What the Blackbird said / A story in four chirps

by Hannah Jane Locker-Lampson

“Ah, that’s it,” replied the Robin, “many people think I only sing in the winter, but in reality I sing quite as well, and better too, for that matter, in the summer. The truth is that it’s very difficult for 9 me to make myself heard when the larks are singing so gloriously, and the thrushes, and the nightingales––not to speak of yourself,” said the Robin, turning round politely. “Now, however,” he continued, “there are so few woodland notes, that I think my poor little pipe may be more welcome, and I do my best.”

Again the Robin carolled, and as the Blackbird listened he said, with a certain air of respect, “You are a good little bird, Mr. Robin, and I feel the better for having heard your song; all the same, however, if we are to have much of this wretched snow, I should just like to know what I am to do for my food?”

His song ended, the Robin had been preparing to fly away, but at these words he drew in his little brown wings again, and said, “I hope we may meet again in a few days, and that you may then be happier than you are just now. In the meantime, however, it may be a help to you to hear something which my good friend the old Rook once told me, and which I have never forgotten. He said that the great God Who made you and me, and the snow, 10 and everybody and everything, would never forget any of us, for He not only thinks of us, but, can you believe it, not one of those poor little sparrows falls to the ground without His knowing it. We don’t think much of the sparrows,” continued the Robin, “they are low, mischievous creatures, but God feeds them, so I’m sure He won’t let us starve. I’m only a very small bird myself, but the thought that I’m taken care of makes me feel very happy.”

Then away flew the Robin, leaving the Blackbird on the bare branch, with much to think about. He had heard many new and startling things that morning, and now as he gazed at the snow-covered world, it was with a happier feeling; the little Robin’s discourse had not been altogether thrown away.

It was getting late, and as yet the Blackbird had had no breakfast. He determined, therefore, to make an expedition in search of food, and his sable wings were soon bearing him swiftly over the sparkling snow. He first flew to a wood not very far off, and as he alighted on a small hazel-branch he noticed, just beyond him, a fine holly, and in spite of the snow he could see that it was covered with scarlet berries. 11 How was it that he had never noticed that beautiful bush before? The ripe berries looked very tempting, and he had soon made as substantial a meal as any hungry Blackbird could desire––indeed he left one bough almost bare. He felt all the better after this breakfast, and took quite a long excursion over the snow-covered woods and fields in the neighbourhood.

It was very remarkable how many trees he now found covered with berries; he had never noticed such a number before. In one hedgerow, leafless though it was, he discovered a hawthorn-bush, and its small black berries, hard though they proved to be, formed by no means a contemptible luncheon, even after the softer scarlet ones he had disposed of at breakfast. There was a mountain ash too, just on the other side of the hedge, upon the fruit of which this keen-eyed Blackbird made up his mind to regale himself at no very distant period. Altogether, his day, which had begun so unpromisingly, was a decided success, and that night, as he fluttered to rest in the ivy, and saw the little silver stars peeping and twinkling at him through the warm green curtains of his canopy, he thought of all the little Robin’s 12 wise words. It was with a chirp of sincere thankfulness that he tucked his head under his wing.

The next morning was sunny, but frosty and very cold. Before leaving the ivy-bush, our Blackbird ate a few of the dark berries which clustered thickly around him. They were not, perhaps, quite so good as the holly or hawthorn berries, but still they were better than nothing at all.

He then flew from the ivy to his favourite branch on the lime-tree, and he was not a little pleased to find that his small red-breasted friend was there before him.

“Well,” quoth the Robin, as he paused in his carol to welcome his friend, “how do you find yourself this morning?”

“Better,” replied the Blackbird, “much better.” He then gave the Robin an account of all his experiences of the day before, and observed how curious it was that in one short day he should have discovered so many new kinds of berries.