“‘That was our first quarrel and our first sorrow, and I may say our last, for before we had any more eggs in our nest the horrid Jim was dead. Just what ailed him I never knew, but Mrs. Robin said he had been fed too high, and possibly she was right. At any rate he grew very thin, and sick, and weak, and we watched him anxiously, feeling glad to see him suffer when we remembered Stupid, but sorry for our mistress, who nursed him so carefully, and cried that morning when they found him dead on the grass, with the rain falling heavily upon him. They buried him under the plum-tree, by the side of Fanny; and there’s not even a kitten about the house now, for they made such work with the lace curtains, jumping at each other through them, and scratched up the flower-beds so, that my mistress grew tired of them, and there’s nothing in that garden to trouble us birds. But our nest is not now up under the eaves, for they have torn the house down over our heads two or three times, and our home is in a big horse-chestnut, where the leaves are so thick that not a boy in the neighborhood has ever suspected where we live.’ “Here the robin stopped to rest, for he had talked so fast, and used so many large words, that he was quite out of breath; and as by that time the people began to come out on the piazza for the fresh morning air, he flew away to a live-oak-tree, and began to sing merrily.” Here the Red-bird paused, and from my seat beneath the magnolia I looked at the Paroquet just in time to detect him trying to hide a yawn, as if he were slightly tired with Robin, and Stupid, and Jim, and cats generally. But perhaps I was mistaken, for after a moment he asked: “Where is Mrs. Robin now? Do you know if she is dead or alive?” “Dead,” answered the Red-bird. “Robin told me that she was with him two winters ago, near Tallahassee, and that they built a nest there—almost the first in Florida, for as a general thing robins do not nest here; but they did, and were very happy, too, until poor Mrs. Robin was killed—shot by one of the soldiers who used to be so thick in those parts.” “It’s the same fellow I know,” returned the Paroquet, “a great gossip; but go on—you certainly have more to tell.”