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. "How do you like
it?" he chirped.

Of course I admired it, and asked him if he was all ready to go
to housekeeping. "All but the beds," he replied, "but if you will
give me some hair and a few feathers, I will soon have a soft
place for our eggs to rest on."

I threw some out, and in a short time the nest was lined. Then
Robin flew off, returning the next day with his mate, who showed
her delight at the new home by cozily settling down in it.

Every morning the birds gave a concert above my window, and one
day I heard some new notes, and, peeping out, saw that five
little robins had come to brighten the cozy nest. Such a busy
time as the papa and mamma Redbreasts had now! Such a digging
for worms to drop into the big mouths which seemed to be always
asking for food! In a few weeks the baby birds learned to fly,
and left the nest to make new homes and sing their own sweet
songs.

The old birds stayed on the Avenue awhile longer, but when the
leaves put on their holiday dresses, and the flowers tied on
their nightcaps and went to sleep, the Redbreasts sang good-by to
their friends and, spreading their wings, flew away over the
house tops toward the Sunny South.