ROBERT ROBIN AND WIDOW BLUNT'S STUFFED OWL
It was a dismal, rainy day. Long before morning, the storm had begun,
and when the faint light had at last dawned in the east, the rain still
pattered down on the leaves of Mister Robert Robin's big basswood tree,
and fell in great drops from their tips. Robert Robin did not like the
weather. He had not even sung his "Hurry up!" song, and the rain had
pelted down so furiously that his every feather was wet, and he was
soaked to his shivering skin.
Mrs. Robin was afraid that the raindrops would fall inside the nest and
wet the eggs, so she kept her wings spread out so far that her shoulders
ached.
"It is very uncomfortable, sitting in this cramped position!" she said
to Robert Robin. "I am afraid that I will get the rheumatism in my
joints!"
"Let me cover the eggs for you!" said Robert Robin.
"With your feathers all wet?" exclaimed Mrs. Robin. "I am trying to keep
the eggs dry and warm!"
"Let me try it once!" said Robert Robin.
"No! Thank you, dear! your intentions are good, but you are so clumsy
you would be almost sure to break one of the eggs, and to-day is the day
they will hatch!"
"I wish that it would stop raining!" said Robert Robin.
"Why not sing your 'Dry Weather' song?" asked Mrs. Robin. "The rain
might stop coming if it heard you singing your 'Dry Weather' song!"
"I only sing my 'Dry Weather' song when the weather is dry!" answered
Robert Robin. "Still I would do almost anything to make this rain stop
coming down!"
So Robert Robin flew up to the top of his big basswood tree to sing his
"Dry Weather" song, in the rain.
Mister Jim Crow was sitting in his tall hemlock tree. He was wishing
that the rain would stop falling, for he was as wet as water could make
him. From over the tops of the tall forest trees came the sound of
Robert Robin singing his "Dry Weather" song:
"Dry up the crick!
Dry up the crick!
Dry up the beetles!
Dry up the beetles!
Dry up the crick!"
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Jim Crow. "That funny Robert Robin is singing his
'Dry Weather' song! He is saying 'dry up the crick!'--he means 'creek'
of course, but could anything be funnier than that wet bird sitting in
the rain, and singing about dry weather? The creek is roaring down
through the sheep pasture, like a yellow river! 'Dry up the crick!' Ha!
Ha! Ha!" and Jim Crow laughed so hard that he forgot all about being
wet.
"Dry up the crick!" screamed Robert Robin over and over again, until he
was too tired to sing any more. Then he perched near Mrs. Robin and
said, "I sang it seven times, but the rain is coming down harder than
ever!"
"Well! You did your best, dear!" said Mrs. Robin. "It isn't your fault
if it rains," and she could smell his feathers, they were so wet.
Suddenly the sky grew lighter, and with a roar that shook the earth a
mighty wind swept through the woods; the clouds began to break away; the
blue sky shone in patches between the torn clouds, and the rain was
over.
No more rain fell, but all that night the fierce wind raved and roared,
and when the sun came up in the east once more, the fierce gusts were
whipping the branches of the elms, and twisting the tops of the tall
pines, but Robert Robin's big basswood tree stood on the northeast side
of the forest, so that the wind scarcely touched it.
During the night four little baby robins had pecked their way out of the
blue eggs, and when daylight came, Mrs. Robin had cleared the nest of
broken shells and was covering her babies with her warm feathers. Robert
Robin was sitting on the big branch close by. He was oiling and
arranging his feathers with great care.
"You _did_ make it stop raining, didn't you, dear?" said Mrs. Robin.
"I must admit that strange things happen!" said Robert Robin, as he
lifted a feather and oiled it on the under side.
"I have a little surprise for you!" said Mrs. Robin.
Robert Robin looked, and as Mrs. Robin stood up, he saw four little baby
robins. The four little baby robins looked at him and opened their
mouths just as wide as they could.
"Why didn't you tell me they were here?" he said. "The poor little dears
are almost starved!" and away he flew in a great rush to get them some
breakfast. In a few moments he was back again and fed one of them. Then
away he hurried again and in a moment he came carrying more food for the
babies, but the babies looked so nearly alike that Robert Robin fed the
same one twice, and that made Mrs. Robin laugh.
