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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of My Robin, by Frances Hodgson Burnett
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: My Robin
+
+Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett
+
+Illustrator: Alfred Brennan
+
+Posting Date: September 1, 2012 [EBook #5304]
+Release Date: March, 2004
+First Posted: June 25, 2002
+Last Updated: 
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY ROBIN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MY ROBIN
+BY
+FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT
+
+ILLUSTRATED
+BY
+ALFRED BRENNAN
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MY ROBIN
+
+There came to me among the letters I received last spring one which
+touched me very closely. It was a letter full of delightful things but
+the delightful thing which so reached my soul was a question. The writer
+had been reading "The Secret Garden" and her question was this: "Did you
+own the original of the robin? He could not have been a mere creature of
+fantasy. I feel sure you owned him." I was thrilled to the centre of my
+being. Here was some one who plainly had been intimate with
+robins--English robins. I wrote and explained as far as one could in a
+letter what I am now going to relate in detail.
+
+I did not own the robin--he owned me--or perhaps we owned each other.
+He was an English robin and he was a PERSON--not a mere bird. An English
+robin differs greatly from the American one. He is much smaller and
+quite differently shaped. His body is daintily round and plump, his legs
+are delicately slender. He is a graceful little patrician with an
+astonishing allurement of bearing. His eye is large and dark and dewy;
+he wears a tight little red satin waistcoat on his full round breast and
+every tilt of his head, every flirt of his wing is instinct with
+dramatic significance. He is fascinatingly conceited--he burns with
+curiosity--he is determined to engage in social relations at almost any
+cost and his raging jealousy of attention paid to less worthy objects
+than himself drives him at times to efforts to charm and distract which
+are irresistible. An intimacy with a robin--an English robin--is a
+liberal education.
+
+This particular one I knew in my rose-garden in Kent. I feel sure he was
+born there and for a summer at least believed it to be the world. It was
+a lovesome, mystic place, shut in partly by old red brick walls against
+which fruit trees were trained and partly by a laurel hedge with a wood
+behind it. It was my habit to sit and write there under an aged writhen
+tree, gray with lichen and festooned with roses. The soft silence of
+it--the remote aloofness--were the most perfect ever dreamed of. But let
+me not be led astray by the garden. I must be firm and confine myself to
+the Robin. The garden shall be another story.  There were so many people
+in this garden--people with feathers, or fur--who, because I sat so
+quietly, did not mind me in the least, that it was not a surprising
+thing when I looked up one summer morning to see a small bird hopping
+about the grass a yard or so away from me. The surprise was not that he
+was there but that he STAYED there--or rather he continued to hop--with
+short reflective-looking hops and that while hopping he looked at me--not
+in a furtive flighty way but rather as a person might tentatively
+regard a very new acquaintance. The absolute truth of the matter I had
+reason to believe later was that he did not know I was a person. I may
+have been the first of my species he had seen in this rose-garden world
+of his and he thought I was only another kind of robin. I was
+too--though that was a secret of mine and nobody but myself knew it.
+Because of this fact I had the power of holding myself STILL--quite STILL
+and filling myself with softly alluring tenderness of the tenderest when
+any little wild thing came near me.  "What do you do to make him come to
+you like that?" some one asked me a month or so later. "What do you DO?"
+"I don't know what I do exactly," I said. "Except that I hold myself very
+still and feel like a robin."
+
+You can only do that with a tiny wild thing by being so tender of
+him--of his little timidities and feelings--so adoringly anxious not to
+startle him or suggest by any movement the possibility of your being a
+creature who COULD HURT--that your very yearning to understand his tiny
+hopes and fears and desires makes you for the time cease to be quite a
+mere human thing and gives you another and more exquisite sense which
+speaks for you without speech.
+
+As I sat and watched him I held myself softly still and felt just that.
