But before he had time to get to “haps” his sister caught hold of his arm.
“Hush!” she whispered, “there he is.”
Yes, there he was, and “he” was a robin.
He hopped about in front of them for a minute or two, now and then cocking his head on one side and looking at them over his shoulder, as it were, as if to see whether he had caught their attention. Then he flew up a little way, and settled himself on a branch not far from them, with a peculiar little chirp.
“I believe,” said Alix, still in a whisper, “I believe he wants us to speak to him.”
“Try,” replied Rafe.
“Robin,” said Alix, clearly though softly, “robin, have you come to see us? Have you got a message for us from Mrs Caretaker, perhaps?”
The bird looked at her reproachfully. I don’t know that she could see it was reproachfully, but from the way he held his head it was plain to any one that he was not altogether pleased.
Then came a succession of chirps, and gradually, just as had happened before, by dint of listening very attentively and keeping quite, quite quiet, bits of words and then words themselves began to grow out of the chirping. To tell the truth, if any one had passed that way, he or she would have imagined Rafe and Alix were asleep. For there they sat, like a picture of the babes in the wood—Alix’s head resting on her brother’s shoulder, and his arm thrown round her—quite motionless. But they weren’t asleep, of course, for their two pairs of eyes were fixed on the little red-breasted fellow up above them.
“So you had forgotten all about me,” in a melancholy tone, quite unlike a cheery little robin. “I gave up to that other fellow and let him tell his story first. I suppose you don’t care to hear mine.”