# The Story of the Robins/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII.
THE VISIT TO THE FARM.
Just as Mrs. Benson and her children were preparing to leave the room, after having witnessed the happy meeting of the redbreast family at their tea-table, the servant entered and informed them that a poor woman was at the gate, who had been ordered to attend in the morning. Mrs. Benson desired she might come up. "Well, my good woman," said the benevolent lady, "how does your husband do?" "Thanks to your goodness, madam, and the blessing of God, quite cheery," said the woman.
"I am happy," said the lady, "to find you in better spirits than you were the other night, and do not doubt you will do very well. I will order some meat and bread to be sent you every day this week, and will also assist you in clothing the children." ​Harriet's eyes glistened with benevolence at seeing the woman, whose distress had so greatly affected her, thus comforted; and slipping her purse, which contained seven shillings, into her mamma's hand, she begged her to take it for the woman. "You shall have the pleasure of relieving her yourself, my dear," said Mrs. Benson; "give this half-crown to her." Harriet, with a delight which none but the compassionate can know, extended the hand of charity. The woman received the benefaction with grateful acknowledgments, and praying that the Almighty might shower down his choicest blessings on this worthy family, respectfully took leave and returned to her husband, who, by means of the nourishment Mrs. Benson supplied her with, gathered strength hourly.
As soon as she was gone, Mrs. Benson informed her son and daughter that she intended to take them with her to Farmer Wilson's, where she made no doubt they would pass a happy day; and desired them to go and get ready for the journey while she dressed herself. The young folks obeyed without hesitation; and having given their maid very strict injunctions to feed Robin and the linnet, they attended their mamma to the carriage. Leaving this happy party to enjoy their pleasant drive, let us ​go back to the robins, whom we left on the wing in search of further adventures.
They soon alighted on a tree in which was a Mocking-bird, who, instead of singing any note of his own, kept successively imitating those of every bird that inhabited the orchard, and this with a view of making them ridiculous. If any one had any natural imperfection in his singing, he was sure to mimic it, or if any one was particularly attentive to the duties of his station, he ridiculed him as grave and formal. The young redbreasts were excessively amused with this droll creature; but their father desired them to consider whether they should like to hear him mimic them. Every one agreed that they should be very angry to be ridiculed in that manner. "Then," replied the father, "neither encourage nor imitate him." The Mocking-bird hearing him, took up his notes—"Neither encourage nor imitate him," said he. The cock redbreast on this flew at him with fury, plucked some feathers from his breast, and sent him screaming from the place. "I have made you sing a natural song at last," said he, "and hope you will take care how you practise mimicry again." His mate was sorry ​to see him disturb his temper and ruffle his feathers for such an insignificant creature; but he told her it was particularly necessary as an example to his nestlings, as mimicry was a fault to which young birds were too apt to incline, and he wished to show them the danger they exposed themselves to in the practice of it.
The whole redbreast family rested themselves for some time, and whilst they sat still they observed a chaffinch flying from tree to tree, chattering to every bird he had any knowledge of; and his discourse seemed to affect his hearers greatly, for they perceived some birds flying off in great haste, and others meeting them; many battles and disputes ensued. The little redbreasts wondered at these circumstances; at length Pecksy inquired the meaning of the bustle. "This chaffinch," replied the father, "is a tell-tale; it is inconceivable the mischief he makes. Not that he has so much malice in his nature, but he loves to hear himself chatter; and therefore every anecdote he can collect he tells to all he meets, by which means he often raises quarrels and animosities; neither does he stop here, for he frequently invents the tales he relates."
As the redbreast was speaking, the chaffinch alighted on the same tree. "Oh, my old friend," ​said he, "have you got abroad again? I heard the linnet in the pear tree say you were caught stealing corn, and hung up as a spectacle, but I thought this could not be true; besides, the blackbird in the cherry tree told me that the reason we did not see you as usual was that you were rearing a family, to whom, he said, you were so severe that the poor little creatures had no comfort of their lives."
"Whatever you may have heard, or whatever you may say, is a matter of indifference to me," replied the redbreast; but, as a neighbour, I cannot help advising you to restrain your tongue a little, and consider, before you communicate your intelligence, whether what you are going to say has a tendency to disturb the peace of society."
