_By C. Robin_
How came a little bird like me
A place in this fine group to win?
My mind is small--it has to be--
The little place I keep it in.
How came a little bird like me
To be here in the Hollow Tree?
When all the others know so much,
And are so strong and gifted too,
How can I dare to speak of such
As I can know, and think, and do?
How can a little bird like me
Belong here in the Hollow Tree?
[Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM SAID HE HADN'T MEANT ANYTHING AT ALL BY WHAT
HE HAD SAID ABOUT THE STORY]
Well, when Mr. Robin finished that, all the others spoke right up and
said that Mr. Robin must never write anything so sad as that again. They
said his story was just as good as it could be, and that Mr. Robin was
one of the smartest ones there; and Mr. 'Possum burst into tears, and
said that he hadn't meant anything at all by what he had said about the
story, and that some time, when they were all alone, Mr. Robin must
tell it to him again, and he would try to have sense enough to
understand it.
Then he ran over to Mr. Robin, and was going to embrace him and weep on
his shoulder, and would very likely have mashed him if Mr. Turtle hadn't
dragged him back to his seat and told him that he had done damage enough
to people's feelings without killing anybody, and the best thing he
could do now would be to go on with a story of his own if he had any.
But Mr. 'Possum said he was too sleepy now, so Mr. Dog sang the poem
which he had promised the evening before because, he said, singing would
be a nice thing to go to sleep on. Mr. Dog's song was called