One of the birds ran toward the seated group, and stood a moment, proud and high-chested, his sleek head gleaming in the sun. Phil laughed to himself as his busy hand worked.
"What are you laughing at?" asked the little boy.
"Cock robin. He reminded me of somebody I know. Don't you think he looks very pleased with his red vest and his smooth feathers?"
"Yes," replied the child. "Perhaps it's his birthday, too." He laughed, delighted that his big friend was amused.
"Perhaps; and see there! He has found a birthday present."
The robin had suddenly pounced upon a worm and was digging it from its earthy stronghold.
Violet had to put her hand over the child's mouth to still his mirth. The bird was sitting on his tail, claws dug in the ground as he leaned back, dragging at his prey.
"How good of the robins to stray away from Central Park, and bring spring to all these little places," said Violet. "I heard one last night. Perhaps this is the very fellow. Their notes always make me think of links in a chain, link after link, alike, yet so fresh. Wouldn't it be great, Ernest, if this pair are hunting for a place to build here, and would take a tree that you could see from your windows, and you could watch them with an opera-glass?"
"Do you think they will?" The child looked up into the golden-green of tender new leaves through which the mellow light was sifting.