My Robin | Page 3

deal I thought I had reached an
explanation. He had been born in the rose-garden and being of a home-
loving nature he had declined to follow the rest of his family when they
had made their first flight over the wall into the rose-walk or over the
laurel hedge into the pheasant cover behind. He had stayed in the rose
world and then had felt lonely. Without father or mother or sisters or
brothers desolateness of spirit fell upon him. He saw a creature--I insist
on believing that he thought it another order of robin--and approached
to see what it would say.
Its whole bearing was confidence inspiring. It made softly alluring--if
unexplainable--sounds. He felt its friendliness and affection. It was
curious to look at and far too large for any ordinary nest. It plainly
could not fly. But there was not a shadow of inimical sentiment in it.
Instinct told him that. It admired him, it wanted him to remain near,
there was a certain comfort in its caressing atmosphere. He liked it and
felt less desolate. He would return to it again.
The next day summer rains kept me in the house. The next I went to the
rose-garden in the morning and sat down under my tree to work. I had
not been there half an hour when I felt I must lift my eyes and look. A
little indeterminate-colored bird was hopping quietly about in the
grass--quite aware of me as his dew-bright eye manifested. He had
come again--of intention--because we were mates.
It was the beginning of an intimacy not to be described unless one

filled a small volume. From that moment we never doubted each other
for one second. He knew and I knew. Each morning when I came into
the rose- garden he came to call on me and discover things he wanted
to know concerning robins of my size and unusual physical
conformation. He did not understand but he was attracted by me. Each
day I held myself still and tried to make robin sounds expressive of
adoring tenderness and he came each day a little nearer. At last arrived
a day when as I softly left my seat and moved about the garden he
actually quietly hopped after me.
I wish I could remember exactly what length of time elapsed before I
knew he was really a robin. An ornithologist would doubtless know but
I do not. But one morning I was bending over a bed of Laurette
Messimy roses and I became aware that he had arrived in his usual
mysterious way without warning. He was standing in the grass and
when I turned my eyes upon him I only just saved myself from
starting--which would have meant disaster. I saw upon his breast the
first dawning of a flush of color-- more tawny than actual red at that
stage--but it hinted at revelations.
"Further subterfuge is useless," I said to him. "You are betrayed. You
are a robin."
And he did not attempt to deny it either then or at any future time. In
less than two weeks he revealed a tight, glossy little bright red satin
waistcoat and with it a certain youthful maturity such as one beholds in
the wearer of a first dress suit. His movements were more brisk and
certain. He began to make little flights and little sounds though for
some time he made no attempt to sing. Instead of appearing suddenly in
the grass at my feet, a heavenly little rush of wings would
[Illustration: A HEAVENLY RUSH OF WINGS]
bring him to a bough over my head or a twig quite near me where he
would tilt daintily, taking his silent but quite responsive part in the
conversations which always took place between us. It was I who
talked-- telling him how I loved him--how satin red his waistcoat
was--how large and bright his eyes--how delicate and elegant his
slender legs. I flattered him a great deal. He adored flattery and I am
sure he loved me most when I told him that it was impossible to say
anything which could flatter him. It gave him confidence in my good
taste.

One morning--a heavenly sunny one--I was conversing with him by the
Laurette Messimys again and he was evidently much pleased with the
things I said. Perhaps he liked my hat which was a large white one with
a wreath of roses round its crown. I saw him look at it and I gently
hinted that I had worn it in the hope that he would approve. I had
broken off a handful of coral pink Laurettes and was arranging them
idly when--he spread his wings in a sudden upward flight--a tiny swift
flight which ended--among the roses on my hat--the very hat