"The bird that we call the robin in this country, my dear, is not like the little redbreast you have seen at home. Our robin is twice as large. Though in shape resembling the European robin, I believe it is really a kind of thrush. [Footnote: Turdus migratoria.] It migrates in the fall, and returns to us early in the spring."
"What is migrating, nurse? Is it the same as emigrating?"
"Yes, Lady Mary; for when a person leaves his native country, and goes to live in another country, he is said to emigrate. This is the reason why the English, Scotch, and Irish families who come to live in Canada are called emigrants."
"What colour are the Canadian robins, nurse?"
"The head is blackish; the back, lead colour; and the breast is pale orange—not so bright a red, however, as the real robin."
"Have you ever seen their nests, nurse?"
"Yes, my dear, many of them. It is not a pretty nest. It is large, and coarsely put together, of old dried grass, roots, and dead leaves, plastered inside with clay, mixed with bits of straw, so as to form a sort of mortar. You know, Lady Mary, that the blackbird and thrush build nests, and plaster them in this way?"
The little lady nodded her head in assent.
"Nurse, I once saw a robin's nest when I was in England. It was in the side of a mossy ditch, with primroses growing close beside it. It was made of green moss, and lined with white wool and hair. It was a pretty nest, with nice eggs in it; much better than your Canadian robin's nest."
[Illustration: WATCHING THE BIRDS]