Whenever the ladies came downstairs he was quite safe. They let him do what he liked. He tasted the bacon, he feasted on butter, he burned his toes on the tea-pot—in fact, he did whatever came into his little head. At lunch he again presented himself, and he came to the drawing-room for afternoon tea.
With all this high living he became a big, fat bird, and I am sorry to say he was very selfish and very jealous. He could not endure the thought of any other bird sharing his privileges, as the following incident proves.
One morning after breakfast he heard a noise in the hall.
“Whoever is Polly speaking to? It must be another bird,” said he to himself. “That is the way she speaks to me. I must see to this. If it is another robin, I shall be the death of him.”
He ruffled up his feathers and flew into the hall, prepared to do battle with any intruder. He was very angry to hear Polly speak in such petting tones to any bird but himself, and he was tempted to give her ear a bite as he sat on her shoulder. He found he had put himself in a rage very needlessly. It was not another robin, but a little wren.
“Oh!” he thought, “I wonder what she wants.—Good-day, Miss Wren; are you coming to live here?”
“I was thinking of it,” she replied, tossing her head; “but I don’t think the society is very select.”
As she made this speech, she gave it point by looking straight at Robinette.
“Indeed,” he said, “you are rather a small person to have formed such a large opinion; but as you are so small, you are welcome to stay as long as you do not interfere with me.”
“Thank you for nothing, Cock Robin. I shall stay or I shall go without asking your leave.”