"Men are such blunderbusses!" she said.
"Why don't you have your children marked so one can tell them apart?" he
said.
"I will place little Elizabeth at the north side of the nest, little
Sheldon at the east, Montgomery at the south, and Evelina at the west!"
All day long Robert Robin did nothing except carry food for the baby
robins, but the next day Mrs. Robin helped him, and both of them were
busy, for the four little baby robins were very hungry. They never did
seem to get enough to eat.
"The children have wonderful appetites!" said Mrs. Robin.
"They are simply ravenous!" said Robert Robin.
"What does 'ravenous' mean?" asked Mrs. Robin.
"Ravenous means as hungry as a wolf!" answered Robert Robin. "I wish
that the cherries would hurry and get ripe!"
"Do wolves eat cherries?" asked Mrs. Robin.
"I do not know!" said Robert Robin, "but I do know that ripe red
cherries are good for baby robins, and ever so much easier to find than
bugs and worms!"
"Green cherries make them sick! We must be very careful not to feed our
babies any green cherries!"
"I know where there is an early cherry tree!" said Robert Robin, "and I
am going right over there now and see if any of the early cherries are
ripe!"
So Mrs. Robin waited by their nest while Robert Robin went over to see
about the early cherries.
The early cherry tree grew in Widow Blunt's back yard. Widow Blunt's
father had planted it, and it was the very earliest cherry tree in all
the neighborhood.
When Robert Robin came in sight of it he saw the bright red fruit
shining among the green leaves. The early cherries were ripe, and Robert
Robin was the first to find them.
In a few moments Robert Robin stood beside his own nest with a bright
red cherry in his mouth.
"Be sure to pop the pits, children!" said Mrs. Robin, and after the
little robin had swallowed the cherry, the cherry pit came popping from
his mouth and rattled down to the ground.
Many times that day Robert Robin and Mrs. Robert Robin went back and
forth between their nest and Widow Blunt's early cherry tree, but in the
afternoon, Widow Blunt was out in her garden when she saw a red-breasted
robin picking her cherries.
"Oh! You cute robin red-breast!" she called. "You are after my cherries,
but you will have to wait until I have picked all that I want for my own
use, before you get any more!"
Widow Blunt went into her house, and brought out her stepladder. Then
she went into her parlor and got a big stuffed owl off the mantel. The
owl was one that Mister Blunt had shot, and a friend of his had stuffed
its skin and put in great glass eyes that would scare almost anything.
The owl looked just as if he were going to spring right at you.
[Illustration: Both of them were scared almost out of their wits.
(Page 37) (Exciting Adventures of Mr. Robert Robin)]
Widow Blunt took the owl up the stepladder with her, and tied it fast in
the cherry tree, then she went back into her house and looked out
through the kitchen window.
She had not waited long before Robert Robin came to get another cherry.
He perched on a limb and was picking out a nice red ripe one to take
home to Elizabeth when he saw something shine. It was the stuffed owl's
glass eye.
Robert Robin saw the big fierce owl so close to him that he was so
frightened he dropped the cherry and screamed, "Help! Help!" and almost
fell out of the tree, and just then Mrs. Robin came and almost sat right
beside the big owl, and she screamed, "Help! Help!" and almost fell out
of the tree, and both of them were scared almost out of their wits, and
they flew over to the harvest apple tree and Robert Robin said, "Tut!
Tut! Tut!--Tut! Tut! Tut!" and every time he said, "Tut!" he jerked his
tail.
Widow Blunt sat in her splint-bottomed chair by her kitchen window and
laughed and laughed, and laughed. "That poor robin thought he was a
goner!" she said to herself. "That old owl is good for something, after
all!"
Widow Blunt's full-blooded Plymouth Rock Rooster came around the house
with four hens. He was going to show the hens where the cherries were
falling on the ground. One of the hens saw the big owl sitting in the
cherry tree.