+I did not know he was a robin. The truth was that he was too young at
+that time to look like one, but I did not know that either. He was
+plainly not a thrush, or a linnet or a sparrow or a starling or a
+blackbird. He was a little indeterminate-colored bird and he had no red
+on his breast. And as I sat and gazed at him he gazed at me as one quite
+without prejudice unless it might be with the slightest tinge of
+favor--and hopped--and hopped--and hopped.
+
+That was the thrill and wonder of it. No bird, however evident his
+acknowledgement of my harmlessness, had ever hopped and REMAINED. Many
+had perched for a moment in the grass or on a nearby bough, had trilled
+or chirped or secured a scurrying gold and green beetle and flown away.
+But none had stayed to inquire--to reflect--even to seem--if one dared
+be so bold as to hope such a thing--to make mysterious, almost occult
+advances towards intimacy. Also I had never before heard of such a thing
+happening to any one howsoever bird loving. Birds are creatures who must
+be wooed and it must be delicate and careful wooing which allures them
+into friendship.
+
+I held my soft stillness. Would he stay? Could it be that the last hop
+was nearer? Yes, it was. The moment was a breathless one. Dare one
+believe that the next was nearer still--and the next--and the next--and
+that the two yards of distance had become scarcely one--and that within
+that radius he was soberly hopping round my very feet with his quite
+unafraid eye full upon me. This was what was happening. It may not seem
+exciting but it was. That a little wild thing should come to one unasked
+was of a thrillingness touched with awe.
+
+Without stirring a muscle I began to make low, soft, little sounds to
+him--very low and very caressing indeed--softer than one makes to a
+baby. I wanted to weave a spell--to establish mental communication--to
+make Magic. And as I uttered the tiny sounds he hopped nearer and
+nearer.
+
+"Oh! to think that you will come as near as that!" I whispered to him.
+"You KNOW. You know that nothing in the world would make me put out my
+hand or startle you in the least tiniest way. You know it because you
+are a real person as well as a lovely--lovely little bird thing. You
+know it because you are a soul."
+
+Because of this first morning I knew--years later--that this was what
+Mistress Mary thought when she bent down in the Long Walk and "tried to
+make robin sounds."
+
+I said it all in a whisper and I think the words must have sounded like
+robin sounds because he listened with interest and at last--miracle of
+miracles as it seemed to me--he actually fluttered up on to a small
+shrub not two yards away from my knee and sat there as one who was
+pleased with the topic of conversation.
+
+I did not move of course, I sat still and waited his pleasure. Not for
+mines of rubies would I have lifted a finger.
+
+I think he stayed near me altogether about half an hour. Then he
+disappeared. Where or even exactly when I did not know. One moment he
+was hopping among some of the rose bushes and then he was gone.
+
+This, in fact, was his little mysterious way from first to last. Through
+all the months of our delicious intimacy he never let me know where he
+lived. I knew it was in the rose-garden--but that was all. His
+extraordinary freedom from timorousness was something to think over.
+After reflecting upon him a good deal I thought I had reached an
+explanation. He had been born in the rose-garden and being of a
+home-loving nature he had declined to follow the rest of his family when
+they had made their first flight over the wall into the rose-walk or over
+the laurel hedge into the pheasant cover behind. He had stayed in the
+rose world and then had felt lonely. Without father or mother or sisters
+or brothers desolateness of spirit fell upon him. He saw a creature--I
+insist on believing that he thought it another order of robin--and
+approached to see what it would say.
+
+Its whole bearing was confidence inspiring. It made softly alluring--if
+unexplainable--sounds. He felt its friendliness and affection. It was
+curious to look at and far too large for any ordinary nest. It plainly
+could not fly. But there was not a shadow of inimical sentiment in it.
+Instinct told him that. It admired him, it wanted him to remain near,
+there was a certain comfort in its caressing atmosphere. He liked it and
+felt less desolate. He would return to it again.
+
+The next day summer rains kept me in the house. The next I went to the
+rose-garden in the morning and sat down under my tree to work. I had not
+been there half an hour when I felt I must lift my eyes and look. A
+little indeterminate-colored bird was hopping quietly about in the
+grass--quite aware of me as his dew-bright eye manifested. He had come
+again--of intention--because we were mates.
