a
long time."

"I've often seen you though," said the Robin; "but what with your two
large families, and all the delights and distractions of the summer, you
have been a good deal occupied."

"I haven't heard you singing," said the Blackbird.

"Don't you remember what I told you in the spring?" replied the Robin;
"my poor little song is quite extinguished when so many others are
singing, but now I am beginning to be heard once more."

Again he poured forth a clear, bright carol.

"As I have said before," remarked the Blackbird, "you are a very good
little bird, you come to cheer us just when we want cheering."

"But you're not so down-hearted as you used to be," said the Robin.

"That is due then to your bright little lessons," said the Blackbird
gratefully, "and the teaching of our dear old friend the Rook there."

In another moment the Rook, who was passing, had joined them on the
lime-tree bough, and together the three friends watched the sun setting,
and wondered where the swallows had got to by that time.

The evening was chilly, and a damp mist lay over the meadows, a warning
to the birds that it was time to be going home.

[Illustration: THE THREE FRIENDS--THE ROBIN, THE ROOK, AND THE BLACKBIRD.]

"Yes," said the Blackbird reflectively, taking up the conversation where
he had left off, "I ought to be very grateful to you, Mr. Rook,--and to
you, my dear little friend," he said, turning to the Robin. "You, Mr.
Rook, have taught me a great deal, and given me a real interest in the
creatures and things about me, which I should not have had otherwise.
Above all, you have taught me the great lesson of faith and trust. And
you, dear little red-breasted friend, have taught me the sweet lesson of
content, and not that alone, but you have shown me that each of us in
our small way should try to make the world a little better and brighter
for those around us. You do it, Mr. Rook; you do it, little Robin;
Willie and Alice do it, with their kind thoughtfulness for us, and why
should not I try to do it also,--I will, and this very winter too."

All the birds were grave and silent for a few moments, and then, as they
took an affectionate leave of each other before parting, the Rook said,
"There was a pretty little poem once written about the Robin. I will
repeat it to you before we separate:

"Unheard in Summer's flaring ray,
Pour forth thy notes, sweet singer,
Wooing the stillness of the autumn day: