Nearly all the time this robin flew about the aviary he kept up a gurgling, blissful song, and so fascinated was I with him that I sent away for a mate. She soon came. I had found a bird-dealer who really seemed to love his birds, and who never sent me a poor one or a sick one. When Mrs. Jap arrived, my friend, the first bird, nearly lost his head. I have said that when I got him he went around the room like a streak of lightning. If it were possible for one to see two streaks in one I now was the favored individual.
He, the enterprising happy bird, had been living as a stranger in a strange land. Here now was a beloved little sister, right from his own dear land. What was he to do about it? Intense joy so urged him on that he could not stop long enough to speak to her. The fastidious, exquisite little female, in the intervals of cleaning her plumage, disarranged by travel, kept calling to him in a voice as rich as his own, “Where, oh where, oh where are you, my dear, oh!
“Here I am, oh! here I am, oh! here I am, oh!” he would respond like a melodious flashlight, and finally he sobered down and she, having finished her toilet, began to fly with him. From that day to this they have been inseparable companions, chasing each other’s bright wings about the aviary, bathing, eating, drinking—not together usually, but one after the other in a hurried, graceful fashion. One amusing trick they had was to fly swiftly by my head and brush my ears with the tips of their wings.
When tired of playing, singing, and eating, they occasionally settled down for a nap. I used to think they were fast asleep, when lo! the male would wake up with a start, as if he had forgotten something, and would begin to rub his companion’s head with his red bill. The female also woke up, turning her head round and round for him to shampoo every part of it, then after he had finished she did her duty by going over his head.
At night they used to sleep close beside each other, and always raised their pretty heads when I went near them with my lantern. They were never afraid of being captured, for I did not have to doctor them or handle them in any way. They had excellent appetites, and the immense amount of exercise they took kept them in fine condition.
They were never vicious birds, but sometimes they exhibited a mischievous inclination to chase the smaller inhabitants of the aviary. I never knew them to kill a bird, except the aggravating yellow warbler.
When I left home this autumn I pondered long over my duty toward these two beauties. I had had them for some years, and they had thoroughly explored my aviary, darting about the lower one, soaring up the elevator, around the roof-veranda, and down again. They liked me, but had no real love for me as some of my birds seemed to have. So, knowing that they could be happy elsewhere, and knowing also that I could not leave too many birds at home, I chose these two happy, debonair creatures for exile.
I sent them to the kind curator of a large aviary, where I hear they are perfectly well and happy, as I knew they would be. Long may they live! No brighter, smarter little bird exists than the Japanese robin.
A very dear little bird that I had in my aviary was a bobolink. He was a sober-looking bird when I got him, for he was in his winter dress—yellowish brown with dusky wings and tail. When spring came he blossomed out into a new suit with trimmings of cream and white—and how he sang! I never had a bird that took more pleasure in his own society. He would get by himself in a corner, safely out of the way of quarrels, and sing a captivating tangle of song, till he was exhausted and had to refresh himself by a hearty meal.
He ate and drank and sang, and every time I think of him I call up a picture of a pretty bird leaning forward with distended throat from which issues a flood of melody.