Mary came up
with a message from the grocer to find me spilling ink, she would take
the vireos down to her ironing board and drown their plaints by her
lusty voice of song. They were exquisite little creatures to see, and
as trustful with us as was Robin himself, but we never had the key to
their mystery. They would cry even in sleep and had hours of violent
trembling. We would sometimes put them in the rough, outdoor cage which
had been built for Robin, a large, square, unfloored box with roof and
walls of woven wire. He looked big and lubberly beside them, like Puck
beside Oberon and Titania, but he was always good-natured with his
dainty guests and often tried to join in the conversation as they sat,
pressed close together, on the far end of the twig which served him for
a perch, lamenting like elfin Banshees. A touch of chilly weather ended
their brief tragedy. Liberty Bell was hushed forever in the dawn of
Tuesday, the ninth, and by Wednesday noon Church Bell lay silent beside
him in the rockery which was already the burial cairn of three beloved
chickens, Microbe, Pat and Cluxley.

Meanwhile Robin Hood had been causing his share of anxiety. The
birdlings were all so tame that, in feeding them, we used to throw back
that half of the cage-top which served as lid, whereupon they would fly
up to the edge of the box and sit there in a row for dinner.
Occasionally one of the vireos would flash up into a low tree and wail
for food until we had to bring the step-ladder and fetch him down. But
it was not until Robin's winglets were fairly grown that he seemed
aware of the existence of trees. Then, suddenly, one azure afternoon,
he glanced up, cocked his head, spread his untried Icarus-plumes and
was off. In instant consternation, the whole family trooped after him,
so far as groundlings could, while he flew from tree to tree and roof
to roof. Chirping in his affectionate fashion, he peeped down upon us
with evident surprise as if to ask, "Why don't you come, too? It's much
nicer up here." Innocent of mirrors, he probably thought that we looked
just like him, or that he looked just like us, and he could not
understand why we chose to be earth-gropers when the leafy branches
swayed so delectably in mid-air. But he was such a social and kindly
little bird that, on our repeated calls, he came dipping down to us
and, without protest of a feather, let himself be shut into his cage
again.

Now we were face to face with the que