Over a little balcony, where a lady sat each day to sew, a Mr. and Mrs. Robin were house-hunting one spring morning.
“How about this?” said Mr. Robin, pointing to the eaves just above the balcony railing.
Mrs. Robin peered down. “Someone lives there,” she said, “but look at her — she seems very kind. Her voice is low. She’s not frightening us at all. Listen.”
And they listened, and heard the lady say softly, “Dear little robins, have you come to call on me?”
“That settles it,” said Mrs. Robin. “Anyone who speaks to us like that is perfectly safe.”
So they built their nest right there under the eaves, and the lady sat below them every day — sewing, reading, receiving visitors — and she always made sure no one disturbed the robins. She left breadcrumbs on the roof near the nest, and kept a little pan of water there too, for drinking and bathing.
Mr. and Mrs. Robin built a fine, roomy nest, and before long the eggs hatched into baby robins — poor bare little creatures with hardly a feather between them. But their parents loved them fiercely and thought them the most beautiful things in the world, just as parents always do.
Mother Robin kept guard at the nest while Father Robin went out marketing. He was a splendid provider — he knew all the best spots, the finest worms, the juiciest berries — and he brought everything home with great pride. But he also knew that by sharing the work he was sharing in everything that mattered. It was fairer to Mrs. Robin, and besides, it was so much more fun to do things together.
And so the little robins grew up safe and happy, right there above the balcony.
