THE ROBINS’ DOUBLE BROOD
THE Robins who nested on the west-side second-story window-ledge had four as good children as you would care to see. They were healthy nestlings, brought up to mind and to eat what was given to them without fussing. If, for any reason there came a time when they had to go without for a while, they were good-natured then also. Their parents had raised other broods the year before, and had learned that it is not really kind to children to spoil them.
“You must never forget,” Mrs. Robin used to say, “that your father is your father and your mother is your mother. If it were not for us, you would not be here at all, and if it were not for us you would have nothing to eat now that you are here. Little birds should be very thoughtful of their parents.”
When it was bedtime, and the young Robins wanted to play instead of going to sleep, their father would often leave the high branch where he was singing his evening song and come over to talk to them. When he did this he did not scold, but he looked so grave that each child listened to every word. “Your mother,” he would say, “has been busy all day, hunting Worms for you and flying up to the nest with them. Now she is tired, and would enjoy perching on a branch and sleeping alone, but because that would leave you cold and lonely she is willing to sleep in the nest and cover you with her soft feathers. Do you think it is fair for you to keep her awake?”
Then all the little Robins would hang their heads and murmur, “No, Father.”
“What are you going to do about it?” would be the next question. And then the little Robins never failed to raise their heads and answer, “We will be good and not say a word.”
Mrs. Robin often said that there would be more happy mothers in the world if their children took as good care of them as her nestlings took of her. “They have to be reminded,” she said, “because they are so young, but when they have been told the right thing to do, they always do it.” The Catbird, however, who was a very shrewd fellow, said he thought it was not so much what their father said to them that made them good, as what they saw him do. He was always kind to Mrs. Robin himself, you know, and spoke gently, and left the biggest Worms for her to eat, so his children felt sure that this was the right way.
Mrs. Robin, too, was always polite to her husband. She spoke pleasantly of him to the children, and if he had any faults she did not talk about them. The little Robins were certain that they had the finest father in the world, and meant to be exactly like him when they grew up. That is, the sons did. The daughters meant to be like their mother.
When the little Robins’ tail-feathers were about as long as fir needles, they were surprised to find a beautiful blue egg in the nest beside them. “Is it for us to play with?” they asked their mother. “Did we come out of eggs like that? Why is this here?”
Then their wise and gentle mother stood on the ledge beside the nest and talked to them. She was a busy bird, you know, but she always said that it took no longer to answer children’s questions than it did to tell them over and over again to keep still.