But delightful as the climate is there, where it also provides a plentiful table of berries, these Robins break away from the land of plenty and begin their northern journey before the first shad dares venture up the rivers.
"On and on they go, this great army of Robins, flying in flocks of ten and hundreds.

Here and there they meet with smaller flocks, which have been able to spend the winter in roving about not far from their nesting places, and then there is a great deal of talking; for the Robin has a great many ways of making remarks.

Some of his numerous notes sound as if he were asking a long list of questions; others express discontent; then again he fumes and sputters with anger.

It is easy to tell the plump, well-fed birds, just home from the South, from those who have been obliged to live on half rations during the northern winter.
"Before this flying army quite leaves the Southern States some of them halt for nest-building, and then the Robin sings the best of all his songs,--his happy, cheery melody,--all about the earth, the sky, the sun, the tree he and his mate have chosen to build in,--a song of the little brook where he means to get the water to wet the clay to plaster his nest,--a ballad of the blue eggs it will hold, and the greedy little Robins, all eyes and mouth, that will come out of them.

But as he sings something frightens him; then he cries, 'quick! quick! quick!' and hurries away in a rather clumsy fashion.