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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Burgess Bird Book for Children, by
+Thornton W. Burgess
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Burgess Bird Book for Children
+
+Author: Thornton W. Burgess
+
+Posting Date: January 17, 2009 [EBook #3074]
+Release Date: February, 2002
+Last Updated: March 10, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGESS BIRD BOOK FOR CHILDREN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Eve Sobol
+
+
+
+
+
+THE BURGESS BIRD BOOK FOR CHILDREN
+
+By Thornton W. Burgess
+
+
+
+
+     TO THE CHILDREN AND THE BIRDS
+  OF AMERICA THAT THE BONDS OF LOVE AND
+    FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN THEM MAY BE
+             STRENGTHENED
+        THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+This book was written to supply a definite need. Its preparation was
+undertaken at the urgent request of booksellers and others who have
+felt the lack of a satisfactory medium of introduction to bird life for
+little children. As such, and in no sense whatever as a competitor
+with the many excellent books on this subject, but rather to supplement
+these, this volume has been written.
+
+Its primary purpose is to interest the little child in, and to make
+him acquainted with, those feathered friends he is most likely to see.
+Because there is no method of approach to the child mind equal to the
+story, this method of conveying information has been adopted. So far
+as I am aware the book is unique in this respect. In its preparation an
+earnest effort has been made to present as far as possible the important
+facts regarding the appearance, habits and characteristics of our
+feathered neighbors. It is intended to be at once a story book and an
+authoritative handbook. While it is intended for little children, it
+is hoped that children of larger growth may find in it much of both
+interest and helpfulness.
+
+Mr. Louis Agassiz Fuertes, artist and naturalist, has marvelously
+supplemented such value as may be in the text by his wonderful drawings
+in full color. They were made especially for this volume and are so
+accurate, so true to life, that study of them will enable any one to
+identify the species shown. I am greatly indebted to Mr. Fuertes for his
+cooperation in the endeavor to make this book of real assistance to the
+beginner in the study of our native birds.
+
+It is offered to the reader without apologies of any sort. It was
+written as a labor of love--love for little children and love for the
+birds. If as a result of it even a few children are led to a keener
+interest in and better understanding of our feathered friends, its
+purpose will have been accomplished.
+
+                                          THORNTON W. BURGESS
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+        I JENNY WREN ARRIVES
+          Introducing the House Wren.
+
+       II THE OLD ORCHARD BULLY
+          The English or House Sparrow.
+
+      III JENNY HAS A GOOD WORD FOR SOME SPARROWS
+          The Song, White-throated and Fox Sparrows.
+
+      IV  CHIPPY, SWEETVOICE AND DOTTY
+          The Chipping, Vesper and Tree Sparrows.
+
+       V  PETER LEARNS SOMETHING HE HADN'T GUESSED
+          The Bluebird and the Robin.
+
+      VI  AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW HOME
+          The Phoebe and the Least Flycatcher.
+
+     VII  THE WATCHMAN OF THE OLD ORCHARD
+          The Kingbird and the Great Crested Flycatcher.
+
+    VIII  OLD CLOTHES AND OLD HOUSES
+          The Wood Peewee and Some Nesting Places.
+
+      IX  LONGBILL AND TEETER
+          The Woodcock and the Spotted Sandpiper.
+
+       X  REDWING AND YELLOW WING
+          The Red-winged Blackbird and the Golden-winged Flicker.
+
+      XI  DRUMMERS AND CARPENTERS
+          The Downy, Hairy and Red-headed Woodpeckers.
+
+     XII  SOME UNLIKE RELATIVES
+     The Cowbird and the Baltimore Oriole.
+
+    XIII  MORE OF THE BLACKBIRD FAMILY
+     The Orchard Oriole and the Bobolink.
+
+     XIV  BOB WHITE AND CAROL THE MEADOW LARK
+     The So-called Quail and the Meadow Lark.
+
+      XV  A SWALLOW AND ONE WHO ISN'T
+     The Tree Swallow and the Chimney Swift.
