to hear. We don't understand the bird-language; but we judge, by the
soft tones, that it is something kind and agreeable they are saying.
Perhaps they are talking about their plans for the future, when they
all know how to use their wings, and can fly about together.

Very often, during the day, the robins bring worms to fill the gaping
mouths. It is surprising how much they eat. No wonder they have grown
plump and large, for they eat and sleep as much as they please. We
expect soon to see them flying about from tree to tree, and hopping
along the ground. We hope that great cat, which steps about so softly,
will never find them. She is welcome to all the rats and mice she can
put her paws on, but we never like to see her climb a tree, for we
fear she will destroy some of our cheerful friends, who build near the
house in full confidence that they shall not be disturbed.

The young robins are not lonely in their rural home. The
plainly-dressed sparrows and the brilliant yellow-birds look in upon
them, and, now and then, their cousin, the oriole, comes, clad in the
richest golden plumage, and sings them a song. If he had dipped his
feathers in the gorgeous sunset he could not be more beautiful. The
delicate little humming-birds sip nectar from the deep horns of the
honeysuckle; and the red-winged starling, in his glossy black coat,
and his dashing scarlet epaulette, occasionally comes from his home in
the meadow, to make them a call. He does not like Honeysuckleville
quite as well as his dwelling in the grass, just above the water. If
he was not so confirmed in his habits, I think he would be strongly
tempted to become a neighbour of the robins. A few weeks ago, when his
favourite resort was five or six feet under water, he and his friends
seemed to be in great uncertainty what course to pursue. They had
several mass meetings on the quince-bushes, in full sight of