+
+It was the beginning of an intimacy not to be described unless one
+filled a small volume. From that moment we never doubted each other for
+one second. He knew and I knew. Each morning when I came into the
+rose-garden he came to call on me and discover things he wanted to know
+concerning robins of my size and unusual physical conformation. He did
+not understand but he was attracted by me. Each day I held myself still
+and tried to make robin sounds expressive of adoring tenderness and he
+came each day a little nearer. At last arrived a day when as I softly
+left my seat and moved about the garden he actually quietly hopped after
+me.
+
+I wish I could remember exactly what length of time elapsed before I
+knew he was really a robin. An ornithologist would doubtless know but I
+do not. But one morning I was bending over a bed of Laurette Messimy
+roses and I became aware that he had arrived in his usual mysterious way
+without warning. He was standing in the grass and when I turned my eyes
+upon him I only just saved myself from starting--which would have meant
+disaster. I saw upon his breast the first dawning of a flush of
+color--more tawny than actual red at that stage--but it hinted at
+revelations.
+
+"Further subterfuge is useless," I said to him. "You are betrayed. You
+are a robin."
+
+And he did not attempt to deny it either then or at any future time. In
+less than two weeks he revealed a tight, glossy little bright red satin
+waistcoat and with it a certain youthful maturity such as one beholds in
+the wearer of a first dress suit. His movements were more brisk and
+certain. He began to make little flights and little sounds though for
+some time he made no attempt to sing. Instead of appearing suddenly in
+the grass at my feet, a heavenly little rush of wings would bring
+him to a bough over my head or a twig quite near me where he would
+tilt daintily, taking his silent but quite responsive part in the
+conversations which always took place between us. It was I who
+talked--telling him how I loved him--how satin red his waistcoat was--how
+large and bright his eyes--how delicate and elegant his slender legs. I
+flattered him a great deal. He adored flattery and I am sure he loved me
+most when I told him that it was impossible to say anything which could
+flatter him. It gave him confidence in my good taste.
+
+[Illustration: A HEAVENLY RUSH OF WINGS]
+
+One morning--a heavenly sunny one--I was conversing with him by the
+Laurette Messimys again and he was evidently much pleased with the
+things I said. Perhaps he liked my hat which was a large white one with
+a wreath of roses round its crown. I saw him look at it and I gently
+hinted that I had worn it in the hope that he would approve. I had
+broken off a handful of coral pink Laurettes and was arranging them idly
+when--he spread his wings in a sudden upward flight--a tiny swift flight
+which ended--among the roses on my hat--the very hat on my head.
+
+Did I make myself still then? Did I stir by a single hairbreadth? Who
+does not know? I scarcely let myself breathe. I could not believe that
+such a thing of pure joy could be true.
+
+But in a minute I realized that he at least was not afraid to move. He
+was perfectly at home. He hopped about the brim and examined the roses
+with delicate pecks. That I was under the hat apparently only gave him
+confidence. He knew me as well as that. He stayed until he had learned
+all he wished to know about garden hats and then he lightly flew away.
+
+From that time each day drew us closer to each other. He began to perch
+on twigs only a few inches from my face and listen while I whispered to
+him--yes, he LISTENED and made answer with chirps. Nothing else would
+describe it. As I wrote he would alight on my manuscript paper and try
+to read. Sometimes I thought he was a little offended because he found
+my handwriting so bad that he could not understand it. He would take
+crumbs out of my hand, he would alight on my chair or my shoulder. The
+instant I opened the little door in the leaf-covered garden wall I would
+be greeted by the darling little rush of wings and he was beside me. And
+he always came from nowhere and disappeared into space.
+
+That, through the whole summer--was his rarest fascination. Perhaps he
+was not a real robin. Perhaps he was a fairy. Who knows? Among the many
+house parties staying with me he was a subject of thrilled interest.
