What interesting, confiding little birds are the robin redbreasts of our own dear England!

It was summer-time. An old lady lay in bed suffering from her last illness. The bed was of large size, with a roof and four posts, the foot of it being not far from the window. The lattice, with its diamond panes, was open from morn till eve; and as the old lady thus lay calm and composed, and often alone, she observed a pair of robins enter by the window and fly round the corner of the roof of her bed. Chirruping to each other, they seemed to agree that just inside of the bed would be a nice spot for building their nest. Away they flew, and soon returned with straws and little sticks. Thus they quickly had a cozy little nest constructed in a secure position, which no bird of prey or marauding cat was likely to reach.

The lady would on no account allow of their being disturbed, and they had free ingress and egress. Here the hen laid her eggs, sitting upon them, while Cock Robin brought her her daily meals. The eggs were hatched, and in this happy abode, greatly to the pleasure of the old lady, their little family was reared; and before she died, they were fully fledged, and had flown away.