Baby Pitcher's Trials Part 4

"Wouldn't she?" echoed Flora.

"She would have made mince meat of Mr. Robin. There would not have been so much as a feather left. I tell you what I mean to do. Nurse him up till he gets well."

"Me, too."

"Yes, you can be the doctor, while I am at school; and if he _does_ get well, won't I make a tip-top cage for him?"

"He will get well."

"Perhaps. But you must be careful about his diet. Don't give him anything hurtful to eat, you know."

"I won't. Give him milk and sponge cake."

"And worms. You must not forget the worms."

"Dig some?"

"Yes."

"Dig some now?"

"That wouldn't be a bad idea. He was not hungry last night, and he would not eat this morning. Perhaps a nice fat worm will tempt him."

Flora knew where to look for nice, fat worms, so she left Bertie to take care of Dinah and the robin, while she went in pursuit of a breakfast for the birdy. There was a family that lived under a certain plank, and as it was a large family there was always somebody at home. When she tried the door it would not open; that is to say when she got to the plank she could not lift it. The wet clay sucked it down so hard that although she tugged till she was red in the face, she could not move it.

"Oh, dear!" she cried.

And then she went to the other end of the plank and tried that. But it stuck fast. It would not move an inch. Then she got angry and talked to it as she sometimes talked to Dinah, and with no better result. She could not move it by force or by persuasion. There was no other way but to go back to Bertie without the robin's breakfast.

"I can manage it," said Bertie, "if you will take the chick. I should like to see the plank that could hold out against me."

Flora gladly took the chick, and her countenance brightened as she felt the little heart flutter against her hand. This was much pleasanter than hunting worms. She sat down upon the step and held the birdy very tenderly till Bertie came back.

CHAPTER IV.

"GOING TO HAVE A FUNERAL."

The plank did not hold out against Bertie, and he found several of the worm family at home. They were very much disturbed by his presence, and wriggled about in all directions, as if in pursuit of hiding places, or their company dress and manners. They were evidently not prepared to receive visitors. But that did not make any difference to Bertie. He hung as many as he thought the robin could relish across a stick, and with much difficulty--for the worms were constantly dropping off--he made his way back to the porch without the loss of a single crawler.

But when he got there the birdy would not eat. Was not that a pity? They coaxed in every way. Flora even talked to him with tears in her eyes, but it was of no use. He did not open his bill or take any notice of the nice breakfast spread before him.

"Too bad!" said Flora. "Will he die?"

"I am afraid he will."

Bertie gazed sadly at the writhing worms.

"He will starve in a land of plenty, and I don't see how anybody is to help it. Who could resist such a tempting breakfast as that?"

"I couldn't," said Flora.

"And I couldn't. And if he does not hurry up, there won't be any breakfast to eat. Look at that--and that."

Bertie pointed to a well-fattened, tender morsel, in such haste to be off that it was hanging over the very edge of the flooring, and to another whose thick-set body was fast disappearing between the boards.

"That is what I call a tight squeeze. They might stop to say good morning."

"Worms don't know everything," returned Flora.

"Not quite everything," said Bertie.

"What shall we do next?"

"Perhaps he is thirsty. Dinah is."

"And you are?"

"Yes, I are."

Water was brought; but the birdy would not drink, although he opened his bill so wide when Flora pushed his head into the porringer that she thought he was drinking.

"He is only gasping," said Bertie. "Birds cannot breathe with their heads under water. n.o.body can."

"I can."

"No, dear."

"Minims can."

"Oh, yes, minims can. But minims are fishes, and they live in the water.

That is their home. Birds live in the air. They build little houses in the trees."

"Live in the sky. I have seen them way up."

"They do fly almost as high as the sky; but when night comes and they are tired of flying, they go home to rest."

"In the little houses?"

"Yes, dear."

"Want to see them."

"They are high up in the trees, out of sight. By and by, when the leaves fall off and the birds fly away, I will get you one of the round nests."

"To put the robin in."