"Oh, Angel," broke in Dora, "there's a robin's nest with three young ones in it in our back garden! I had nearly forgotten to tell you. Gilbert found it yesterday; it is in a hole in the hedge close to the river—such a snug little home, made of moss and lined with horse hairs. You shall see it for yourself." "Where did the robin get the horse hairs?" inquired Angel wonderingly. "Picked them up, of course," Tom replied, with a laugh. "Are you going to take the young ones?" Gerald asked. "Take the young ones!" Dora echoed in horrified tones, whilst her sister turned a pair of reproachful eyes upon Gerald. "I should think not indeed. We wouldn't do anything so cruel. I don't know what Gilbert would do to any one who touched the nest, or the young ones either!" "Gerald didn't mean it," Tom broke in hastily. "Every one knows robins won't live in captivity." Gerald had not known it, but he wisely held his peace, for he had had visions of rearing the young birds in a cage, and he now saw such a suggestion would not meet with the approval of his companions. "I should so much like to see the nest," Angel said, "and I wouldn't touch it. Robins are such dear little birds! There was one that used to come to our sitting-room window in London, and pick up crumbs from the window-sill. He used to arrive regularly at breakfast-time—didn't he, Gerald?" Gerald nodded. Dora was still looking at him disapprovingly; she could not imagine how any one could want to rob a nest, for in her eyes a bird's home was sacred; she thought Gerald must be a very cruel boy, but there she was wrong, for he was only thoughtless, and had no idea of inflicting pain. Dora was very tender-hearted, so much so indeed that if her family heard a sad story it was always— "Don't tell Dora!" And her mother sometimes wondered how the sensitive little girl would fight the battle of life in the years to come.