+People knew of him who had not seen him and it became a custom with
+callers to say: "May we go into the rose-garden and see The Robin?" One
+of my American guests said he was uncanny and called him "The Goblin
+Robin." No one had ever seen a thing so curiously human--so much more
+than mere bird.
+
+When I took callers to the rose-garden he was exquisitely polite. He
+always came when I stood under my tree and called--but he never at such
+times MET me with his rush to the little door. He would perch near me
+and talk but there was a difference. Certain exquisite intimate charms
+he kept for me alone.
+
+I wondered when he would begin to sing. One morning the sun being strong
+enough to pierce through the leaves of my tree I had a large Japanese
+tent umbrella arranged so that it shaded my table as I wrote. Suddenly I
+heard a robin song which sounded as if it were being trilled from some
+tree at a little distance from where I sat. It was so pretty that I
+leaned forward to see exactly where the singer perched. I made a
+delicious discovery. He was not on a tree at all. He was perched upon
+the very end of one of the bamboo ribs of my big flowery umbrella. He
+was my own Robin and there he sat singing to me his first tiny
+song--showing me that he had found out how to do it.
+
+The effect of singing at a distance was produced by the curious fact
+that he was singing WITH HIS BILL CLOSED, his darling scarlet throat
+puffed out and tremulous with the captive trills.
+
+Perhaps a robin's first song is always of this order. I do not know. I
+only know that this was his "earlier manner." My enraptured delight I
+expressed to him in my most eloquent phrases. I praised him--I flattered
+him. I made him believe that no robin had really ever sung before. He
+was much pleased and flew down on to the table to hear all about it and
+incite me to further effort.
+
+In a few days he had learned to sing perfectly, not with the low
+distant-sounding note but with open beak and clear brilliant little
+roulades and trills. He grew prouder and prouder. When he saw I was busy
+he would tilt on a nearby bough and call me with flirtatious,
+provocative outbreaking of song. He knew that it was impossible for any
+one to resist him--any one in the world. Of course I would get up and
+stand beneath his tree with my face upturned and tell him that his
+charm, his beauty, his fascination and my love were beyond the power of
+words to express. He knew that would happen and revelled in it. His tiny
+airs and graces, his devices to attract and absorb attention was
+unending. He invented new ones every day and each was more enslaving
+than the last.
+
+Could it be that he was guilty--when he met other robins--of boasting of
+his conquest of me and of my utter subjugation? I cannot believe it
+possible. Also I never saw other robins accost him or linger in their
+passage through the rose-garden to exchange civilities. And yet a very
+strange thing occurred on one occasion. I was sitting at my table
+expecting him and heard a familiar chirp. When I looked up he was atilt
+upon the branch of an apple tree near by. I greeted him with little
+whistles and twitters thinking of course that he would fly down to me
+for our usual conversation. But though he chirped a reply and put his
+head on one side engagingly he did not move from his bough.
+
+"What is the matter with you?" I said. "Come down--come down, little
+brother!"
+
+But he did not come. He only sidled and twittered and stayed where he
+was. This was so extraordinary that I got up and went to him. As I
+looked a curious doubt came upon me. He looked like Tweetie--(which had
+become his baptismal name) he tilted his head and flirted and twittered
+after the manner of Tweetie--but--could it be that he was NOT what he
+pretended to be? Could he be a stranger bird? That seemed out of the
+question as no stranger bird would have comported himself with such
+familiarity. No stranger surely would have come so near and addressed me
+with such intimate twitterings and well-known airs and graces. I was
+mystified beyond measure. I exerted all my powers to lure him from his
+branch but descend from it he would not. He listened and smiled and
+flirted his tail but he stayed where he was.
+
+"Listen," I said at last. "I don't believe in you. There is a mystery
+here. You pretend you know me and yet you act as if you were afraid of
+me--just like a common bird who is made of nothing but feathers. I don't
+believe you are Tweetie at all. You are an Impostor!"