+
+     XVI  A ROBBER IN THE OLD ORCHARD
+     The Purple Martin and the Barn Swallow.
+
+    XVII  MORE ROBBERS
+     The Crow and the Blue Jay.
+
+   XVIII  SOME HOMES IN THE GREEN FOREST
+          The Crow, the Oven Bird and the Red-tailed Hawk.
+
+     XIX  A MAKER OF THUNDER AND A FRIEND IN BLACK
+     The Ruffed Grouse and the Crow Blackbird.
+
+      XX  A FISHERMAN ROBBED
+     The Osprey and the Bald-headed Eagle.
+
+     XXI  A FISHING PARTY
+     The Great Blue Heron and the Kingfisher.
+
+    XXII  SOME FEATHERED DIGGERS
+          The Bank Swallow, the Kingfisher and the Sparrow Hawk.
+
+   XXIII  SOME BIG MOUTHS
+       The Nighthawk, the Whip-poor-will and Chuck-wills-widow.
+
+    XXIV  THE WARBLERS ARRIVE
+     The Redstart and the Yellow Warbler.
+
+     XXV  THREE COUSINS QUITE UNLIKE
+      The Black and White Warbler, the Maryland Yellow-Throat
+          and the Yellow-breasted Chat.
+
+    XXVI  PETER GETS A LAME NECK
+          The Parula, Myrtle and Magnolia Warblers.
+
+   XXVII  A NEW FRIEND AND AN OLD ONE
+          The Cardinal and the Catbird.
+
+  XXVIII  PETER SEES ROSEBREAST AND FINDS REDCOAT
+          The Rose-breasted Grosbeak and the Scarlet Tanager.
+
+    XXIX  THE CONSTANT SINGERS
+          The Red-eyed, Warbling and Yellow-throated Vireos.
+
+     XXX  JENNY WREN'S COUSINS
+          The Brown Thrasher and the Mockingbird.
+
+    XXXI  VOICE OF THE DUSK
+     The Wood, Hermit and Wilson's Thrushes.
+
+   XXXII  PETER SAVES A FRIEND AND LEARNS SOMETHING
+          The Towhee and the Indigo Bunting.
+
+  XXXIII  A ROYAL DRESSER AND A LATE NESTER
+          The Purple Linnet and the Goldfinch.
+
+   XXXIV  MOURNER THE DOVE AND CUCKOO
+     The Mourning Dove and the Yellow-billed Cuckoo.
+
+    XXXV  A BUTCHER AND A HUMMER
+         The Shrike and the Ruby-throated Hummingbird.
+
+   XXXVI  A STRANGER AND A DANDY
+          The English Starling and the Cedar Waxwing.
+
+  XXXVII  FAREWELLS AND WELCOMES
+      The Chickadee.
+
+ XXXVIII  HONKER AND DIPPY ARRIVE
+     The Canada Goose and the Loon.
+
+   XXXIX  PETER DISCOVERS TWO OLD FRIENDS
+       The White-breasted Nuthatch and the Brown Creeper.
+
+      XL  SOME MERRY SEED-EATERS
+     The Tree Sparrow and the Junco.
+
+     XLI  MORE FRIENDS COME WITH THE SNOW
+          The Snow Bunting and the Horned Lark.
+
+    XLII  PETER LEARNS SOMETHING ABOUT SPOOKY
+     The Screech Owl.
+
+   XLIII  QUEER FEET AND A QUEERER BILL
+          The Ruffed Grouse and the Crossbills.
+
+     XLIV MORE FOLKS IN RED
+          The Pine Grosbeak and the Redpoll.
+
+     XLV  PETER SEES TWO TERRIBLE FEATHERED HUNTERS
+          The Goshawk and the Great Horned Owl.
+
+
+
+
+THE BURGESS BIRD BOOK FOR CHILDREN
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. Jenny Wren Arrives.
