Sparrows, thrushes, and robins were busy feeding young broods; chaffinches and blue tits were still sitting on their eggs; the spotted flycatchers had not yet arrived. Forget-me-nots, violas, and irises made a sea of blue and purple, seen through the pendent branches of my sanctuary. White broom leant over with its fairy flowerets, and back amongst the evergreens glowed the crimson of early rhododendrons.
Presently there was a scolding and chattering above my head, and I looked up to see Fritz, who had, I suppose, come by his usual overland route along the tree tops, and was minded to come down to the tray at my elbow for nuts. He did not like the look of my rug and cushions, and was apparently trying to stamp at and scold them out of his way. Finding them immovable and harmless, however, he came leaping down for almonds and walnuts, and as I talked to him his nervousness ceased, and we were both happy.
After he had gone came the conscientious robin, who just now was hard at it feeding her newly-fledged young. I helped her, at intervals, all day in the performance of this duty, with currants, oatmeal, and cheese. Scarcely did she allow herself a morsel, so intent was she upon the needs of her brood. As she waited expectantly for my dole another robin flew down. They did not fight, so I presumed this was a cock, and I watched his antics to attract her with considerable amusement.
First, he sang to her, a little low whispering song, swaying his head and neck to and fro, in an extraordinary manner bowing and sidling.
As, perfectly unconcerned, she continued assiduously picking up invisible insects for her children, he changed his tactics, and, flying to a branch above, he cocked up his tail, and trilled a loud jubilant strain. Nothing moved by this exhibition, she simply ignored him, and he flew away in disgust.
Seven furry infants!... The heartlessness of it! [See page 90].
I named him Robin Adair, because the garden was so dull when he was not there, and he became eventually the most persistent little visitor. He caused me to waste no end of time, for just as I had settled down in the garden with writing or work, there he would be in an instant, silently arriving out of nowhere.
Perched upon the open lid of my dispatch case, he would eye me with a determined expression there was no mistaking. It said plainly, “Where are my worms? Here I sit till you produce them. Be quick, please; my family is waiting.” And I would have to get up, and go inside and bring out the tin which contained his meal-worms. This I would place on my knee, and take up my pen again, meaning really to write. But his dainty little flutterings, his wee spindly legs, his beautiful plumage, and his dew-bright eye were invariably too fascinating and too distracting. I would leave off my writing a hundred times, to admire him and talk to him. He was a most devoted father. He plied to and from the nest where his little ones were all day long, and when one remembers that a bird’s day at this time of year begins at 4 a.m., and lasts till 5 or 6 p.m., it will be admitted that this involves a tremendous amount of energy. Very occasionally did Robin Adair give himself the treat of swallowing one of the meal-worms which he was given. Sometimes the delicious taste of the worm quite demoralized him, and he would gulp down three or even four in succession. But to do him justice, this happened but rarely. I found out where his nest was, and once I commissioned some one else to dole out the worms, while I went behind the shrubbery to watch the little hole, almost indistinguishable, on the ground beneath the furze bushes in the field. He arrived with a fat worm in his beak; but the expression in his black eyes the moment he saw me so near his home was extremely angry. In a second he flew off and hid. I waited and waited. Then I hid, and peered through the furze; but though he had hopped upon a twig nearer the nest, he spotted me again instantly, and nothing would induce him to go in. He must have warned his children, too, somehow, for though at other times I had seen four little gaping mouths, all was silence and darkness now.