8 THE AUDUBON BULLE Gis 
silver-top. He fed, and kept feeding it every hour or two during the day. 
By noon, the bird would fly to his shoulder or arm immediately as he 
opened the door and would cling to him and eat out of his hand. It 
would sit on one hand and eat out of the other. In the meantime it had 
gained back all its strength and would hold itself in the air immediately 
over the naturalist’s shoulder and head. In fact, before the day was over 
the robin would chirp for more food, if the food did not come in record 
time. Then too, if the food was brought in, and not given immediately to 
the bird it would beg in rather pitiful tones. 
That first day passed away rapidly and it was night. There was a fire 
burning in the library and the electric lights were on, but the robin 
perched on a curtain pole over the bay-window and slept through the 
night. Early the next morning it was again begging for food and was as 
tame as any pet ever was. 
The library did not look so very “spic and span” after the bird had 
flown around in it the next morning alighting first on one chair and then 
another. The lady of the house had just cause to raise an issue with the 
naturalist. Mrs. Burroughs happened to be present on that occasion and 
taking the part of the house-wife said: “‘ Now look what you have done— 
let the bird mess up the house. It’s none too bad for you if you have to 
clean up this library all by yourself.” 
But John Burroughs would have cleaned a dozen libraries for the joy 
of helping that Robin back to normal life. It is no doubt with pride that 
he writes about it as follows in ‘‘Under the Apple Trees,” in the chapter 
heading Old Friends in New Places: ‘‘It would sit on my knee or arm and 
take food that was offered it. I was kept pretty busy supplying its wants 
till it began to fly and to run about the room and utter its call-note. Be- 
fore night it had become so active and so clamorous for its freedom that 
we opened the window. With a dash and a cry it was out of the house 
and on the wing to a near-by tree. I trust, with the boost I had given it, 
it was soon safely on its northward journey.” 
THE WOOD THRUSH 
I heard a wood thrush in the dusk 
Twirl three notes and make a star. 
My heart that walked in bitterness 
Came back from very far. 
Three shining notes were all he had 
And yet they made a starry call; 
I caught life back against my breast, 
And kissed it, scars and all. 
SARAH TEASDALE 
