Julia resided in the country; and every year the robins built their nests on the trees in her father’s orchard, near the house.  She fancied that the robins came from the South to her door, year after year, and brought their children with them.  She was sure she could distinguish the voices of her old friends, and she used to sit under the shade of the trees where they had their nests, and talk to them kindly, and leave something good for them to eat.

One year there were a pair of robins who made their nest on a tree, the boughs of which hung over the house; and Julia could sit in her window and see all that the little family were doing.  She was delighted with such a token of confidence, and she and the robins soon became very intimate.  The old ones frequently flew down from their nest, and alighted near the door, when Julia would give them as much food as they wanted, and let them carry some home to their children.

By and by, the young robins were old enough to leave their nests.  That was a great day with both parents and children, and all seemed about as merry as they could be when the half-fledged little birds took their first lessons in flying, though Julia laughed a good deal to see their manoeuvres, and said their motions were awkward enough.  However, they learned to fly after a while, as well as their parents, though before they left for the season, some cruel boy threw a stone at one of them and broke his wing.  Poor fellow! he suffered a great deal of pain, and his parents and brothers and sisters were very sad about it.  They seemed for a while hardly to know what to do.  Probably there were no surgeons among them, who understood how to manage broken limbs.  And they had a long talk together—­so Julia said—­and finally hit upon this plan.  Willy—­that was the name my friend gave to the lame bird—­was to go into the house, and see if something could not be done for him there.

Accordingly, one bright morning in June, almost as soon as breakfast was over, the little invalid, attended by the rest of the family, came to the door, where Julia was waiting to receive them—­for she fed them regularly every day—­and then, after they had eaten what they wanted, instead of flying away, as they were accustomed to do, little Willy hopped into the kitchen, while the rest remained near the door.  Julia thought that was queer enough, and she ran and told her mother.  “I wonder if I can coax the little fellow to stay with me until his wing gets well,” she said.  “I wish I could.  Oh, I should dearly love to take care of him, and I am sure we can make him well soon.”

[Illustration:  JULIA’S PET ROBIN.]