oft bright eye which was like a black dewdrop. He seemed quite
familiar and not the least afraid. He hopped about and pecked the
earth briskly, looking for seeds and insects. It actually gave Mary a
queer feeling in her heart, because he was so pretty and cheerful and
seemed so like a person. He had a tiny plump body and a delicate beak,
and slender delicate legs.

"Will he always come when you call him?" she asked almost in a whisper.

"Aye, that he will. I've knowed him ever since he was a fledgling. He
come out of th' nest in th' other garden an' when first he flew over
th' wall he was too weak to fly back for a few days an' we got
friendly. When he went over th' wall again th' rest of th' brood was
gone an' he was lonely an' he come back to me."

"What kind of a bird is he?" Mary asked.

"Doesn't tha' know? He's a robin redbreast an' they're th' friendliest,
curiousest birds alive. They're almost as friendly as dogs--if you
know how to get on with 'em. Watch him peckin' about there an' lookin'
round at us now an' again. He knows we're talkin' about him."

It was the queerest thing in the world to see the old fellow. He
looked at the plump little scarlet-waistcoated bird as if he were both
proud and fond of him.

"He's a conceited one," he chuckled. "He likes to hear folk talk about
him. An' curious--bless me, there never was his like for curiosity an'
meddlin'. He's always comin' to see what I'm plantin'. He knows all th'
things Mester Craven never troubles hissel' to find out. He's th' head
gardener, he is."

The robin hopped about busily pecking the soil and now and then stopped
and looked at them a little. Mary thought his black dewdrop eyes gazed
at her with great curiosity. It really seemed as if he were finding
out all about her. The queer feeling in her heart increased. "Where
did the rest of the brood fly to?" she asked.

"There's no knowin'. The old ones turn 'em out o' their nest an' make
'em fly an' they're scattered before you know it. This one was a
knowin' one an' he knew he was lonely."

Mistress Mary went a step nearer to the robin and looked at him very
hard.

"I'm lonely," she said.

She had not known before that this was one of the things which made her
feel sour and cross. She seemed to find it out when the robin looked
at her and she looked at the robin.

The old gardener pushed his cap back on his bald head and stared at her
a minute.

"Art tha' th' little we