The Robins who nested on the west-side second-story window-ledge had
four as good children as you would care to see. They were healthy
nestlings, brought up to mind and to eat what was given to them
without fussing. If, for any reason there came a time when they had to
go without for a while, they were good-natured then also. Their
parents had raised other broods the year before, and had learned that
it is not really kind to children to spoil them.
“You must never forget,” Mrs. Robin used to say, “that your father
_is_ your father and your mother _is_ your mother. If it were not for
us, you would not be here at all, and if it were not for us you would
have nothing to eat now that you are here. Little birds should be very
thoughtful of their parents.”
When it was bedtime, and the young Robins wanted to play instead of
going to sleep, their father would often leave the high branch where
he was singing his evening song and come over to talk to them. When he
did this he did not scold, but he looked so grave that each child
listened to every word. “Your mother,” he would say, “has been busy
all day, hunting Worms for you and flying up to the nest with them.
Now she is tired, and would enjoy perching on a branch and sleeping
alone, but because that would leave you cold and lonely she is willing
to sleep in the nest and cover you with her soft feathers. Do you
think it is fair for you to keep her awake?”
Then all the little Robins would hang their heads and murmur, “No,
Father.”
“What are you going to do about it?” would be the next question. And
then the little Robins never failed to raise their heads and answer,
“We will be good and not say a word.”
Mrs. Robin often said that there would be more happy mothers in the
world if their children took as good care of them as her nestlings
took of her. “They have to be reminded,” she said, “because they are
so young, but when they have been told the right thing to do, they
always do it.” The Catbird, however, who was a very shrewd fellow,
said he thought it was not so much what their father said to them that
made them good, as what they saw him do. He was always kind to Mrs.
Robin himself, you know, and spoke gently, and left the biggest Worms
for her to eat, so his children felt sure that this was the right way.
Mrs. Robin, too, was always polite to her husband. She spoke
pleasantly of him to the children, and if he had any faults she did
not talk about them. The little Robins were certain that they had the
finest father in the world, and meant to be exactly like him when they
grew up. That is, the sons did. The daughters meant to be like their
mother.
When the little Robins’ tail-feathers were about as long as fir
needles, they were surprised to find a beautiful blue egg in the nest
beside them. “Is it for us to play with?” they asked their mother.
“Did we come out of eggs like that? Why is this here?”
Then their wise and gentle mother stood on the ledge beside the nest
and talked to them. She was a busy bird, you know, but she always said
that it took no longer to answer children’s questions than it did to
tell them over and over again to keep still.
“Each of you came out of just such an egg as that,” she said. “This
one is here because I had it ready to lay, and there was no other
good place to put it. You may play with it very carefully, and be sure
not to push it out of the nest, for then it would fall on the porch
roof and break. You may take turns lying next to it, and before long I
will lay another, so you can all be next to an egg at the same time.”
“What are you going to do with them?” asked the Oldest Nestling. “What
will become of them when we are old enough to leave the nest?”
“That is the loveliest part of it,” answered their mother. “I shall
hatch these eggs, too, and then you can have baby brothers and
sisters, perhaps both.”
“But who will take care of us?” asked the Youngest Nestling, and she
looked as though she wanted to cry when she spoke.
“Don’t you worry, little Robin,” said her mother cheerfully. “There
are always enough people to do the things which have to be done, if
they will only keep sweet and not make a fuss. We will all help each
other and everything will come out beautifully. This is the first time
I ever laid the eggs for the second brood before the first brood was
out of the nest, but we shall manage. Besides,” she added, “I believe
you are the first little Robins I ever knew who had a chance to help
hatch eggs before being grown up. Won’t that be fine?”
Mrs. Robin looked so bright and happy as she spoke that her children
were sure it was going to be great fun, and one and all chirped back,
“Oh, let’s! We’ll hatch them just as hard as we can.”
Mrs. Robin fixed them with the new egg in the middle of the nest, and
went off to help their father find dinner for them. After they had
been fed with about fifteen Worms, she laid the second egg. “That will
be all for this brood,” she said, “and perhaps it is just as well. Too
many eggs would crowd the nest.”
Then she told them what wonderful things eggs are; how what is going
to be the young bird is at first only a tiny, soft, stringy thing,
floating around inside the shell, with a ball of yellow food-stuff in
the middle of the shell and clear white stuff all around it. She told
them, too, how this little thing which is to be a bird floats on top
of the other stuff, and so is always next to the mother’s breast as
she sits over it on the nest. “It is the being warm for a long time
and all the time that changes it into a bird strong enough to break
the shell. You will remember that, won’t you,” said she, “and keep the
top side of the eggs warm when I am not here?”
