“Hold your tongue!” cried the caterpillar, “what do you know about it? Who asked you to preach?”
“Oh! don’t quarrel!” said the gentle voice of little Cis; “let me give you a little more light, Mr. Caterpillar, if you will bury yourself,” and she ran and picked up Hal’s wand, and threw the light of Love’s Star on the old grubber. The owl above only blinked, and said in surly tones that he knew he was right, and he wished people wouldn’t try to throw light on his eyes.
Little Cis, being left by her partner, sat down on a mossy bank, and was watching the rest, when she heard some twittering notes near, and looking down saw two little birds close to her feet, one all grey, one grey with a yellow breast, their bright eyes twinkling, their little tails wagging.
“We thought you looked lonely,” said the grey bird, “so we have come to talk to you.”
“What are your names, little birds?” said Cis.
“We are robins,”[10] said they.
“Robins, are you?” replied little Cis, “why, mother used to tell me that robins had red breasts.”
“Oh! so I’ve heard it said they have on the other side of the world,” replied the grey bird, who seemed to be the greater talker of the two, “but we don’t care for so much red, as everything else here is so bright, our family only go in for quiet colours; it’s more ladylike. What do you think of our ball?” he added, and then continued, “I don’t care much for dancing myself; I like afternoon-teas better. I am very fond of company, and one hears all the news of the country-side at a tea-party; it is much more sociable too.”
“Perhaps so,” said little Cis in a doubtful voice, for she had only been to dolls’ tea-parties, and no one talked there.
“Yes,” went on the grey robin, “there are three charming parrakeets, who live in a wood near by, and they sometimes give afternoon teas, and, really, it is as good as reading a newspaper to hear all the tales told of the neighbours.”