+
+Believable or not, just at that moment when I stood there under the
+bough arguing, reproaching and beguiling by turns and puzzled beyond
+measure--out of the Nowhere darted a little scarlet flame of
+frenzy--Tweetie himself--with his feathers ruffled and on fire with fury.
+The robin on the branch actually WAS an Impostor and Tweetie had
+discovered him red-breasted if not red-handed with crime. Oh! the sight
+it was to behold him in his tiny Berseker rage at his impudent rival. He
+flew at him, he beat him, he smacked him, he pecked him, he shrieked bad
+language at him, he drove him from the branch--from the tree, from one
+tree after another as the little traitor tried to take refuge--he drove
+him from the rose-garden--over the laurel hedge and into the pheasant
+cover in the wood. Perhaps he killed him and left him slain in the
+bracken. I could not see. But having beaten him once and forever he came
+back to me, panting--all fluffed up--and with blood thirst only just
+dying in his eye. He came down on to my table--out of breath as he
+agitatedly rearranged his untidy feathers--and indignant--almost
+unreconcilable because I had been such an undiscriminating and
+feeble-minded imbecile as to be for one moment deceived.
+
+His righteous wrath was awful to behold. I was so frightened that I felt
+quite pale. With those wiles of the serpent which every noble woman
+finds herself forced to employ at times I endeavored to pacify him.
+
+"Of course I did not really believe he was You," I said tremulously. "He
+was your inferior in every respect. His waistcoat was not nearly so
+beautiful as yours. His eyes were not so soul compelling. His legs were
+not nearly so elegant and slender. And there was an expression about his
+beak which I distrusted from the first. You HEARD me tell him he was an
+Impostor."
+
+He began to listen--he became  calmer--he relented. He kindly ate a
+crumb out of my hand.
+
+We began mutually to understand the infamy of the situation. The
+Impostor had been secretly watching us. He had envied us our happiness.
+Into his degenerate mind had stolen the darkling and criminal thought
+that he--Audacious Scoundrel--might impose upon me by pretending he was
+not merely "a robin" but "The Robin"--Tweetie himself and that he might
+supplant him in my affections. But he had been confounded and cast into
+outer darkness and again we were One.
+
+I will not attempt to deceive. He was jealous beyond bounds. It was
+necessary for me to be most discreet in my demeanor towards the head
+gardener with whom I was obliged to consult frequently. When he came
+into the rose-garden for orders Tweetie at once appeared.
+
+He followed us, hopping in the grass or from rose bush to rose bush. No
+word of ours escaped him. If our conversation on the enthralling
+subjects of fertilizers and aphides seemed in its earnest absorption to
+verge upon the emotional and tender he interfered at once. He commanded
+my attention. He perched on nearby boughs and endeavored to distract me.
+He fluttered about and called me with chirps. His last resource was
+always to fly to the topmost twig of an apple tree and begin to sing his
+most brilliant song in his most thrilling tone and with an affected
+manner. Naturally we were obliged to listen and talk about him. Even old
+Barton's weather-beaten apple face would wrinkle into smiles.
+
+"He's doin' that to make us look at him," he would say. "That's what
+he's doin' it for. He can't abide not to be noticed."
+
+But it was not only his vanity which drew him to me. He loved me. The
+low song trilled in his little pulsating scarlet throat was mine. He
+sang it only to me--and he would never sing it when any one else was
+there to hear. When we were quite alone with only roses and bees and
+sunshine and silence about us, when he swung on some spray quite close
+to me and I stood and talked to him in whispers--then he would answer
+me--each time I paused--with the little "far away" sounding trills--the
+sweetest, most wonderful little sounds in the world. A clever person who
+knew more of the habits of birds than I did told me a most curious
+thing.
+
+"That is his little mating song," he said. "You have inspired a hopeless
+passion in a robin."
+
+Perhaps so. He thought the rose-garden was the world and it seemed to me
+he never went out of it during the summer months. At whatsoever hour I
+appeared and called him he came out of bushes but from a different point
+each time. In late autumn however, one afternoon I SAW him fly to me
+from over a wall dividing the enclosed garden from the open ones. I
+thought he looked guilty and fluttered when he alighted near me. I think
+he did not want me to know.
