"More, put on more, pile it up the chimney, let us have a bright warm fire to bring her back to life," he said, rubbing his hands. Nanny nearly dropped with surprise. Never, never before during the fifty odd years that she had lived at Castle Grim had such an order been given. In a few minutes a bright cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, and the kettle singing lustily.
Restoratives were applied to the little white-faced child, and she was well rubbed and wrapped in blankets. Soon she opened her eyes. The first thing they lit upon was the robin, who had followed them in and was hopping about with his head on one side, looking very proud and clever indeed, as he had a right to be, for was it not he who had found out where Elsie lay buried in the snow, and had brought gran'f'er to look for her?
"Oh, Robin! dear Robin!" cried the child in a weak voice. "Dear gran'f'er, it was Robin who came to tell you where I was. I sent him, you know."
Gran'f'er, who had been sitting watching the pair, said suddenly, with an air of great resolution--no one knew how much it cost him to say it--"Robin is to have some crumbs every day. I am very poor, and it will nearly ruin me, but he shall have them."
Elsie's eyes sparkled. "Oh gran'f'er! My own dear little Robin! Do you really mean it?" she asked, clapping her weak little hands.
"Yes," said the old man firmly. "He shall have them."
"Dear little Robin, do you hear what gran'fer says?" cried Elsie joyfully.
Robin looked very knowing indeed, as if he understood all about it, and with a jerk of his perky little head, as much as to say, "Good-bye, I must be off to my family, or else they'll think I'm lost in the snow too." Off he flew.
Who says birds have no sense? Not Elsie certainly, nor yet gran'fer, for he thinks Elsie's robin the most wonderful bird that ever lived.
Elsie is all right again now; and, indeed, she is not at all sorry she was lost in the snow that day, for it has shown her how much gran'fer loves her. And gran'fer--you would not know him--he has quite turned over a new leaf, and is a miser no more. He now wears a good suit that is not more than twenty years old, and has become quite liberal too, for he no longer counts the sticks, nor the peas that are put into the soup. He has kept his word about the crumbs; every morning a handful is thrown out, which Robin, with his head very much on one side, and accompanied by his family and a select circle of friends, picks up with great relish, doing the honours in his best style. And not only that, but--believe it or not as you will, it is certainly true--every Christmas a sheaf of corn is nailed to the barn door for the birds, more particularly for the robins, though all are welcome; and you never in your life heard such a chirping and chattering as there is when this interesting ceremony takes place. The birds come from far and near, the fathers, the mothers, the sisters, the cousins, and the aunts, to join in the feast; and gran'f'er, and Elsie, and old Nanny come out to watch them eat their Christmas dinner.