“It was Robin, of course, and to my great delight I found that I was actually in the very garden he had described to me, that my mistress was his mistress, and that his nest was up in one of the tall horse chestnuts, which grew at the entrance of the grounds. And there was another Mrs. Robin now, a pretty little bird, who arched her neck so gracefully and looked so shyly at me from her bright eyes when Robin brought and introduced her to me. They were very happy together—Mr. and Mrs. Robin—and I in part forgot my own sorrows and loneliness in watching them day by day as they flew in and out of the nice soft nest in the chestnut tree, and made wide circles in the air just as I used to do away down on the river. “At last Robin came to me with a very important air, and told me there were four blue eggs in the nest, and Mrs. Robin was sitting on them to keep them warm, and he was going to hunt worms for her from the mound of earth just turned up in the garden. They were Mrs. Robin’s first eggs, and she scarcely left them at all until the shells were broken and I heard there were four young birds in the nest. Oh, how proud little Mrs. Robin was! What care she took of her babies—more care, indeed, than Robin, who was growing old and fat, and indisposed for work, and who sometimes called her nervous and fussy, and told her that nothing could harm her children as long as they staid up in that tall tree. Still Mrs. Robin was very watchful and vigilant, and looked askance at every boy who passed on the walk, and even at Harry and Grey and Gifford, little boys who came sometimes to play in the garden, and who could no more have climbed to the nest than they could have gone to the steeple of the church just showing above the trees in the distance.