“That afternoon, Motherdy kept her robins out of sight, and did not allow them once to fly down into the grass, lest some harm should befall them. She was not afraid of Bright-Hair nor Black-Eyes, nor Harry, nor Grey, nor Maggie, nor Gifford, she said, but she distrusted some of the larger boys, who ran so fast and made so much noise, and she kept her children at home greatly against their will. They were not afraid, and I think had really become attached to Black-Eyes and Bright-Hair, and so had the Fatherdy and Motherdy birds, who liked to see them round, and thought the grounds were prettier because they were there. I thought so, too, and when at last their father came and took them away, I felt more lonely and desolate than I had done in weeks, while my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Robin, with their four young ones, flew up to the ridge-pole of the house, and watched the huge thing which bore them away until it was out of sight, and there was nothing to be seen but a ring of smoke away to the west, where they were gone. I remember that my mistress came out to the arbor where the children had played, and cried a little as she picked up the spoons, and plates and dishes which had been used for their mud pies, some of which were still baking in the sun. “I pass rapidly over the remainder of the summer and the fall, when Mr. and Mrs. Robin bade me good-by, and, with their family started for the South. How I longed to go with them, and how many messages I sent to Mr. Red and my own little ones, should they chance to meet them. And then the days were very long and dreary, until little Florence came again to pass the holidays with her auntie, and there was a Christmas-tree in the church, and I was taken there in my cage and hung near the chancel, where I could see all the fine doings which were so new and strange to me. But I soon began to understand it, and watched the ladies with a great deal of interest as they filled the tree with every conceivable toy for the children, who, when it was done, came crowding in, and filled nearly half the church. What carols they sang of the ‘Wonderful Night,’and ‘Jesus of Bethlehem,’ and how the organ filled the church and even made the floor tremble, as the organist played with both hands and feet, and the children’s voices rose louder and clearer as they sang of a Saviour’s birth. I really began to feel quite like a churchman myself, or at least like a church bird, though I _did_ wonder why I was there. But I soon found out, for as name after name was called, and the children came trooping up to receive their gifts, I heard at last little Florence called, and, to my surprise, I was given to her as a Christmas gift from her auntie. I knew that she was very fond of me, and called me a great many pet names, and gave me more things to eat than I could possibly take, but I had never dreamed of belonging to her, and when I found that I was to go with her to her home in Chicago, where