+
+Lipperty-lipperty-lip scampered Peter Rabbit behind the tumble-down
+stone wall along one side of the Old Orchard. It was early in the
+morning, very early in the morning. In fact, jolly, bright Mr. Sun had
+hardly begun his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky. It was nothing
+unusual for Peter to see jolly Mr. Sun get up in the morning. It would
+be more unusual for Peter not to see him, for you know Peter is a great
+hand to stay out all night and not go back to the dear Old Briar-patch,
+where his home is, until the hour when most folks are just getting out
+of bed.
+
+Peter had been out all night this time, but he wasn't sleepy, not the
+least teeny, weeny bit. You see, sweet Mistress Spring had arrived, and
+there was so much happening on every side, and Peter was so afraid he
+would miss something, that he wouldn't have slept at all if he could
+have helped it. Peter had come over to the Old Orchard so early this
+morning to see if there had been any new arrivals the day before.
+
+“Birds are funny creatures,” said Peter, as he hopped over a low place
+in the old stone wall and was fairly in the Old Orchard.
+
+“Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!” cried a rather sharp scolding voice. “Tut,
+tut, tut, tut, tut! You don't know what you are talking about, Peter
+Rabbit. They are not funny creatures at all. They are the most sensible
+folks in all the wide world.”
+
+Peter cut a long hop short right in the middle, to sit up with shining
+eyes. “Oh, Jenny Wren, I'm so glad to see you! When did you arrive?” he
+cried.
+
+“Mr. Wren and I have just arrived, and thank goodness we are here at
+last,” replied Jenny Wren, fussing about, as only she can, in a branch
+above Peter. “I never was more thankful in my life to see a place than I
+am right this minute to see the Old Orchard once more. It seems ages and
+ages since we left it.”
+
+“Well, if you are so fond of it what did you leave it for?” demanded
+Peter. “It is just as I said before--you birds are funny creatures. You
+never stay put; at least a lot of you don't. Sammy Jay and Tommy Tit
+the Chickadee and Drummer the Woodpecker and a few others have a little
+sense; they don't go off on long, foolish journeys. But the rest of
+you--”
+
+“Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!” interrupted Jenny Wren. “You don't know what
+you are talking about, and no one sounds so silly as one who tries to
+talk about something he knows nothing about.”
+
+Peter chuckled. “That tongue of yours is just as sharp as ever,” said
+he. “But just the same it is good to hear it. We certainly would miss
+it. I was beginning to be a little worried for fear something might have
+happened to you so that you wouldn't be back here this summer. You know
+me well enough, Jenny Wren, to know that you can't hurt me with your
+tongue, sharp as it is, so you may as well save your breath to tell me a
+few things I want to know. Now if you are as fond of the Old Orchard as
+you pretend to be, why did you ever leave it?”
+
+Jenny Wren's bright eyes snapped. “Why do you eat?” she asked tartly.
+
+“Because I'm hungry,” replied Peter promptly.
+
+“What would you eat if there were nothing to eat?” snapped Jenny.
+
+“That's a silly question,” retorted Peter.
+
+“No more silly than asking me why I leave the Old Orchard,” replied
+Jenny. “Do give us birds credit for a little common sense, Peter. We
+can't live without eating any more than you can, and in winter there is
+no food at all here for most of us, so we go where there is food. Those
+who are lucky enough to eat the kinds of food that can be found here in
+winter stay here. They are lucky. That's what they are--lucky. Still--”
+ Jenny Wren paused.
+
+“Still what?” prompted Peter.
+
+“I wonder sometimes if you folks who are at home all the time know just
+what a blessed place home is,” replied Jenny. “It is only six months
+since we went south, but I said it seems ages, and it does. The best
+part of going away is coming home. I don't care if that does sound
+rather mixed; it is true just the same. It isn't home down there in the
+sunny South, even if we do spend as much time there as we do here. THIS
+is home, and there's no place like it! What's that, Mr. Wren? I haven't
+seen all the Great World? Perhaps I haven't, but I've seen enough of it,
+let me tell you that! Anyone who travels a thousand miles twice a year
+as we do has a right to express an opinion, especially if they have used
+their eyes as I have mine. There is no place like home, and you needn't
+try to tease me by pretending that there is. My dear, I know you; you
+are just as tickled to be back here as I am.”
