ess proves that their ancestors of long ago
were the same, so that they are descended from one pair of very
great-great-grandparents; and that always makes cousins, you know. It
runs in the blood; thus, a cat and a tiger are blood relations; the
little coon and the great black bear are nearly akin. A tall
broad-shouldered man, with black hair and a full beard, may have a
cousin who is short and thin, with yellow hair and no beard. You see
nothing strange in this, because it is something to which you are
accustomed. But with bird families it takes the trained eye of the
student to see the likeness there really is between all birds who have
had the same ancestors, though it may be hidden under many differences
in their size, shape, color, voice, and habits.

"The Robin, like the Bluebird, is found in almost all parts of North
America. In the far Southern States, like Florida, where they take
refuge from winter storms, Robins begin to sing in chorus while the
weather in the Middle and Northern States is still so cold that it would
freeze the music before any one could hear it, even if the birds had
courage to sing. But delightful as the climate is there, where it also
provides a plentiful table of berries, these Robins break away from the
land of plenty and begin their northern journey before the first shad
dares venture up the rivers.

"On and on they go, this great army of Robins, flying in flocks of ten
and hundreds. Here and there they meet with smaller flocks, which have
been able to spend the winter in roving about not far from their nesting
places, and then there is a great deal of talking; for the Robin has a
great many ways of making remarks. Some of his numerous notes sound as
if he were asking a long list of questions; others express discontent;
then again he fumes and sputters with anger. It is easy to tell the
plump, well-fed birds, just home from the South, from those who have
been obliged to live on half rations during the northern winter.

"Before this flying army quite leaves the Southern States some of them
halt for nest-building, and then the Robin sings the best of all his
songs,--his happy, cheery melody,--all about the earth, the sky, the
sun, the tree he and his mate have chosen to build in,--a song of the
little brook where he means to get the water to wet the clay to plaster
his nest,--a ballad of the blue eggs it will hold, and the greedy little
Robins, all eyes and mouth, that will come out of