+
+"You have been making the acquaintance of a young lady robin," I said to
+him. "Perhaps you are already engaged to her for the next season."
+
+He tried to persuade me that it was not true but I felt he was not
+entirely frank.
+
+After that it was plain that he had discovered that the rose-garden was
+not ALL the world. He knew about the other side of the wall. But it did
+not absorb him altogether. He was seldom absent when I came and he never
+failed to answer my call. I talked to him often about the young lady
+robin but though he showed a gentlemanly reticence on the subject I knew
+quite well he loved me best. He loved my robin sounds, he loved my
+whispers, his dewy dark eyes looked into mine as if he knew we two
+understood strange tender things others did not.
+
+I was only a mere tenant of the beautiful place I had had for nine years
+and that winter the owner sold the estate. In December I was to go to
+Montreux for a couple of months; in March I was to return to Maytham and
+close it before leaving it finally. Until I left for Switzerland I saw
+my robin every day. Before I went away I called him to me and told him
+where I was going.
+
+He was such a little thing. Two or three months might seem a lifetime to
+him. He might not remember me so long. I was not a real robin. I was
+only a human being. I said a great many things to him--wondering if he
+would even be in the garden when I came back. I went away wondering.
+
+When I returned from the world of winter sports, of mountain snows, of
+tobogganing and skis I felt as if I had been absent a long time. There
+had been snow even in Kent and the park and gardens were white. I
+arrived in the evening. The next morning I threw on my red frieze garden
+cloak and went down the flagged terrace and the Long Walk through the
+walled gardens to the beloved place where the rose bushes stood dark and
+slender and leafless among the whiteness. I went to my own tree and
+stood under it and called.
+
+"Are you gone," I said in my heart; "are you gone, little Soul? Shall I
+never see you again?"
+
+After the call I waited--and I had never waited before. The roses were
+gone and he was not in the rose-world. I called again. The call was
+sometimes a soft whistle as near a robin sound as I could make
+it--sometimes it was a chirp--sometimes it was a quick clear repetition
+of "Sweet! Sweet! Sweetie"--which I fancied he liked best. I made one
+after the other--and then--something scarlet flashed across the lawn,
+across the rose-walk--over the wall and he was there. He had not
+forgotten, it had not been too long, he alighted on the snowy brown
+grass at my feet.
+
+Then I knew he was a little Soul and not only a bird and the real
+parting which must come in a few weeks' time loomed up before me a
+strange tragic thing.
+
+* * *
+
+I do not often allow myself to think of it. It was too final. And there
+was nothing to be done. I was going thousands of miles across the sea. A
+little warm thing of scarlet and brown feathers and pulsating trilling
+throat lives such a brief life. The little soul in its black dew-drop
+eye--one knows nothing about it. For myself I sometimes believe strange
+things. We two were something weirdly near to each other.
+
+At the end I went down to the bare world of roses one soft damp day and
+stood under the tree and called him for the last time. He did not keep
+me waiting and he flew to a twig very near my face. I could not write
+all I said to him. I tried with all my heart to explain and he answered
+me--between his listenings--with the "far away" love note. I talked to
+him as if he knew all I knew. He put his head on one side and listened
+so intently that I felt that he understood. I told him that I must go
+away and that we should not see each other again and I told him why.
+
+"But you must not think when I do not come back it is because I have
+forgotten you," I said. "Never since I was born have I loved anything as
+I have loved you--except my two babies.  Never shall I love anything so
+much again so long as I am in the world. You are a little Soul and I am a
+little Soul and we shall love each other forever and ever. We won't say
+Good-bye. We have been too near to each other--nearer than human
+beings are. I love you and love you and love you--little Soul."
+
+Then I went out of the rose-garden. I shall never go into it again.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of My Robin, by Frances Hodgson Burnett
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY ROBIN ***
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