“Kind tales?” asked Cis.
“Well, I don’t exactly know,” said the grey robin, “but that doesn’t matter; the parrakeets[11] say the great thing is to have something to talk about.”
Robins.
“Don’t say that,” put in the yellow-breasted robin, “the old owl tells us never to repeat an unkind thing; it is only the busy-bodies of the Tui family who do that, and they often whistle the tales they hear so badly, that you’d scarcely know them to be the same.”
“Perhaps they can’t help it, you know,” remarked little Cis; “it is not every one who has a good ear; and, besides, Tuis talk so much, that they can’t have much time to think about what they say. I don’t expect they mean to alter things. Mother told me never to tell any but good tales of Hal, but it is difficult sometimes when he teases me,” and little Cis sighed.
“I think this is a very nice ball with you to talk to,” said the grey robin; “do you mind if we stay near you?”
“Oh, no, I shall like it,” replied Cis; so the robins perched on a bush close by, and with their heads on one side eyed the dancers (who had started afresh), and they now and again added their sweet low notes to the music.
“We don’t sing much,” said they, “but we like to do our best to make things lively.”