THE RUDE ROBIN

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVIII, Issue 19953, 10 November 1934, Page 13

THE RUDE ROBIN

One spring morning, Zoe, the dairymaid, came tripping along the garden path with a pail of milk in each hand. It was the creamiest milk in all the dairy, and she was taking it down to the palace for the Emperor’s breakfast. Half way along she stopped and put down her pails to give her arms a rest; and, as she did so, she heard a little robin singing up in a chestnut tree. “Good morning,” said Zoe, making a bob courtsey. But the robin went on with his song, without so much as a glance at her. “Good morning,” said Zoe again, a little louder this time. Still the robin took no notice, but there was the suspicion of a twinkle in his eye. Zoe tossed her head. “All right, then,” she said, “if you don’t want to be polite, I’m sure I don’t care,” and, picking up her pails, she went off down the path with her nose in the air. She had not gone far before she met the Lord Chancellor, who was on his way to a council meeting. “Well, my dear,” he said, chuckling her under the chin, “why this frown on a lovely spring morning, eh?” Zoe blushed. “If you please, sir,” she explained, “it is because there is a robin on the chestnut tree, who will not so much as look at me, though I have twice wished him good morning.” “What shocking bad taste!” laughed the Chancellor. "He ought to know better.” And, playfully, pinching the dairymaid’s ear, he went on down the garden path. The robin was still on the same branch, singing away as though he owned the whole garden. “I’ve heard a bad account of you,” said the Chancellor, shaking his finger up at him. “What do you mean by it. eh?” The robin looked at him out of the corner of his eye and then burst into a new song, which went something like this:— “I wouldn’t bow to the dairymaid. So why should I bow to you?” Now, although the Lord Chancellor could not understand what the robin was singing, at was perfectly evident that it was something dishespectful, and his face went crimson. “You little rascal,” he cried, shaking his fist up at the tree, “I’ll teach you to be rude to me!!” Then off he strode down the path. At the end of the garden he met the Emperor, who was taking a stroll before breakfast. “Good day, my lord,” said the Emperor, “what makes you frown on a lovely morning like this?” “To tell you the truth,” laughed the Chancellor shamefacedly, “it is nothing but a robin down there on the chestnut tree, who will not take the slightest notice of me, scold as I will.” The Emperor burst out laughing. “Ho, ho,” he said, “is that all? Perhaps I can teach him better manners.” And he, too, went off toward the chestnut tree. “Well,” said the Emperor, when he found the robin, “so you are the young rogue who insulted my Lord Chancellor, are you? I must demand an apology.” But the robin only puffed out his little chest and sang a variation of his last song:— “I wouldn’t bow to the Chancellor, So why should I bow to you?”

WHO LEARNED A LESSON IN MANNERS

Now the Emperor could not understand what the robin said any more than the Chancellor had done, but he, too, guessed that it was something impertinent. And as he could not think of anything dignified to say in return, he was obliged to turn away and walk off down the path. All this time old Tomkins, the gardener, had been digging behind a hedge close by, and overheard everything. He was a man who knew a good deal about robins, and he had learned enough of their language to make himself understood. “The young rascal,” he said to himself. “I’ll make him bow to all three of them before the day is done, or my name is not Josiah Tomkins.” So, as soon as the Emperor had gone, he came out from behind the hedge. But by this time the robin was so excited that he could not even say good morning. Instead, he greeted Tomkins with the same little song, which he repeated over and over again:— “I wouldn’t bow to the Emperor, So why should I bow to you?” “Bless me,” said Tomkins, “who’s talking about bowing? Not me, for sure. I wouldn’t expect a robin like you to bow to anyone. You couldn’t if you tried. The robin stopped short in the middle of his song. “Couldn’t I?” he cried scornfully; “you see.” And he gave a ridiculous jerk forward that nearly sent him off into the grass.’ “Not bad for a first attempt,” laughed Tomkins, “but it is not the kind of bow that you could do even to a dairymaid yet.” “Poh, Zoe is not particular,” chirped the conceited little robin. “I’ll go and bow to her this minute, and see what she says.” And off he flew—which was, of course, exactly what Tomkins had meant him to do. After a short time he was back again, looking very proud of himself. “I’ve done it,” he cried. “Zoe was down in the dairy churning the cream, so I flew up on to the window sill and bowed to her from there. And what do you think happened? She was so surprised that she nearly upset all the cream down her print dress.” “You needn’t be so conceited, even if she was pleased,” said Tomkin?. “Zoe wouldn’t know a good bow if she saw one. Now, if the Lord Chancellor had approved it would have been a different thing.” Not to be outdone, the robin set out a second time across the garden to look for the Lord Chancellor. It was nearly half an hour before he returned, tired and out of breath, but otherwise as perky as ever. “Poof, it is hot work,” he gasped, “but I’ve done it again, and to the Lord Chancellor this time. At flrst he was busy at a council meeting, so I practised my bows while I was waiting outside on the grass. Then when he came out I made him a beautiful bow, quite the best I have ever done. And you should have seen his face.” “So the Lord Chancellor was pleased, too, was he?” asked Tomkins. “Well, that’s not very surprising, considering he is so short-sighted that he cannot see you at all without his spectacles. Now if you could please the Emperor with your bow, it might be somettvng to boast about.” So away went the stupid little robin once more, though he was feeling terribly weary; and by the time he came back, nearly an hour later, he was so exhausted that Tomkins felt quite sorry for him. “Well,” he asked, “did you bow t.o the Emperor this time?” The robin gave a little tired nod. too breathless even to speak. “There now,” he said kindly, “you’ve bowed to all four of us, and a mighty tiring job it has been, eh? Take my advice, little man, and remember your manners in future, and you won’t have old folks like me playing tricks on you again.” Then off he went toward the tool shed, leaving the robin to think over what he had said. But the more he thought the more foolish the robin felt, so at last he gave it up and flew away to teach all the other robins how to bow too. And since that day, robins have always been most particular about their manners. They keep on bowing just to be on the safe side. MONOTONY After the rose comes the apple, After the apple the snows, Holly and ivy and crocus, After the crocus the rose. Time is a circle, a garland. Endless and changeless it goes: After the holly the crocus, After the crocus the rose. Changeless—and yet who would change it? Thanks be to Heaven I know After the rose comes the apple, After the apple the snow. Children’s Newspaper.