Among the first of the spring,
The notes of the Robin ring;
With flute-like voice,
He calls, “Rejoice,
For I am coming to sing!”
To any one gloomy or sad,
He says, “Be glad! be glad!
Look on the bright side,
’Tis aye the right side;
The world is good, not bad.”
At daybreak in June we hear
His melody, strong and clear:
“Cheer up, be merry,
I’ve found a cherry;
’Tis a glorious time of the year!”
—Garrett Newkirk, in _Bird-Lore_.
[Illustration: ROBIN]
“Our Robin is a big-bodied Thrush, whereas the Robin-redbreast, the Cock
Robin of story, is more nearly akin in size and build to our Bluebird.
If you want to see the family marks that yoke the Robin to his Thrush
cousin, look carefully at the youngsters as they are leaving the nest,
and you will see that instead of wearing plain brick-coloured breasts
like the parents, they are striped like the Thrushes; this marking
disappears after their first moult. As for Robin himself, you know him
well, but can any of you tell exactly the colour of his clothing?”
Sarah and Tommy raised their hands at the same time, but as ladies come
first, Sarah began: “He is gray on top, and red underneath, and he’s got
white spots outside of his wings.”
“Very good, indeed,” said Gray Lady; “but can you add anything to that,
Tommy?”
“Yes, ma’am; he’s black on top of his head, and he’s got a white chin
and eye spot and a yellow beak.”
“Why, Tommy, that is really very good; I didn’t know that any of you
children had learned to look so carefully and remember.”
“I saw all that yesterday,” said Tommy, in a state of glee. “There came
a flock of bran’-new fresh birds, and sat in the cedar bushes back of
the barn, but they didn’t find many berries, because the winter birds
have eaten them. Ma gave me some old cake to crumble up, and I put some
on the top of the stone fence, and some right on the shed, and this
morning when I first looked out, a couple of them were out there eating
it, and I got a good square look at them. They liked that cake because
it had currants in it.”
“So Tommy is the first to report a ‘bran’-new’ Robin flock,” said Gray
Lady. “Now that they have really come, will any of the others tell me
what they know about Robins? Begin at Sarah’s end of the table.”
“Robins build mud nests before there are any leaves to hide them, and
cats often get them when they are sitting,” said Sarah; “and then by and
by, when they build another nest, maybe they’ll put it out on a branch
that’s weak, and when it storms and the nest gets wet and heavy, it
falls down all of a lump. They seem to get along best when they come
under the porch or get in a high up crotch.”
“I like Robins,” said Eliza, who sat next, “because they stay around and
let you look at them; but I think that they aren’t very clever birds,
for instead of keeping quiet when anything comes near the nest, they
holler like everything, so that you can tell just where it is. We had a
nest in the grape-vine outside the kitchen window, and you couldn’t
believe what those little birds ate in one day. I had the mumps and had
to stay inside, so I watched them. They ate all the time, that is, in
turn, for the old birds seemed to know just which one had food last.
Sometimes, if they had a little worm or a bug, they gave it all to one,
but if it was one of those long, rubberneck earthworms, they would twist
it and bite pieces off and ram one down each throat.
“My Ma said it made her dreadful tired to see how much those four little
birds ate, and that if children were as hungry as that, nobody would
have the patience to cook food and raise any. When they grew too big for
the nest, they sort of fell out into the vine and stayed in that for a
few days, and their father and mother fed them just the same. They
couldn’t fly well at first, because their tails were so short that they
upset.”
“You watched them quite carefully,” said Gray Lady, “but can you tell me
what happened after they were able to fly?”
“Yes, ma’am, they acted real mean. They went right down in the cedar
trees beyond the garden to sleep, and every morning before father or my
brothers were up they went into the strawberry bed, and even before any
were ripe, they bit the red side of the green ones and spoiled them.
Father was pretty mad, because our land has run out for onions and we’ve
got to raise berries for a few years—all kinds, raspberries, currants,
blackberries—to even up.
“Father dassent shoot the Robins, ’cause of the law, and besides, we
like ’em real well after berry time, so brother John he made a plan, and
it worked splendid. He fixed up a nice little house like a chicken-coop
and put it on a stump in the middle of the bed, and then he put our cat
in the house. She was comfortable and had good eating and plenty of air,
but of course she couldn’t get out, so she just sat there and growled
and switched her tail at the birds, and they stayed away.”
Gray Lady laughed heartily at this scheme, which certainly was very
ingenious.
“That was truly a new sort of scarecrow, and much better than firing off
blank cartridges in the nesting season, when other birds might be
frightened. However, it proves one thing without a doubt, that cats are
the worst enemies that wild birds have to fear, and shows us how careful
we should be about turning them out at large, outside of the cities
where there are no birds, or keeping more than one under any
circumstances.
“What I meant to ask was, do you know what the young Robins do after
they leave the nest and the mother bird is perhaps busy with some
younger brothers and sisters?
“The father birds choose some tall trees with plenty of leaves, or if
evergreens are at hand, they prefer them, and go there in parties of
from half a dozen to a hundred every night, leaving the mother birds to
tend the nest. When the first brood is able to fly, they go with papa to
this roost, where his warning ‘Quick! Quick!’ tells them of dangers they
do not yet understand.
“Then, when the nesting is over, all the Robins unite in a flock, but
wherever they go, or however far they range in the day, night sees them
collected at some favourite roosting-place. I know about this habit very
well, because ever since I can remember these spruces outside the window
have been used as roosts by many generations of Robins all through the
season, except in the dead of winter, when they prefer to nestle into
the heart of the young cedars.
“Of course it is not to be denied that Robin likes berries and eats them
without asking leave or waiting for sugar and cream, but we must think
of this: the farmers are of more importance than any other class of
people, for they give the world food. Therefore, the bird laws are made
for their benefit, even when at first it might seem otherwise.
“The Robin only troubles berries in June, July, and August, and grapes
in September, while all the rest of the year he does valiant work as a
gleaner of insects that cannot easily be destroyed by man,—many beetles
that destroy foliage and their white grubs that eat the roots of hay,
grass, and strawberry plants, grasshoppers, crickets, ants, moths,
army-worms, and the larvæ of the owlet moths, better known as
army-worms.
“So you can see that if the Robin helps the farmers in this way, the
fruit grower should be willing to protect his crops in other ways than
by shooting his friend and his children’s friend, the Robin.
“One other reason there is, also, why we of the North should protect the
Robin at home; in many southern states he is a legal mark for all who
wish to kill him. Not only is the Robin to be found in the markets, but
shooting him merely for competition, to see who can bag the most, is a
common form of—sport, I was going to say, but game of chance is better.
“Let the Kind Hearts of the North be kind to dear blundering brother
Robin, that by the very force of example the hearts of others may be
warmed to show mercy and their heads be given the intelligence to see
that, in shooting the migrant Robins by the hundreds, the loss is to
their country and themselves.”
“Look! Oh, look, Gray Lady!” cried little Clary, climbing to the
window-seat; “here are some bright, fresh Robins lighting on the
spruces. Let’s play they are some that roosted there last summer; or
maybe were hatched right in the orchard, and that they are real glad to
get home again.”