+
+“He sings as if he were,” said Peter, for all the time Mr. Wren was
+singing with all his might.
+
+Jenny Wren looked over at Mr. Wren fondly. “Isn't he a dear to sing to
+me like that? And isn't it a perfectly beautiful spring song?” said she.
+Then, without waiting for Peter to reply, her tongue rattled on. “I do
+wish he would be careful. Sometimes I am afraid he will overdo. Just
+look at him now! He is singing so hard that he is shaking all over. He
+always is that way. There is one thing true about us Wrens, and this is
+that when we do things we do them with all our might. When we work
+we work with all our might. When Mr. Wren sings he sings with all his
+might.”
+
+“And, when you scold you scold with all your might,” interrupted Peter
+mischievously.
+
+Jenny Wren opened her mouth for a sharp reply, but laughed instead. “I
+suppose I do scold a good deal,” said she, “but if I didn't goodness
+knows who wouldn't impose on us. I can't bear to be imposed on.”
+
+“Did you have a pleasant journey up from the sunny South?” asked Peter.
+
+“Fairly pleasant,” replied Jenny. “We took it rather easily, Some birds
+hurry right through without stopping, but I should think they would be
+tired to death when they arrive. We rest whenever we are tired, and just
+follow along behind Mistress Spring, keeping far enough behind so that
+if she has to turn back we will not get caught by Jack Frost. It gives
+us time to get our new suits on the way. You know everybody expects you
+to have new things when you return home. How do you like my new suit,
+Peter?” Jenny bobbed and twisted and turned to show it off. It was plain
+to see that she was very proud of it.
+
+“Very much,” replied Peter. “I am very fond of brown. Brown and gray are
+my favorite colors.” You know Peter's own coat is brown and gray.
+
+“That is one of the most sensible things I have heard you say,”
+ chattered Jenny Wren. “The more I see of bright colors the better I like
+brown. It always is in good taste. It goes well with almost everything.
+It is neat and it is useful. If there is need of getting out of sight in
+a hurry you can do it if you wear brown. But if you wear bright colors
+it isn't so easy. I never envy anybody who happens to have brighter
+clothes than mine. I've seen dreadful things happen all because of
+wearing bright colors.”
+
+“What?” demanded Peter.
+
+“I'd rather not talk about them,” declared Jenny in a very emphatic way.
+“'Way down where we spent the winter some of the feathered folks who
+live there all the year round wear the brightest and most beautiful
+suits I've ever seen. They are simply gorgeous. But I've noticed that in
+times of danger these are the folks dreadful things happen to. You see
+they simply can't get out of sight. For my part I would far rather be
+simply and neatly dressed and feel safe than to wear wonderful clothes
+and never know a minute's peace. Why, there are some families I know of
+which, because of their beautiful suits, have been so hunted by men that
+hardly any are left. But gracious, Peter Rabbit, I can't sit here all
+day talking to you! I must find out who else has arrived in the Old
+Orchard and must look my old house over to see if it is fit to live in.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. The Old Orchard Bully.
+
+Peter Rabbit's eyes twinkled when Jenny Wren said that she must look
+her old house over to see if it was fit to live in. “I can save you that
+trouble,” said he.
+
+“What do you mean?” Jenny's voice was very sharp.
+
+“Only that our old house is already occupied,” replied Peter. “Bully the
+English Sparrow has been living in it for the last two months. In fact,
+he already has a good-sized family there.”
+
+“What?” screamed Jenny and Mr. Wren together. Then without even saying
+good-by to Peter, they flew in a great rage to see if he had told them
+the truth. Presently he heard them scolding as fast as their tongues
+could go, and this is very fast indeed.
