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 A Bit of Robin History 129 Often both parents would perch on the edge of the nest together, but the male would not tolerate that horrid eye that winked aloud, and I never succeeded in catching him with the camera. As this week wore on, I ceased to wonder about the disappearance of that fourth egg. The nest was full to overflowing with the three babies. What would have become of a fourth? There came a rainy spell these latter days, and the little mother was obliged to stay at home and convert herself into an umbrella, standing in among the clamorous young, with wings slightly uplifted, while the male brought the worms. One stormy night when I went up to close the window, I found Mrs. Robin's tail protruding into the room, beneath the sash. I tried very gently to turn her around, but she flirted her tail out of my hand with a sleepy, querulous sound of protest, and settled it in exactly the same position again, so that window remained open all night, with mop cloths beneath it to catch the rain-water. It was a marvel how those young birds grew, and feathered out, and 'handsomed up' this fleeting week! Their last days at home were the most discouraging of all for the photographer, being rainy, lowering black days, almost too dark to attempt instantaneous photography, and only one exposure was in any degree successful, — that taken on May 22, the last day before they left the nest. When they flew, their first venture was in at the open window, where they perched on the back of a willow chair. As there are too many objects in the House People's abode for untried little bird brains to get knocked against, they were guided to the window, from which their second flight was made into a wider and safer field. They remained the summer with us, — "our Robins," we called them, — and after the first few days of sedulous guarding from marauding cats and bullying Jays, proved their ability to take care of themselves.