“She—she couldn’t be any kinder to a bird than you are,” Tom said.
“Who?”
“Oh, you know who. It’s just exactly like you to bother carrying that little—”
“Waif,” said Whalen.
“—Away up from below,” concluded Tom. “What are you going to do with it anyway?”
“Bring it up in the way it should go,” said Whalen.
“You can’t tame a robin,” Tom said.
“He’ll fly away when he gets ready,” said Whalen; “he’ll beat it for the woods and join the bunch. He knows the duties of citizenship, don’t you, Chippy?” And he poked the tiny, delicate bill ever so gently with his finger.
“You’re a boy scout,” he said to Tom. “Do you know how to make mush?”
“For him to eat, you mean?”