aid the Robin: "now I wonder what my old
friend the Rook up there would have to say about it."

The Rook was at that very moment sailing in slow circles round the top
of a neighbouring elm-tree. For centuries he and his ancestors had built
their nests in the particular avenue of elms of which this tree was one
of the tallest. It so happened that the Rook was just starting off for
his morning constitutional, and as he finished his round, and then swept
slowly across the meadow below, very deliberately flapping his great
dusky wings, he came in sight of the lime-tree on which the Robin was
perched.

Out flew the Robin, and then back again to attract the Rook's attention.
When the Rook saw this, he slowly gathered in his wings and swung
himself on to a branch close to his little friend.

He certainly was a very sedate, and even solemn-looking gentleman, at
least so thought the Blackbird. His plumage was anything but bright and
glossy, in fact it looked very shabby indeed, as if he had worn it for
some seasons without a change, and had been out in much rough weather.
His dark eyes were relieved by no merry twinkle; then there were small
bare patches (which were not over beautiful) on his neck; and his voice
was exceedingly hoarse and unmusical. But notwithstanding all this,
there was a certain quiet dignity, and an air of ripe wisdom about the
old bird which much impressed our hero, and made him listen with respect
to whatever words of wisdom fell from the blue beak, although they were
uttered in rather a croaky tone.

After the usual "good mornings" had passed, and the Blackbird had been
presented in due form to the Rook, the Robin said, "How comes it, Mr.
Rook, that there are so many new berries on the bushes?"

"You ask how it is, my little friend," said the Rook, kindly; "well, I
will tell you. Just now, when no insects can be had, what should we all
do if we had no berries? Now that the leaves have all fallen, we can
find the berries much more easily. Many of them were there already, only
you didn't see them. They are provided for us by our Heavenly Father. As
each season comes round, God gives us the fruits of that season, and
when one kind of food fails, He provides us with another. I am an old
bird," continued the Rook, "but I've never known the seasons to fail. We
do not 'sow, nor do we gather into barns,' but still 'God feeds us.' I
always look forward, and hopefully too, to every season as it
comes--Spring,-