CHAPTER VII.
MR. ROBIN'S APPEAL.
When the tender parents had finished their willing task of feeding Molly, they hopped forward close to the very door of the cottage, and seeing the old gentleman sitting in the room, Mr. Robin made bold to walk in and make known his errand.
"I wonder what he is talking about, so very loud and earnest," exclaimed Fred, coming in softly behind him.
"I don't know; but he is very zealous about it. See how he turns first one eye, then the other, while he twitters away as if his life depended upon making us understand."
Suddenly robin uttered a sharp cry, and flew away toward the nest; and before they could express their surprise, he was back again, twittering as fast as ever.
Fred laughed aloud. "How very funny!" he cried. "What does it mean? He never did so before."
"I have no doubt he is trying to tell us something; and I fear it is not pleasant news, from his mournful cry."
"I wish we could understand," said the boy.
"I once read of a man," said grandpa, "who, from his boyhood, had studied the language of birds, and by close attention had acquired such a knowledge of it, that from the song of the parents, he knew where the nests were situated, whether they contained eggs, or whether the brood was hatched. He knew even the number of young birds and their age, before he saw them. This is truly wonderful, and if I had not read it from the best authority, I could hardly credit it. If so, I suppose, by careful observation, we could in many cases understand their different notes, and thus learn their wants and emotions, as well as the birds themselves do.