"See that terrible bird in the tree!" she said. Mister Rooster looked up
and saw Mister Sparrow sitting in the English currant bush.
"I could eat four birds like that one!" said the rooster.
"You are very brave!" said the hen, "but something tells me that I do
not care for cherries to-day!" and the hen started running for the barn.
Just then Mister Rooster saw the big owl.
"Ca-daa-cut! Ca-daa-cut!" he screamed. "Run for your lives!" and the big
rooster was one of the first to get under the barn.
Widow Blunt rocked back and forth in her splint-bottomed chair and
laughed, and laughed, and laughed. "It is better than a vaudeville!" she
said.
Mister Samson Crow came flying over, and he saw the big owl sitting in
Widow Blunt's early cherry tree.
Samson Crow was very much surprised to see an owl sitting in a cherry
tree in the daytime, and he said to himself: "My eyes are fairly good,
and they tell me that a whole owl is sitting in that tree!" Then Samson
Crow flew down to where Robert Robin was saying, "Tut! Tut! Tut!" in the
harvest apple tree.
"I am very glad that you came, Mister Crow!" said Robert Robin. "Please
drive that ugly owl out of that cherry tree so that I may get some more
cherries for my baby robins!"
"That is what I am going to do!" said Samson Crow. "But what puzzles me
is why any owl would be sitting in a cherry tree right near a house, in
broad daylight! Why is he there, and what does he want?"
"I have no doubt but that he is after my cherries!" said Robert Robin.
"That is all I care to know about it!" said Samson Crow. "I will drive
him out of your tree this very minute!"
Samson Crow flew straight at the owl. The big owl glared at him with its
great glass eyes and never moved. "Caw! Caw!" screamed Samson Crow, but
the big owl sat perfectly still. Around and around the tree flew Samson
Crow, but the big owl sat perfectly still. Samson Crow perched on a
branch and shouted at the big owl, but the big owl did not even turn his
head, nor change the steady gaze of his great glass eyes. "Help! Help!"
screamed Samson Crow, and he flew away to the woods, and Widow Blunt
laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and rocked backwards and forwards in
her splint-bottomed chair.
Robert Robin kept waiting, and saying, "Tut! Tut! Tut!--Tut! Tut! Tut!"
and wishing that the big owl would fly away, but the big owl did not
move, and just stared straight ahead with his great glass eyes.
About four o'clock Widow Blunt put on her sunbonnet and her cotton
gloves with the fingers cut off, and with an eight-quart tin pail with
strips of zinc soldered across the bottom of it, she climbed the
stepladder and picked eight quarts of ripe red cherries from her early
cherry tree, and the big stuffed owl watched her with his great glass
eyes, and never said a word.
Then the Widow Blunt took her eight-quart pail full of ripe red cherries
into her kitchen and set it on the kitchen table, then she went back to
where her stepladder was standing under the cherry tree, and climbed her
stepladder once more and untied the stuffed owl, and put him under her
arm, and carried him back to her parlor and put him on the mantelpiece
and set the big glass dome over him, to keep the dust off.
Widow Blunt carried her stepladder back into her woodhouse, then she
hung her sunbonnet on a nail behind the kitchen door, and put her cotton
gloves in the secretary drawer, where she would know where to find them
when the berry-picking season came. Widow Blunt then looked out of the
kitchen window, and saw Robert Robin picking one of her ripe red
cherries. Then Widow Blunt sat down in her splint-bottomed chair by the
kitchen window and watched Robert Robin and Mrs. Robert Robin come and
pick her cherries.
"Those robins will not let any of my cherries go to waste," she said.
"But I suppose they have a large family to feed, and eight quarts is all
I need for myself!" And Widow Blunt rocked backwards and forwards in her
splint-bottomed chair and watched the robins, and the next thing she
knew the clock struck six and woke her up.
"Mercy! I went to sleep in my chair!" she said. "Now I will have to
hurry to get those cherries canned before dark!"
"Where did the big owl go?" asked Mrs. Robin of Robert Robin.
"A woman caught him and carried him away, but he ate many of the very
best cherries before she caught him!" said Mister Robert Robin.