he’d spent all his life in rocking cradles, whereas he was such a novice that, had it not been for the elephant, he wouldn’t even have known that babies were called babies.  Like all fathers he deceived himself that there was nothing he didn’t know about baby-lore.  What was very much more surprising, by whispering and looking secretive he managed to impress the animals with his new-found learning and paternal importance.

But what had happened to the robin while all these excitements were going on?  The last time we mentioned him he was sitting perched on the Woman’s shoulder, singing her his very finest song.

The robin, though you may not have heard it, has always been a most religious bird.  He had made up his mind, the moment the Man had come back, that the first thing to be done was to go and tell God.  The chief difficulty about accomplishing this errand was due to God Himself; as you will remember, in returning to Heaven God had destroyed the sky-blue stairs behind Him.  But the robin had wings; moreover he was an optimist.  He hoped that by fluttering up and up he would be able to reach Heaven in safety.  The reason that he had never tried before was because he had been afraid that God would not want him.  He felt sure of his welcome now that he was the bearer of such glad tidings.

He found the journey much harder than he had expected.  There were parts of it that were so bitter that his wings would scarcely flutter.  After he had lost sight of earth, he had to wind his way between the burning stars; they were so close together in places that his feathers were scorched.  But he pressed on valiantly till he made out the quiet shining of the gates of Heaven and entered through the unguarded walls of jasper into a garden, which was in no way different from the one that God had planted upon earth.

Beneath scented trees the angels were scattered about disconsolately.  There were black rims under their eyes; it was easy to see they had been worrying.  Their beautiful white gowns had come unstarched; it was many days since they had tidied themselves.  There wasn’t a sound of any sort—­least of all of music.  Some of them still carried their harps; but most of them had stacked them in open spaces the way soldiers stack their rifles.  When the robin sank spent to the grass in front of them, they paid him scant attention.  When he weakly chirped his question, “Where’s God?” they jerked their thumbs, indicating the direction, too listless to waste breath on words.

“What’s the matter?” asked the robin.

“We’re unhappy.”  After they had said it, they had difficulty to choke back their sobs.

“But why are you unhappy?  Whoever heard of being unhappy in Heaven!”

“Because—­because——.”  They glanced at one another forlornly, hoping that someone else would be the first to answer.  “Because of the forbidden fruit.  It’s made God cross.”

“Pshaw!” The robin swelled out his little breast with importance.  “You’d better visit earth and see our baby.  If the Woman hadn’t eaten the forbidden fruit, there wouldn’t be any baby.”