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Updated: June 7, 2025
But at last the baby robins were tired enough to feel like resting. Little Sheldon was in the top of a cedar tree, Elizabeth was sitting in a green osier, and little Evelina was sitting on Mister Chipmunk's stump, but poor little Montgomery was still under the heavy nest, and neither Robert Robin nor Mrs. Robin could think of any way to get him out.
There was no opening; and the bark was firm. He stole to the other side of the tree, his head craftily outstretched and reaching around far before him. The situation was clear to him at once, and his hungry muzzle jammed itself into the entrance to a chipmunk's hole. The maple-tree was dead, and partly decayed, up one side of the trunk.
Two level, oblong patches of hair made eyebrows. His face was white and nervous. A strong, hooked nose separated a pair of red-brown eyes, small and twinkling, like a chipmunk's. Just now they were bloodshot and vague. "Hullo, Dicky Darrell," said Tally. The man struggled to his feet, knocking over the chair, and laid both hands effusively on Tally's shoulders. "Jim!" he cried thickly.
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