Once upon a time there was a little boy who had a fit of naughtiness.
He refused to obey his nurse and was, as she said afterwards, that
obstreperous that her life for about half an hour was a burden. At
last, just as she was in despair, a robin fluttered to the window-sill
of the nursery and perched on it, peeping in.
“There,” said the nurse, “look at that dear little birdie come to see
what all the trouble’s about. He’s never refused to have his face
washed and made clean, I know. I’d be ashamed to cry and scream before
a little pretty innocent like that, that I would.”
Now this robin, as it happened, was a poisonously wicked little bird.
He was greedy and jealous and spiteful. He continually fought other
and weaker birds and took away their food; he pecked sparrows and
tyrannized over tits. He habitually ate too much; and quite early in
life he had assisted his brothers and sisters in putting both their
parents to death.
None the less the spectacle of his pretty red breast and bright eye
shamed and soothed the little boy so that he became quite good again.