THE STORY OF POOR ROBIN.
Flora waited until they had turned the corner. When they looked back,
she waved her hand, and, before passing out of sight, Charley threw a
farewell kiss.
"It was not for you," she said to the black baby, "so you need not look
so pleasant about it. It was for me. And now we will go in and write on
the white slate; but you must not touch it, for somebody has clumsy
fingers and black fingers. It isn't me--my fingers are white; and it
isn't Amy. It is you. Dolls don't know so much as other folks, and dolls
break things. I don't. If you break that slate, Amy will cry. She said
I might take it; she didn't say nothing to you. Will you 'member?"
They went in, but they soon came out again. The sunny morning called so
loudly that Flora could not stay in doors. Not even the white slate had
power to keep her. She played with it a while, and then it was cast
aside, because Dinah wanted to take a walk. How she knew it, I am sure I
cannot tell. Perhaps the black baby whispered her wishes in the ear of
her mistress, and Flora was quite willing to oblige her. When they went
out, the steps of the porch were dry, and there was no longer any mist;
so Flora was at liberty to go where she pleased. That is to say, she was
at liberty to go wherever mamma pleased. Down to the barn, over to
auntie's, where Charley and Bertie lived, or in to see Grandma; but she
was not to wander away or play in the public street, and she was on no
account to go where she could not keep home in view. She might roam
about the grounds all day if she liked; and there was the big tree down
in the garden, with a broad seat around it, where she could play house
or picnic, or anything that could be played with only Dinah to help her.
But it often happened that she did not care to go to any of these
places. She would have liked to open the big gate (but that was
forbidden,) and follow the noisy ducks down to the pond, and now she
looked with longing eyes to a group of merry boys who ought to have been
in school, but were playing in the muddy street instead. She thought how
nice it would be to have one's own way always, and not be obliged to ask
mamma everything. She was strongly tempted to join the party of rough,
rude boys. There was not a girl among them.
"I think it is too bad," she complained to Dinah, "and it ought to be a
pity. Big girls know where they want to go better than mamma does. Don't
they? Course they do. Did you say no? That is what mamma says. So you
may turn your head round. If you don't look that way, you will forget
all about it. And I will."
Flora was right. She turned her head and forgot all about it. There was
something else to think of. Somebody was getting over the wall at the
foot of the garden. Who was it? She ran to the other end of the porch to
see.
"Is that you?" she called. No answer. "Is that _you_, I say?"
Bertie (for it was Bertie,) looked up and nodded. He came across the
beds that were covered with the dry stalks and stems of last year's
flowers, and up the path, quite slowly.
"Hurry," cried Flora, impatiently.
Bertie shook his head to signify that he could not hurry, and then she
saw that he carried something in both hands, and he carried it
carefully.
"What is it," she demanded.
"Hush!" said Bertie. "It is a timid little thing, and you must not make
a noise. You can come up softly and look."
He cautiously parted his hands, and Flora looked in; but the space was
very narrow, and she was so eager that she could not see very well. So
he separated his hands a little more, and then she saw the bright eyes
and round head of a bird.
"Oo!" she exclaimed.
"Robin," said Bertie.
"Alive?"
"Can't you see?"
He stopped, and Flora took another look.
"It _is_ alive. I am so glad."
"But you must not clap your hands. That makes a wind, and he is awfully
afraid of a wind. It makes him shake like everything. I wish you could
feel his heart beat."
Flora eagerly held out her hands.
"Do let me," she pleaded, earnestly. But Bertie said, "Not yet; wait
till he gets acquainted."
"Will he, do you think?"
"Oh, yes. He knows me first rate now. I have had him ever since last
night. I was home yesterday, sick. I am home sick to-day. That is why I
am here. I didn't go to school. I got my feet wet."
"Through your rubber boots?"
"Over them. I went in knee deep, filled my boots full. Took them off,
and emptied out the water; but that didn't do any good. The cold stayed
in. I had caught it, you know, and there was no shaking it out. When you
once catch a cold, it sticks. There is something growing in my throat.
Tonsils, mother calls it, I believe; but I guess it won't amount to
much."
"Does it hurt?"
"Oh, no! It was awful in the night, though. You see I could not get out
yesterday for the rain."
"No more could I."
"It was precious dull staying in the house with the tonsils, so I kept
looking out of the window, and wishing it would clear off."
"Just like me," said Flora, gleefully.
"And I got awful tired of that window!"
"Me, too."
"I wanted to smash my fist through it, but that would not have been
doing the proper thing, so I kept my feelings to myself. By-and-by I
heard something go, peep! peep! I couldn't think at first what it was."
"It was the robin."
"Yes, but I did not know it was the robin. I thought it was some other
bird up in a tree. By-and-by it came again. Peep! peep! right under the
window, and then I began to look about me. But I did not see anything
for a long time. At last I opened the window, and there, hopping about
the wet piazza, was Mr. Robin. I went out and got him in a twinkling."
"Did he want to be caught?"
"Couldn't help himself."
"I should have flied away."
"With that?" Bertie pointed to a broken wing.
"With two of them."
"You could not fly if you had a dozen wings like that. It is broken."
"Oh!"
"And that accounts for his being on our piazza. I don't know what lamed
him, but I think it was the gale or a stone."
"I guess it was something," said Flora, eagerly.
"And it was lucky that I happened to hear him when he cried peep, peep,
instead of puss. If puss had been round, wouldn't she have snapped at
him?"
"Wouldn't she?" echoed Flora.
"She would have made mince meat of Mr. Robin. There would not have been
so much as a feather left. I tell you what I mean to do. Nurse him up
till he gets well."
"Me, too."
"Yes, you can be the doctor, while I am at school; and if he _does_ get
well, won't I make a tip-top cage for him?"
"He will get well."
"Perhaps. But you must be careful about his diet. Don't give him
anything hurtful to eat, you know."
"I won't. Give him milk and sponge cake."
"And worms. You must not forget the worms."
"Dig some?"
"Yes."
"Dig some now?"
"That wouldn't be a bad idea. He was not hungry last night, and he would
not eat this morning. Perhaps a nice fat worm will tempt him."
Flora knew where to look for nice, fat worms, so she left Bertie to take
care of Dinah and the robin, while she went in pursuit of a breakfast
for the birdy. There was a family that lived under a certain plank, and
as it was a large family there was always somebody at home. When she
tried the door it would not open; that is to say when she got to the
plank she could not lift it. The wet clay sucked it down so hard that
although she tugged till she was red in the face, she could not move it.
"Oh, dear!" she cried.
And then she went to the other end of the plank and tried that. But it
stuck fast. It would not move an inch. Then she got angry and talked to
it as she sometimes talked to Dinah, and with no better result. She
could not move it by force or by persuasion. There was no other way but
to go back to Bertie without the robin's breakfast.
"I can manage it," said Bertie, "if you will take the chick. I should
like to see the plank that could hold out against me."
Flora gladly took the chick, and her countenance brightened as she felt
the little heart flutter against her hand. This was much pleasanter than
hunting worms. She sat down upon the step and held the birdy very
tenderly till Bertie came back.