stockings.”  Nay, so far did this generosity proceed, that Charlie cut a flossy, golden curl from Toddlie’s head and threw it out; and when the birds caught it up the whole flock laughed to see Toddlie’s golden hair figuring in a bird’s-nest.

When the little thing was finished, it was so neat, and trim, and workman-like, that the children all exulted over it, and called it “our nest,” and the two robins they called “our birds.”  But wonderful was the joy when the little eyes, opening one morning, saw in the nest a beautiful pale-green egg; and the joy grew from day to day, for every day there came another egg, and so on till there were five little eggs; and then the oldest girl, Alice, said, “There are five eggs: that makes one for each of us, and each of us will have a little bird by-and-by;”—at which all the children laughed and jumped for glee.

When the five little eggs were all laid, the mother-bird began to sit on them; and at any time of day or night, when a little head peeped out of the nursery window, might be seen a round, bright, patient pair of bird’s eyes contentedly waiting for the young birds to come.  It seemed a long time for the children to wait; but every day they put some bread and cake from their luncheon on the window-sill, so that the birds might have something to eat; but still there she was, patiently sitting!

“How long, long, long she waits!” said Jamie impatiently.  “I don’t believe she’s ever going to hatch.”

“Oh, yes she is!” said grave little Alice.  “Jamie, you don’t understand about these things; it takes a long, long time to hatch eggs.  Old Sam says his hens sit three weeks;—only think, almost a month!”

Three weeks looked a long time to the five bright pairs of little watching eyes; but Jamie said the eggs were so much smaller than hens’ eggs that it wouldn’t take so long to hatch them, he knew.  Jamie always thought he knew all about everything, and was so sure of it that he rather took the lead among the children.  But one morning, when they pushed their five heads out of the window, the round, patient little bird-eyes were gone, and there seemed to be nothing in the nest but a bunch of something hairy.

Upon this they all cried out, “O mamma, do come here! the bird is gone and left her nest?”  And when they cried out, they saw five wide little red mouths open in the nest, and saw that the hairy bunch of stuff was indeed the first of five little birds.

“They are dreadful-looking things,” said Mary; “I didn’t know that little birds began by looking so badly.”

“They seem to be all mouth,” said Jamie.

“We must feed them,” said Charlie.—“Here, little birds, here’s some gingerbread for you,” he said; and he threw a bit of his gingerbread, which fortunately only hit the nest on the outside, and fell down among the buttercups, where two crickets made a meal of it, and agreed that it was as excellent gingerbread as if old Mother Cricket herself had made it.

“Take care, Charlie,” said his mamma; “we do not know enough to feed young birds.  We must leave that to their papa and mamma, who probably started out bright and early in the morning to get breakfast for them.”

Sure enough, while they were speaking, back came Mr. and Mrs. Robin, whirring through the green shadows of the apple tree; and thereupon all the five little red mouths flew open, and the birds put something into each.

It was great amusement, after this, to watch the daily feeding of the little birds, and to observe how, when not feeding them, the mother sat brooding on the nest, warming them under her soft wings, while the father-bird sat on the topmost bough of the apple-tree and sang to them.  In time they grew and grew, and, instead of a nest full of little red mouths, there was a nest full of little, fat, speckled robins, with round, bright, cunning eyes, just like their parents; and the children began to talk together about their birds.

“I’m going to give my robin a name,” said Mary.  “I call him Brown-Eyes.”

“And I call mine Tip-Top,” said Jamie, “because I know he’ll be a tip-top bird.”

“And I call mine Singer,” said Alice.

“I ’all mine Toddy,” said little Toddlie, who would not be behindhand in anything that was going on.

“Hurrah for Toddlie!” said Charlie; “hers is the best of all.  For my part, I call mine Speckle.”

So then the birds were all made separate characters by having each a separate name given it.

Brown-Eyes, Tip-Top, Singer, Toddy, and Speckle made, as they grew bigger, a very crowded nestful of birds.

Now the children had early been taught to say in a little hymn:—

“Birds in their little nests agree;
   And ’tis a shameful sight
When children of one family
   Fall out, and chide, and fight;”—

and they thought anything really written and printed in a hymn must be true; therefore they were very much astonished to see, from day to day, that their little birds in their nest did not agree.

Tip-Top was the biggest and strongest bird, and he was always shuffling and crowding the others, and clamouring for the most food; and when Mrs. Robin came in with a nice bit of anything, Tip-Top’s red mouth opened so wide, and he was so noisy, that one would think the nest was all his.  His mother used to correct him for these gluttonous ways, and sometimes made him wait till all the rest were helped before she gave him a mouthful; but he generally revenged himself in her absence by crowding the others and making the nest generally uncomfortable.  Speckle, however, was a bird of spirit, and he used to peck at Tip-Top; so they would sometimes have a regular sparring-match across poor Brown-Eyes, who was a meek, tender little fellow, and would sit winking and blinking in fear while his big brothers quarrelled.  As to Toddy and Singer, they turned out to be sister birds, and showed quite a feminine talent for chattering; they used to scold their badly behaving brothers in a way that made the nest quite lively.

On the whole Mr. and Mrs. Robin did not find their family circle the peaceable place the poet represents.

“I say,” said Tip-Top one day to them, “this old nest is a dull, mean, crowded hole, and it’s quite time some of us were out of it.  Just give us lessons in flying, won’t you? and let us go.”

“My dear boy,” said Mother Robin, “we shall teach you to fly as soon as your wings are strong enough.”

“You are a very little bird,” said his father, “and ought to be good and obedient, and wait patiently till your wing-feathers grow; and then you can soar away to some purpose.”

“Wait for my wing-feathers?  Humbug!” Tip-Top would say, as he sat balancing with his little short tail on the edge of the nest, and looking down through the grass and clover-heads below, and up into the blue clouds above.  “Father and mother are slow old birds; they keep a fellow back with their confounded notions.  If they don’t hurry up, I’ll take matters into my own claws, and be off some day before they know it.  Look at those swallows, skimming and diving through the blue air!  That’s the way I want to do.”

“But, dear brother, the way to learn to do that is to be good and obedient while we are little, and wait till our parents think it best for us to begin.”

“Shut up your preaching,” said Tip-Top; “what do you girls know of flying?”

“About as much as you,” said Speckle.  “However, I’m sure I don’t care how soon you take yourself off, for you take up more room than all the rest put together.”