“Oh, dear robin, of course we do,” said Alix. “But you see we didn’t understand.”
“I’ve been following you about all these days. I’m sure you might have seen me, and I’ve been asking you over and over again if you didn’t want to listen.”
“But you see, dear robin, we couldn’t understand what you said. It takes a good while to get used to—to your way of speaking, you know,” said Alix. She was desperately afraid of hurting his feelings still more.
“I am afraid that is not the real reason. You think a robin’s story is sure to be stupid. You see I am not one of those fine travelled fellows—the swallows and the martins, and all the rest of them—who spend the winter in the south and know such a lot of the world. I’m only a home bird. Here I was hatched and here I have lived, and mean to live till I die. It’s quite true that my story is a very stupid one. I’ve made no fine acquaintances such as kings and queens and princesses, and I’ve never visited at court, north or south either, so you know what you have to expect.”
He seemed rather depressed, but less offended than he had been.
“Please begin,” said Rafe. “I’m sure we shall like your story. We don’t want always to hear the same kind.” The robin cleared his throat.
“Such as it is,” he began, “I can vouch for the truth of it, as it happened to be my own self. I didn’t ‘have it’ from any one else. And in my own mind I have given it the name of ‘The Christmas Surprise.’”
And after he had cleared his throat again for the last time, he went straight on.
“I have often noticed,” he began, “that whatever we have not got, whatever is not ours or with us at the present moment, is the thing we prize the most. This applies both to birds and human beings, and it is often the case about the seasons of the year. There is a great charm about absence. In the winter we are always looking forward to the spring and the summer; in the hot summer we think of the cool shady days of autumn, of the cheerful fires and merry doings that come with Christmas. I am speaking especially of men and women and children just now, but there is a good deal of the same kind of thing among us birds, though you mightn’t think it. And of all birds, I think we robins have the most sympathy with human folk. We really love Christmas time; it is gratifying to know how much we are thought of at that season—how our portraits are sent about by one friend to another, how our figures are placed on your Christmas trees, and how every one thinks of us with kindness. And except by very thoughtless people we are generally cared for well. During a hard winter it is seldom that our wants are forgotten. I myself,” and here he plumed himself importantly, “I myself have been most fortunate in this respect. There are at least a dozen houses within easy flight of Ladywood where I am always sure of a good breakfast of crumbs.”
“But,” began Alix, rather timidly, “please don’t mind my interrupting you, but doesn’t Mrs Caretaker look after you? I thought that was what she was here for, to take care of all the living creatures in this garden.”