a beam were six
perfectly good Robin nests all in a row; all of them empty.

"There," said my friend. "All of these six were built by a cock Robin in
about ten days or two weeks. He seemed to do nothing but sing and build
nests. Then after finishing the last one, he disappeared. Wasn't he
crazy?"

"No," I said, "not at all. He was not crazy; he was industrious. Let me
finish the chapter. The hen Robin was sitting on the eggs, the cock bird
had nothing else to do, so he put in the time at the two things he did
the best and loved the most: singing and nest-building. Then after the
young were hatched in the home nest, he had plenty to do caring for
them, so he ceased both building and singing, for that season."

I have often heard of such things. Indeed, they are rather common, but
not often noticed, because the Robin does not often build all the extra
nests in one place.

Do you know the lovely shade called Robin's-egg blue? The next time you
see a Robin's nest with eggs in it you will understand why it was so
named and feel for a moment, when first you see it, that you have found
a casket full of most exquisite jewels.

Next to nest-building, singing is the Robin's gift, and the songs that
he sings are full of joy. He says, "_cheerup, cheer up, cheerily
cheer-up_"; and he means it too.

TALE 7

Brook Brownie, or How the Song Sparrow Got His Streaks

[Illustration: Brook Brownie]

His Mother was the Brook and his sisters were the Reeds,
They, every one, applauded when he sang about his deeds.
His vest was white, his mantle brown, as clear as they could be,
And his songs were fairly bubbling o'er with melody and glee.
But an envious Neighbour splashed with mud our Brownie's coat and vest,
And then a final handful threw that stuck upon his breast.
The Brook-bird's mother did her best to wash the stains away;
But there they stuck, and, as it seems, are very like to stay.
And so he wears the splashes and the mud blotch, as you see;
But his songs are bubbling over still with melody and glee.

TALE 8

Diablo and the Dogwood

[Illustration: The Dogwood Bloom]

What a glorious thing is the Maytime Dogwood in our woods! How it does
sing out its song! More loudly and clearly it sings than any other
spring flower! For it is not one, but a great chorus; and I know it is
singing that "The spring, the very spring is in the land!"

I suppose if one had King Solomon's fayland ears, one might h