That's not my robin...: 1

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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. Kara shrugged. “A couple times. He used to sneak me and my little brother food sometimes, when we didn’t have enough. Always appreciated that. He said he knew what it was like to be hungry…” 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.

Initial text entry and proof-reading of this book were the work of volunteer Virginia Mohlere-Dellinger. We get a lot of people asking us this question, particularly when they have spotted two robins together in their garden. If you have seen two robins together then it is likely that they are a male and a female as robins are fiercely territorial and females will only enter a male’s territory for breeding season. 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.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 in the grass a yard or so away from me. The surprise was not 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 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."

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 mere "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. 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. T HERE 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 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. Fiona graduated from Exeter University with a B.Ed. (Hons.), specialising in Psychology and Art and Design. After university she worked as a researcher and writer for a company which published educational material for places where children went on school visits (zoos, museums, stately homes etc). She then taught seven, eight, and nine year olds for five years; three years at a state school in Sevenoaks in Kent, and two years at The British School in the Netherlands in The Hague.I don't know what I do exactly," I said. "Except that I hold myself very still and feel like a robin." Bruce raised an eyebrow, though the girl couldn’t see it beneath the cowl. “Your mother isn’t home?”