The stove had not burnt very low,
But still was warm and bright,
And round the spot whereon it stood

Threw forth a cheerful light.

Jem lost no time; he flung on coals,
And raked the ashes out, °
Then hurried off to go to bed,
Still grumbling at his gout.

Now Robin from a corner hopped,
Within the fire’s light ; |

Shivering and cold, it was to him
A most enchanting sight,

But he is almost starved, poor bird!
Food he must have, or die:

Useless it seems, alas! for that
Within these walls to try.

Yet, see! he makes a sudden dart;
His searching eye has found

The greatest treasure he could have——
Some bread-crumbs on the ground!

Perhaps ‘tis thought by those who read,
Too doubtful to be true,

That just when they were wanted so
Some hand should bread-crumbs strew.

 

 

 

_ But this was how it came to pass:

An ancient dame had said

Her legacy unto the poor

Should all be spent in bread.

So every week twelve wheaten loaves
The Sexton brought himself,

And crumbs had doubtless fallen when
He placed them on the shelf.

Enough there were for quite a feast,
Robin was glad to find;

The hungry fellow ate them all,
Nor left one crumb behind.

He soon was quite himself again,
And it must be confessed

His first thought, being warmed and fed,
Was all about his breast,

To smooth its scarlet feathers down
Our hero did not fail,

And when he’d made it smart, he then
Attended to his tail!

Worn though he was with sheer fatigue
And being up so late,

He did not like to go to bed
In such a rumpled state.