That evening, after watching the flight of the swallows, the Blackbird flew from the fir to his favourite branch on the lime, where we were first introduced to him. He felt rather sad, there was so much that was bright and joyous and sunny to look back upon in the past spring and summer; there was not a little that was dark and cold and dreary to look forward to in the approaching winter. As he was meditating on the past, and thinking of the future, a bright, a familiar note greeted him from a branch close by,––in another moment the Robin had hopped to his side.
“My dear little friend,” cried the Blackbird, “I haven’t seen you for a long time.”
“I’ve often seen you though,” said the Robin; “but what with your two large families, and all the delights and distractions of the summer, you have been a good deal occupied.”
“I haven’t heard you singing,” said the Blackbird.
“Don’t you remember what I told you in the spring?” replied the Robin; “my poor little song is quite extinguished when so many others are singing, but now I am beginning to be heard once more.”
Again he poured forth a clear, bright carol.
“As I have said before,” remarked the Blackbird, “you are a very good little bird, you come to cheer us just when we want cheering.”
“But you’re not so down-hearted as you used to be,” said the Robin.
“That is due then to your bright little lessons,” said the Blackbird gratefully, “and the teaching of our dear old friend the Rook there.”