"Have you ever seen their nests, nurse?"

"Yes, my dear, many of them. It is not a pretty nest; it is large, and
coarsely put together, of old dried grass, roots, and dead leaves,
plastered inside with clay, mixed with bits of straw, so as to form a sort
of mortar. You know, Lady Mary, that the blackbird and thrush build nests,
and plaster them in this way."

The little lady nodded her head in assent. "Nurse, I once saw a robin's
nest when I was in England; it was in the side of a mossy ditch, with
primroses growing close beside it; it was made of green moss, and lined
with white wool and hair; it was a pretty nest, with nice eggs in it, much
better than your Canadian robin's nest."

"Our robins build in upturned roots, in the corners of rail fences, and
in the young pear-trees and apple-trees in the orchard. The eggs are a
greenish blue. The robin sings a full, clear song; indeed he is our best
songster. We have so few singing-birds, that we prize those that do sing
very much."

"Does the Canadian robin come into the house in winter, and pick up the
crumbs, as the dear little redbreasts do at home?"

"No, Lady Mary, they are able to find plenty of food abroad, when they
return to us; but they hop about the houses and gardens pretty freely. In
the fall, before they go away, they may be seen in great numbers, running
about the old pastures, picking up worms and seeds."

"Do people see the birds flying away together, nurse?"