All the little birds were sure that they could, and very proud to
think that she would trust them so. Perhaps if she had said, “Now,
don’t you let me catch you leaving those eggs uncovered!” they might
have murmured to each other, “What do we care about her old eggs? Let
them get cold!” It is a great pity, you know, when people in families
get to talking in that way. And the worst of it is that every time one
person speaks so, another is almost sure to answer in the same way.
Now the Robin family were all caretakers, and when Mrs. Robin flew up
with choice Worms for her children, she gave them loving glances, and
said, “You are such helpers! I don’t know how I could get along
without you.”
Mr. Robin, too, remarked every now and then that it made him happy to
see how thoughtful they were of their mother. After he had said these
things, the children always stretched themselves, so that they might
look as big as they felt.
With four growing children besides the two eggs in the nest, it soon
became very much crowded. Mr. and Mrs. Robin talked it over while
hunting in the garden, where the Hired Man was spading. After they
had fed the children whole billfuls of Worms, which they had found
wriggling there on top of the ground, Mr. Robin said: “Now, if you
will keep very still and not interrupt, I will tell you some good
news.”
When all was quiet, he said: “I shall take you out into the great
world to-morrow. I shall teach you to fly, to perch on branches, and
to hunt for yourselves.”
“Oh goody!” cried all the little Robins together. Then they remembered
how stubby their wings and tails still were, and wondered how they
could ever get to the ground. “Won’t we tumble some?” they asked
doubtfully.
“You may tumble some,” answered their father, “but isn’t it worth a
tumble to get out into the world? Mother will stay up here and finish
hatching the eggs while I am with you, and we will stay near enough
for her to see how fast you learn.”
You can imagine how excited the young Robins were then. They talked so
much that day that not one of them took a nap, and if their mother had
not insisted upon it, they would not have quieted down at sunset.
Early the next morning their parents helped them to the ground. First
they tumbled, fluttered, and sprawled to the porch roof below the
nest. Then when they had rested, they tumbled, fluttered, and sprawled
to the tops of the sweetbriar bushes underneath. There they clung
until after breakfast, while their father hunted for them and their
mother sat on the eggs above. If they had not been taught to mind, it
would have been much harder. As it was, when their parents said,
“Flutter your wings! Get ready! Fly!” they did the very best they
could at once. And that is exactly the way children must do if they
wish to grow strong and help themselves.
There never were such plump, cheerful, and obedient little Robins as
these. Their father had them stay in the lower branches of the fir
tree, within sight of the nest, and the mother watched them while he
was hunting, and called down comforting things to them. When they had
tumbles in trying to fly, she would say: “Never mind! Pick yourselves
up! Robins must tumble before they can fly. After awhile, when I have
finished hatching these eggs, you can come right up to this window
ledge and see the babies.”
Then the little Robins would try harder than ever, for they were
already proud of the babies to be hatched, since they had helped keep
the eggs warm.
Sometimes Silvertip would stroll around the corner of the house, and
Mrs. Robin would be so scared that she could hardly scream “Cat!” Yet
she always managed to do it in some way, and all the other Robins
would help her. Then the Lady, who was almost always writing or sewing
at the sitting-room window, within sight of the nest, would drop her
work and run out the nearest door, pick up Silvertip, and carry him
inside. There he would stand, with his nose pressed against the screen
and his tail switching angrily.
The Lady seemed to understand Robins. When they only cried “Trouble!”
she did not move, knowing it was something she could not help, but
when they cried, “Cat! Cat!” she always hurried out. Sometimes,
though, it was the Gentleman who came, and sometimes the Little Boy.
Mrs. Robin often said that she was sure she could never raise children
so well in any other place as here, in spite of Silvertip’s being
around.
Every day the young Robins were larger and stronger, and their
tail-feathers were better grown. When at last the joyful time came
for the two babies to chip the shell, every one of the four children
managed to get up to the window ledge to see them. It was a hard trip,
and they had to try and try again, and rest between times. They were
not all there at once, but oh, it was a happy, happy time!
The mother told the babies how their big brothers and sisters had
helped hatch them, and the father told the mother how beautifully she
had managed everything. Then the mother told him how faithfully he had
worked, and they both told the older children how proud they were of
them. Everybody said lovely things to everybody else, and the best
part of it was that all these lovely things were true.
The babies were too little to talk much, but they stretched their
necks up lovingly and sleepily to all the family, and acted as though
they really understood how many people had been loving and working for
them, even before they were hatched.