He saw its scut tail
pointing. And, from the attitude of the bird, of its cocked-up tail,
the angle of its neck and head, to say nothing of the inquisitive way
it peeped sideways at him over the furniture, he realised that it had
come in with a definite purpose--a purpose that concerned himself. In
a word, it had something to communicate.
"Odd!" he thought drowsily, as he met its piercing eye. "A robin in my
room at dawn! I wonder what it's up to?"
Then, remembering vaguely that he expected somebody or something out
of the ordinary, he made a peculiar noise that seemed to meet the
case: he tried to whistle at it. But his lips, being rather dry, made
instead a hissing sound that would have frightened most robins out of
the room at once. On this particular bird, however, the effect was
just the opposite. It hopped self-consciously on to the dressing-
table, fluttered next to the arm-chair, and the same second dropped
out of sight behind the end of the four-poster bed. It acted, that is,
with decision; it was making distinct advances.
He sat up then in order to see it better, and discovered it perched
saucily upon the toe of his evening shoe, looking deliberately into
his face as it rose above the bed-clothes.
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