more 

 or less frequently; generally once a 

 year. If you do not belong to something 

 of this kind and occasionally attend a 

 convention, you might as well be "out 

 of the world," for you are certainly "out 

 of the fashion.'' Our friends the Robins 

 do not propose to be ''out of the fashion.'*' 

 If you do not believe that they have asso- 

 ciations or unions, you will at least ad- 

 mit that they hold conventions if you 

 will take a walk with me to some bit 

 of woodland or secluded pasture one of 

 these late October days. 



Here where the scattered trees are in- 

 terspersed with clumps of juniper 

 bushes, thickly covered with their blue 

 berries, the Robin clans are gathering 

 from far and from near, a thousand of 

 them, more or less. Noisy fellows they 

 are, too, calling, chattering, laughing 

 and scolding, with great vehemence. 

 YVe should judge that this convention 

 might be of a political- nature, judging 

 by the manners of the delegates. When 

 one of them. ca ; -:i::2' pas: my head, dis- 

 covers a reporter from the outside world, 

 he exclaims '''quit; quit!" in the rudest 

 manner imaginable. Then with an ex- 

 cited "hah, hah!" he rushes oft to the 

 bar (a. pool of rain water in an adjoin- 

 ing- fielc.V. where several of the members 



while some are 

 in ail 

 over: cooling operations much needed, 

 one would say. for the wildest excite- 

 ment prevails. They chase each other 

 about from tree to tree, havine a little 



are already drinking 



soaking- their heads and one get 



fight every now and then and screaming 

 and calling vociferously. 



Now, in the midst of all this hubbub 

 we hear a sharp little rat-tat-tat, tap-tap- 

 tap. Why ! it must be the chairman call- 

 ing them to order. But where is he? 



Up there in that tree sits a chipmunk 

 bolt upright with his little paws piously 

 clasped upon his breast as if in prayer. 

 He is probably the chaplain. But the 

 noisy Robins pay no attention to him. 

 Where is the chairman? 



Ah ! there he is on that dead tree, 

 earnestly rapping away, as if determined 

 to accomplish something. But the robins 

 pay no attention to Mr. Hairy Wood- 

 pecker. 



And now for a rest from all this noise 

 let us climb the rail fence and stroll 

 further on into the more open woods. 



Xo iuniper bushes here, and apparent- 

 ly no birds either, for a most restful 

 silence prevails. A brown creeper goes 

 circling up a tree trunk near us, but his 

 little curved bill (though conscientiously 

 probing every crevice in the bark for 

 insects) makes no noise. Presently a 

 red squirrel sets off his alarm clock with 

 a loud chir-r-r-r. and a chipmunk sharply 

 exclaims "chip-chip." 



Returning through the juniper wood, 

 we find the convention still in progress, 

 but the earnest discussion is occasionally 

 interrupted by a singer breaking out into 

 the Robins' springtime warble — toor-a- 

 loo. toor-a-lay : toor-a-loo, toor-a-lay : 

 toor-a-loo, toor-a-lay. Perchance he is 

 thinking of the south-land and spring- 

 like clime to which they will soon be go- 

 ing-. Tessie Porter Whitaker. 



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