Whilst he was thus advising him, a flock of birds assembled about the tree; it consisted of those to whom the chaffinch had been chattering, who, having come to an explanation with each other, had detected his falsities, and determined to expel him from the orchard, which they did with every mark of contempt and ignominy. All the redbreasts joined in the pursuit, for even the little ones saw his character in a detestable light, and formed a determination to avoid his fault. When the tell-tale was gone, the party which pursued him alighted altogether in the same ​walk, and amongst them the redbreasts discovered many of their old friends, with whom they now renewed their acquaintance, knowing they should soon be released from family cares; and the young ones passed a happy day in this cheerful assembly. But at length the hour of repose approached, when each individual fled to his resting-place; and the redbreasts, after so fatiguing a day, soon fell asleep.
While the redbreasts were exploring the orchard, Mrs. Benson and her family, as we before showed, set off on their visit to the farm, where they met with a most welcome reception. Farmer Wilson was a very worthy, benevolent man. He had, by his industry, acquired sufficient to purchase the farm he lived on, and had a fair prospect of providing for a numerous family, whom he brought up with the greatest care, as farmers' sons and daughters used formerly to be, and taught them all to be merciful to the cattle which were employed in his business. His wife, a most amiable woman, had received a good education from her father, who was formerly school-master of the parish. This good man had strongly implanted in his daughter's mind the Christian doctrine of universal charity, which she exercised, not only towards the human species, but also to poultry and every living creature which it was her province ​to manage. Mrs. Benson knew that her children would here have an opportunity of seeing many different animals treated with propriety; and it was on this account that she took them with her, though she herself visited these good people from a motive of sincere respect.
As soon as they were seated, Mrs. Wilson regaled her young guests with a piece of nice cake, made by her daughter Betsy, a little girl of twelve years old, who sat by, enjoying with secret delight the honour which the little lady and gentleman did to her performance. It happened fortunately to be a cool day, and Mrs. Benson expressed a desire to walk about and see the farm.
In the first place, Mrs. Wilson showed her the house, which was perfectly neat and in complete order. She then took her guests into her dairy, which was well stored with milk and cream, butter and cheese. From thence they went to visit the poultry-yard, where the little Bensons were excessively delighted, for there were a number of cocks and hens, and many broods of young chickens, besides turkeys and guinea-fowls.
All the fowls expressed the greatest joy at the sight of Mrs. Wilson and her daughter Betsy: the cocks celebrated their arrival by loud and cheerful ​crowings; the hens gave notice of their approach by cackling, and assembled their infant train to partake of their bounty; the turkeys and guinea-fowls ran to meet them; a number of pigeons also alighted from a pigeon-house. Betsy scattered among them the grain which she carried in her lap for that purpose, and seemed to have great pleasure in distributing it.
When their young visitors were satisfied with seeing the poultry fed, Mrs. Wilson showed them the henhouse and other conveniences provided for them, to make their lives comfortable; she then opened a little door which led to a meadow, where the fowls were often allowed to ramble and refresh themselves. On seeing her approach this place, the whole party collected, and ran into the meadow, like a troop of schoolboys into their playground.
"You, Mrs. Wilson, and your daughter, must have great amusement with these pretty creatures," said Mrs. Benson. "We have indeed, madam," said she, and they furnish us with eggs and chickens, not only for our own use, but for the market also."
"And can you prevail on yourself to kill these sweet creatures?" said Harriet. "Indeed, miss, I cannot," said Mrs. Wilson, "and never did kill a chicken in my life; but it is an easy matter to find ​people capable of doing it, and there is an absolute necessity for some of them to die, for they breed so fast that in a short time we should have more than we could possibly feed. But I make it a rule to render their lives as happy as possible; I never shut them up to fatten any longer than I can help, use no cruel methods of cramming them, nor do I confine them in a situation where they can see other fowls at liberty; neither do I take the chickens from the hen till she herself deserts them, nor set hens upon ducks' eggs."
"I often regret," said Mrs. Benson, "that so many lives should be sacrificed to preserve ours; but we must eat animals, or they would at length eat us—at least, all that would otherwise support us." While this conversation passed, Frederick had followed the fowls into the meadow, where the turkey-cock, taking him for an enemy, had attacked him, and frightened him so much that he at first cried out for help, but soon recollected that this was cowardly; so he pulled off his hat, and drove the creature away before Betsy Wilson arrived, who was running to his assistance.