an utterly famished birdling, all one
yellow gape of tremulous eagerness and outcry.

At this stage of development, living to eat, and eating to sleep, Robin
was left for several days in the care of Dame Gentle, kindest of
neighbors, pending the absence of his foster family. Here he was petted
to his babyhood's content and soon evinced a docile, affectionate
disposition. He took a dislike to his cramped canary cage, but now he
was strong enough to perch, and once placed on a chair rung by a hand
he trusted, he would sit quiet from one feeding time to the next, or
until he heard a familiar voice or step. Then, floppity-flop, down to
the floor would tumble Robin and hop joyously to meet his friend. He
soon had a soft, crooning little note for Dame Gentle, and all the
summer long, while he became a general chatterbox, kept a peculiarly
confidential accent and manner for her.

We resumed our charge on the third of July, but on the Fourth our
attention was somewhat diverted from Robin by the gift of a baby vireo,
apparently wounded by a fall from the nest. This green jewel, wild as a
windy leaf at first, was soon tamed, but his diet proved a difficult
problem. Robin Hood was only too ready to eat anything and everything,
but the tiny vireo, though calling piteously for food, turned his bill
away in sore disappointment from our various offerings. He would not
touch the crumbs of softened bread, nor Robin's favorite mess of mashed
potato and hard-boiled egg-yolk. We consulted all our bird-books, and
when we learned that the case demanded "masticated insects," we sat
down and looked at each other in despair. I generously offered to catch
any number of insects, if Joy-of-Life would do the masticating, but
little Liberty Bell finally compromised on a masticated raspberry. The
next day, mocking-bird food was procured for him, and this he swallowed
with apparent relish, but still he did not thrive.

On Sunday, the seventh, an eager troop of children brought to our door
another fallen vireo, this wee waif seeming in worse state than the
other. We named him Church Bell and cherished him as tenderly as our
ignorance might, but I hope Cornelia never had half the trouble with
her jewels that our pair of emeralds gave us. Their sharp, incessant,
querulous pipe, the utterance of pains we could not soothe, was so
trying to the nerves that, when I heard Joy-of-Life dropping books, I
would transfer the nest from her desk to mine, and when