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Could it be that he was guilty–when he met other robins–of boasting of his conquest of me and of my utter subjugation? I cannot believe it possible. Also I never saw other robins accost him or linger in their passage through the rose-garden to exchange civilities. And yet a very strange thing occurred on one occasion. I was sitting at my table expecting him and heard a familiar chirp. When I looked up he was atilt upon the branch of an apple tree near by. I greeted him with little whistles and twitters thinking of course that he would fly down to me for our usual conversation. But though he chirped a reply and put his head on one side engagingly he did not move from his bough.

“What is the matter with you?” I said. “Come down–come down, little brother!”

But he did not come. He only sidled and twittered and stayed where he was. This was so extraordinary that I got up and went to him. As I looked a curious doubt came upon me. He looked like Tweetie–(which had become his baptismal name) he tilted his head and flirted and twittered after the manner of Tweetie–but–could it be that he was NOT what he pretended to be? Could he be a stranger bird? That seemed out of the question as no stranger bird would have comported himself with such familiarity. No stranger surely would have come so near and addressed me with such intimate twitterings and well-known airs and graces. I was mystified beyond measure. I exerted all my powers to lure him from his branch but descend from it he would not. He listened and smiled and flirted his tail but he stayed where he was.

“Listen,” I said at last. “I don’t believe in you. There is a mystery here. You pretend you know me and yet you act as if you were afraid of me–just like a common bird who is made of nothing but feathers. I don’t believe you are Tweetie at all. You are an Impostor!”

Believable or not, just at that moment when I stood there under the bough arguing, reproaching and beguiling by turns and puzzled beyond measure–out of the Nowhere darted a little scarlet flame of frenzy– Tweetie himself–with his feathers ruffled and on fire with fury. The robin on the branch actually WAS an Impostor and Tweetie had discovered him red-breasted if not red-handed with crime. Oh! the sight it was to behold him in his tiny Berseker rage at his impudent rival. He flew at him, he beat him, he smacked him, he pecked him, he shrieked bad language at him, he drove him from the branch–from the tree, from one tree after another as the little traitor tried to take refuge–he drove him from the rose-garden–over the laurel hedge and into the pheasant cover in the wood. Perhaps he killed him and left him slain in the bracken. I could not see. But having beaten him once and forever he came back to me, panting–all fluffed up–and with blood thirst only just dying in his eye. He came down on to my table–out of breath as he agitatedly rearranged his untidy feathers–and indignant–almost unreconcilable because I had been such an undiscriminating and feeble- minded imbecile as to be for one moment deceived.

His righteous wrath was awful to behold. I was so frightened that I felt quite pale. With those wiles of the serpent which every noble woman finds herself forced to employ at times I endeavored to pacify him.

“Of course I did not really believe he was You,” I said tremulously. “He was your inferior in every respect. His waistcoat was not nearly so beautiful as yours. His eyes were not so soul compelling. His legs were not nearly so elegant and slender. And there was an expression about his beak which I distrusted from the first. You HEARD me tell him he was an Impostor.”