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Updated: June 16, 2025
I wish you would show me a darling robin redbreast. I did not know they lived in Canada." "The bird that we call the robin in this country, my dear, is not like the little redbreast you have seen at home; our robin is twice as large; though in shape resembling the European robin; I believe it is really a kind of thrush. It migrates in the fall, and returns to us early in the spring."
'If it wasn't so climby, I wouldn't mind, he said, 'but my legs does get so tired of always shortening themselves up. 'Never mind, Master Eugene, said the maid; 'we'll be at the back end of the Redbreast Lane, directly, and after that, there's no more climbing. 'And once there we shall be less than a mile from home, said Jacinth.
She took the darling of the family often in her arms, and told her stories of "Bo Peep," and the "Babes in the Wood," and "Robin Redbreast," and never one of Jesus and his call for the tender lambs! This was Ester, and this was Ester's home. Sadie Ried was the merriest, most thoughtless young creature of sixteen years that ever brightened and bothered a home.
Of the decrease of swallows and martins, they said it resulted from the action of the sparrows in ousting them from their nests and nesting-sites. But we know the true cause of the decline of these two species, the best loved and best protected of all birds in Britain, not even excepting robin redbreast.
'And suppose I go to Robin Redbreast too, said Frances, 'what am I to do? 'I thought you said Jacinth was the one who would go, said Bessie. 'Oh well, replied Frances, who had raised the difficulty partly out of half-petulant contradiction, 'I am pretty sure it will be Jass. I don't think Lady Myrtle noticed me much, and I don't want to go.
She drew a deep breath of satisfaction when she found herself seated in Lady Myrtle's comfortable brougham, which, though a trifle old-fashioned, was, like everything belonging to the Robin Redbreast establishment, thoroughly good of its kind.
Just at twilight there came a rap at my window, and there stood Mr. Robin Redbreast, looking in as saucily as you please. "I thought you'd be there," he chirped; "and if you will look out a minute, I'll show you my house." Sure enough, there was a tiny home on Apple tree Avenue, just at the corner of Branch Alley. There was a cellar of mud, and the rest of the cottage was neatly woven of straw.
As they stood thus in the clover, all undecided, they were startled by a loud cry from Robin Redbreast, whose nest was high up in that apple tree. Turning to ascertain the cause of the outcry, they espied a great, evil-looking, yellow cat, creeping through the long grass. This decided them, and without waiting another moment, they abandoned the thorn-bush and flew away to seek a safer abode.
He come out of th' nest in th' other garden an' when first he flew over th' wall he was too weak to fly back for a few days an' we got friendly. When he went over th' wall again th' rest of th' brood was gone an' he was lonely an' he come back to me." "What kind of a bird is he?" Mary asked. "Doesn't tha' know? He's a robin redbreast an' they're th' friendliest, curiousest birds alive.
"Ever since then, when the Indian children hear a robin singing, they say, 'There is O-pee-chee, the bird that was once an Indian boy. And no Indian boy ever hurts a robin." When the robin had finished his story, little Luke thought for a moment. Then he said, "That's a very interesting story. But there is one thing about it I don't understand." "What is that?" asked Father Redbreast.
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