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The Story of a Robin
She was a strange child, and led a lonely life, shut up in the almost deserted castle with no one but her miserly old grandfather and old Nanny for company. It was no wonder that she grew up with curious unchildlike fancies, which were yet not altogether unchildlike. Her mind found food for itself in the woods with their ever-changing tints, the sky, the clouds, the sunset, and last, but by no means least, the restless, never-silent sea, which bathed the foot of the rock where stood the picturesque old castle.
robin
Of friends Elsie had none. The Squire could not afford to keep company--he was as poor as a rat, he used to say. Old Nanny was nearly as miserly as he--you would have said she counted the grains of oatmeal that she put into the porridge; not a particle of anything was ever wasted in that frugal household. Report said--but I am not responsible for the truth of this statement--that the miser had once had a piece of cheese which was always brought to table, not to eat, mind you, oh dear, no! but so that the odour might give a relish to the dry bread! Elsie had not even a dog for a companion--for that would have required, at least, some food. She used to look out of her little turret window and watch the clouds floating about in the sky, and the stars smiling down at her as they twinkled merrily up above. The moon was a very great friend of hers; she loved to see his broad cheerful face rising over the tree tops, and peeping in at her latticed windows.
Almost the only living creatures that she could make friends with were the bats and owls that found an abode in the ruined walls of the castle, and the robins that came hopping merrily around in search of the crumbs that were not there. She loved, too, to watch the spiders that came crawling stealthily out of their webs to catch any unwary fly that might be so bold as to venture into such an inhospitable mansion.
She had no toys--never in her life had she even seen a doll. Think of that, little Dorothy, with your collection of all kinds, from the rag baby to the beautiful wax and china ones with real hair and eyes that open and shut, and with all the dolls' clothes a child's heart could desire. She did not miss them--never having known the pleasure of such possessions.
But one real live pet she had--a robin that used to come hopping on to her window sill every morning, and for whom she saved a few crumbs from her scanty breakfast unknown to "gran'fer" or old Nanny, who you may be sure would never have countenanced such waste. He was a merry little birdie, with such a knowing twinkle in his eyes, that seemed to say he knew all about little Elsie and her ways, and was glad to come and cheer her up, and to make up to her for the lack of other friends by singing to her every morning his sweetest song. Fine times they had, too, when "gran'fer" was busy counting his money, and old Nanny was out gathering sticks. They never bought anything at Castle Grim that they could get without paying for. "Castle Hopeful" she called it, though why she chose such a very inappropriate name for it, it would be hard to say. If you come to think of it though, there was some sense in it, seeing that it left so many things to be hoped for--things that never came. As for such a thing as a new hat or a new frock, that was too great a treat to be ever wished for. When the frock she wore would no longer hang on the fragile little form, when the bony arms came out half a yard below the sleeves, and the long thin legs from under the short skirt, then old Nanny grudgingly took out of the moth-eaten old wardrobe an old one of Elsie's mother's, and cut it down until the child could get inside it with something like ease. To be sure Nanny was no dressmaker, and the frock was neither pretty nor elegant; and as for fit, why, that was a mere trifle not worthy of serious consideration. Elsie could have jumped into it, but it was a frock, and that was enough. The little fisher-children who used to come gathering sea-weed and shells on the beach used to look up with wistful eyes at the lonely little figure in the turret-window, singing and talking to herself; but she was never allowed to speak to them--Nanny was very strict about that. Elsie was one of the "quality," and must not mix with the fisher-children.
The child had learnt her letters, no one knew how. Moreover, she was the happy possessor of a few ragged old books--minus the covers and a few of the pages--which she had found in rummaging about in the old lumber room amongst broken furniture that would not sell, but was too good for firewood.