What interesting, confiding little birds are the robin redbreasts of our
own dear England!
It was summer-time. An old lady lay in bed suffering from her last
illness. The bed was of large size, with a roof and four posts, the
foot of it being not far from the window. The lattice, with its diamond
panes, was open from morn till eve; and as the old lady thus lay calm
and composed, and often alone, she observed a pair of robins enter by
the window and fly round the corner of the roof of her bed. Chirruping
to each other, they seemed to agree that just inside of the bed would be
a nice spot for building their nest. Away they flew, and soon returned
with straws and little sticks. Thus they quickly had a cozy little nest
constructed in a secure position, which no bird of prey or marauding cat
was likely to reach.
The lady would on no account allow of their being disturbed, and they
had free ingress and egress. Here the hen laid her eggs, sitting upon
them, while Cock Robin brought her her daily meals. The eggs were
hatched, and in this happy abode, greatly to the pleasure of the old
lady, their little family was reared; and before she died, they were
fully fledged, and had flown away.