The Story of a Robin

by Agnes S. Underwood

How Phœbe sought for that book—through all her drawers and her little room, then through the house, and lastly, down all the lane, and by every step of the path through the fields which they had crossed the evening before! Oh, what a weary search that was, and what a sad story to tell her mother, when, without the book, Phœbe returned.

If Mrs. Copland looked so vexed, what would Uncle Roger be? And then all the happy birthday pleasures which she had lost! She would have to dine with little Charlie, she knew, and to feel as if in disgrace all day; and in disgrace even Lady’s Mead itself could bring her no pleasure. Poor little Phœbe!

Her mother would not allow her to stay at home from school, but said she must tell Mrs. Nott the plain truth, and, if she had time before the class began, learn the lesson from some of the other girls’ books. Fortunately, the missing task was that which Phœbe had learned before leaving the school the day before; but, owing to her haste and agitation, it was so incorrectly repeated that Margaret Prettyman again triumphantly took her place at the head of the class. It was hard enough to see Margaret’s malicious face as she pushed past, and Phœbe had much trouble in choking down her temper and her tears at the same time.

The next day Esther Heywood came to meet her with a very sorrowful face, and told her that Jem had been “all up the fields” the evening before, searching the path they had gone by, and that he had looked into every nook and corner he could think of, but he could not see the book anywhere. His opinion was, though, that Uncle Roger would never keep to his word; that he would never disappoint Phœbe on her birthday for such a trifle.

Phœbe shook her head. “Uncle Roger always keeps his word,” she said. “I’ll be in disgrace, I know, though perhaps I’ll go to Lady’s Mead all the same; but that will be quite as bad as not going at all.”

Hardest of all it was when Uncle Roger came over that afternoon. Mrs. Copland had to tell him the story, for Phœbe was so drowned in tears that she could not speak a word. Uncle Roger looked grave when he heard how it was, but soothed his weeping little niece kindly, and gave her no reproof. He spoke little or nothing about the following day, only saying, while stroking her hair as usual, “Well, my little maid, we must stick to our bargain. Apple-pie order must wait till next year, I fancy; but come over all the same, and welcome, to Lady’s Mead. You and Mary-Anne can have your romp together; and you must forget it’s your own birthday, that’s all. I’m just about as much pleased with you for your last month’s doings as if all your books were safe in your bag, mind you that; and now wipe your tears, my little lass.”

The next morning rose as bright and beautiful as you could well wish to see, and Phœbe, seated by her father behind the old grey horse Robin, with her mother and Charlie in the back seat, almost forgot her sorrows while driving down the sweet, shady lanes in all their beautiful autumn colours, and while looking forward to Lady’s Mead, and the delight of seeing her dear little cousin Mary-Anne.

Lady’s Mead was such a pretty place, with a very large orchard full of rosy-cheeked apples; and there was a dairy, large, and cool, and sweet, with great bowls of delicious milk, and such a beautifully white, clean floor. Out of doors there was a swing, and a pretty mossy summer-house down by the stream, and such delightful little paths through clipped yew hedges, and an old sun-dial on the grass, and in one corner a stone figure of a little boy kneeling, with his hands clasped and his face looking up to heaven. It was altogether such a place as children did not weary of; and had it not been for little Phœbe’s late troubles, she would have been as joyous as the birds which were singing in the trees all round them.

There were many “rubs” to bear, though; first, the meeting with her uncle and aunt and Mary-Anne, and receiving from them no happy birthday wishes as usual; and then seeing her brother Bob’s disappointed face when he came over from the county town where he was serving his apprenticeship, bringing with him a nice little parcel, which looked very like a doll, wrapped up in thin brown paper, and stowed away in one of his pockets for his little sister. The parcel was not taken out, however.

Cousin Mary-Anne, who was a dear, good little girl, no sooner heard that Phœbe was to dine at a side-table with little Charlie, instead of the treat of sitting at the great long one with the older people, than she declared that she would do so too; and though Phœbe would not listen to this at first, yet Mary-Anne would have it so, and it was accordingly settled. She proved herself, too, such a good little comforter and companion, that Phœbe became quite cheerful again, though perhaps their play was not quite so merry as usual.