OUR HOME BIRDS. 
53 
told how it really happened. Here is a story about 
an American robin, the one I promised Edie ; and it 
is written as though related by the bird herself to a 
kind little girl. We will fancy an ash-colored little 
bird in a piping voice telling the following experi- 
ence: ‘You have wished for my history, sweet little 
miss, and deserve to be gratified. So I will tell it to 
you. Though it is a sad tale, it will give me plea- 
sure to relate it if it will please you. My mother 
early taught me to repay all the kindness I received, 
and she set me an example of doing so. Besides her 
music, she gave her labor for the use of a snug little 
spot in the branches of an apple tree. I overheard 
the gardener saying that my mother was the best 
tenant his master had, for she gave him a song every 
morning, and helped him very much in clearing his 
garden of insects. 
“ ‘ In the dear little nest I have mentioned I was 
born. You may wonder at the strength of my mem- 
ory, but I have a distinct recollection of the uneasi- 
ness I felt when I was in total darkness, surrounded 
on all sides by a smooth, hard shell. In my impa- 
tience I kept pecking harder and harder, till at length 
it gave way. My mother soon helped me into liberty 
by applying her great beak to the prison-walls which 
confined me. I was a little cold at first, but she cov- 
ered me carefully with her wings and warm body. 
