# The Story of the Robins/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.
JOE THE GARDENER BRINGS NEWS OF THE BIRDS' NEST TO HARRIET AND FREDERICK.
Whilst the terrible commotions related in the last chapter passed in the nest, the monster, who was no other than honest Joe the gardener, went to the house and inquired for his young master and mistress, having, as he justly supposed, some very pleasing news to tell them. Both the young gentleman and lady very readily attended, thinking he had got some fruit or flowers for them. "Well, Joe," said Miss Benson, "what have you to say to us? Have you got a peach or a nectarine, or have you brought me a root of sweet-william?"
"No, Miss Harriet," said Joe; "but I have something to tell you that will please you as much as though I had." "What's that? what's that?" ​said Frederick. "Why, Master Frederick," said Joe, "a pair of robins have comed mortal often to one place in the orchard lately; so thinks I, these birds have got a nest. So I watches, and watches, and at last I see'd the old hen fly into a hole in the ivy-wall I had a fancy to set my ladder and look in; but as master ordered me not to frighten the birds, I stayed till the old one flew out again, and then I mounted, and there I see'd the little creatures full fledged; and if you and Miss Harriet may go with me, I will show them to you, for the nest is but a little way from the ground, and you may easily get up the step-ladder."
Frederick was in raptures, being confident that these were the identical robins he was so attached to; and, like a little thoughtless boy as he was, he would have gone immediately with the gardener, had not his sister reminded him that it was proper to ask their mamma's leave first; she therefore told Joe she would let him know when she had done so.
When the redbreasts had quieted the fears of their young family, and fed them as usual, they retired to a tree, desiring their little nestlings not to be terrified if the monster should look in upon them again, as it was very probable he would do. ​They promised to bear the sight as well as they could.
When the old ones were seated in the tree, "It is time," said the father, "to take our nestlings abroad. You see, my love, how very timorous they are; and if we do not use them a little to the world, they will never be able to shift for themselves." "Very true," replied the mother; "they are now well fledged, and therefore, if you please, we will take them out tomorrow; but prepare them for it." "One of the best preparatives," answered her mate, "will be to leave them by themselves a little; therefore we will now take a flight together, and then go back." The mother complied, but she longed to be with her dear family.
When they stopped a little to rest on a tree, "Last year," said the hen redbreast, "it was my misfortune to be deprived of my nestlings by some cruel boys, before they were quite fledged, and it is that which makes me so timid now, that I do not feel comfortable when I am away from them."
"A calamity of the same kind befell me," replied the father; "I never shall forget it. I had been taking a flight in the woods in order to procure some nice morsels for one of my nestlings; when I returned to the place in which I had imprudently built. ​The first circumstance that alarmed me was a part of my nest scattered on the ground just at the entrance of my habitation; I then perceived a large opening in the wall, where before there was only room for myself to pass. I stopped with a beating heart, in hopes of hearing the chirpings of my beloved family, but all was silent. I then resolved to enter: but what was my consternation when I found that the nest which my dear mate and I had with so much labour built, and the dear little ones who were the joy of our lives, were stolen away! nay, I did not know but the tender mother also was taken. I rushed out of the place distracted with apprehensions for the miseries they might endure, and lamenting my weakness, which rendered me incapable of rescuing them. I was ready to tear off my own feathers with vexation; but recollecting that my dear mate might in all probability have escaped, I resolved to go in search of her.
"As I was flying along I saw three boys, whose appearance was far from disagreeable; one of them held in his hand my nest of young ones, which he eyed with cruel delight, while his companions seemed to share his joy. The dear little creatures, insensible of their fate (for they were newly hatched), opened their mouths, expecting to be fed by me or their ​mother, but all in vain; to have attempted feeding them at this time would have been inevitable destruction to myself; but I resolved to follow the barbarians, that I might at least see to what place my darlings were consigned.
"In a short time the party arrived at a house, and he who before held the nest now committed it to the care of another, but soon returned with a kind of victuals I was totally unacquainted with, and with this my young ones, when they gaped for food, were fed; hunger induced them to swallow it, but soon after, missing the warmth of their mother, they set up a general cry, which pierced my very heart. Immediately after this the nest was carried away, and what became of my nestlings afterwards I never could discover, though I frequently hovered about the fatal spot of their imprisonment with the hope of seeing them."
"Pray," said the hen redbreast, "what became of your mate?" "Why, my dear," said he, "when I found there was no chance of assisting my little ones, I pursued my course, and sought her in every place of our usual resort, but to no purpose; at length I returned to the bush, where I beheld an afflicting sight indeed my beloved companion lying on the ground, just expiring! I flew to her instantly, and ​endeavoured to recall her to life. At the sound of my voice she lifted up her languid eyelids, and said, 'Are you then safe, my love? what is become of our little ones?' In hopes of comforting her, I told her they were alive and well; but she replied, 'Your consolations come too late; the blow is struck, I feel my death approaching. The horror which seized me when I missed my nestlings, and supposed myself robbed at once of my mate and infants, was too powerful for my weak frame to sustain. Oh! why will the human race be so wantonly cruel? The agonies of death now came on, and after a few convulsive pangs she breathed her last, and left me an unhappy widower. I passed the remainder of the summer, and a dreary winter that succeeded it, in a very uncomfortable manner, though the natural cheerfulness of my disposition did not leave me long a prey to unavailing sorrow. I resolved the following spring to seek another mate, and had the good fortune to meet with you, whose amiable disposition has renewed my happiness. And now, my dear," said he, "let me ask you what became of your former companion?"
"Why," replied the hen redbreast, "soon after the loss of our nest, as he was endeavouring to discover what was become of it, a cruel hawk caught him up, ​and devoured him in an instant. I need not say that I felt the bitterest pangs for his loss; it is sufficient to inform you that I led a solitary life till I met with you, whose endearing behaviour has made society again agreeable to me."