+
+“Much good that will do them,” chuckled Peter. “They will have to find
+a new house this year. All the sharp tongues in the world couldn't budge
+Bully the English sparrow. My, my, my, my, just hear that racket! I
+think I'll go over and see what is going on.”
+
+So Peter hopped to a place where he could get a good view of Jenny
+Wren's old home and still not be too far from the safety of the old
+stone wall. Jenny Wren's old home had been in a hole in one of the old
+apple-trees. Looking over to it, Peter could see Mrs. Bully sitting
+in the little round doorway and quite filling it. She was shrieking
+excitedly. Hopping and flitting from twig to twig close by were Jenny
+and Mr. Wren, their tails pointing almost straight up to the sky, and
+scolding as fast as they could make their tongues go. Flying savagely at
+one and then at the other, and almost drowning their voices with his own
+harsh cries, was Bully himself. He was perhaps one fourth larger than
+Mr. Wren, although he looked half again as big. But for the fact that
+his new spring suit was very dirty, due to his fondness for taking dust
+baths and the fact that he cares nothing about his personal appearance
+and takes no care of himself, he would have been a fairly good-looking
+fellow. His back was more or less of an ashy color with black and
+chestnut stripes. His wings were brown with a white bar on each. His
+throat and breast were black, and below that he was of a dirty white.
+The sides of his throat were white and the back of his neck chestnut.
+
+By ruffling up his feathers and raising his wings slightly as he hopped
+about, he managed to make himself appear much bigger than he really was.
+He looked like a regular little fighting savage. The noise had brought
+all the other birds in the Old Orchard to see what was going on, and
+every one of them was screaming and urging Jenny and Mr. Wren to stand
+up for their rights. Not one of them had a good word for Bully and his
+wife. It certainly was a disgraceful neighborhood squabble.
+
+Bully the English Sparrow is a born fighter. He never is happier than
+when he is in the midst of a fight or a fuss of some kind. The fact that
+all his neighbors were against him didn't bother Bully in the least.
+
+Jenny and Mr. Wren are no cowards, but the two together were no match
+for Bully. In fact, Bully did not hesitate to fly fiercely at any of the
+onlookers who came near enough, not even when they were twice his own
+size. They could have driven him from the Old Orchard had they set out
+to, but just by his boldness and appearance he made them afraid to try.
+
+All the time Mrs. Bully sat in the little round doorway, encouraging
+him. She knew that as long as she sat there it would be impossible for
+either Jenny or Mr. Wren to get in. Truth to tell, she was enjoying
+it all, for she is as quarrelsome and as fond of fighting as is Bully
+himself.
+
+“You're a sneak! You're a robber! That's my house, and the sooner you
+get out of it the better!” shrieked Jenny Wren, jerking her tail with
+every word as she hopped about just out of reach of Bully.
+
+“It may have been your house once, but it is mine now, you little
+snip-of-nothing!” cried Bully, rushing at her like a little fury. “Just
+try to put us out if you dare! You didn't make this house in the first
+place, and you deserted it when you went south last fall. It's mine now,
+and there isn't anybody in the Old Orchard who can put me out.”
+
+Peter Rabbit nodded. “He's right there,” muttered Peter. “I don't like
+him and never will, but it is true that he has a perfect right to that
+house. People who go off and leave things for half a year shouldn't
+expect to find them just as they left them. My, my, my what a dreadful
+noise! Why don't they all get together and drive Bully and Mrs. Bully
+out of the Old Orchard? If they don't I'm afraid he will drive them out.
+No one likes to live with such quarrelsome neighbors. They don't belong
+over in this country, anyway, and we would be a lot better off if they
+were not here. But I must say I do have to admire their spunk.”
+
+All the time Bully was darting savagely at this one and that one and
+having a thoroughly good time, which is more than could be said of any
+one else, except Mrs. Bully.
+
+“I'll teach you folks to know that I am in the Old Orchard to stay!”
+ shrieked Bully. “If you don't like it, why don't you fight? I am not
+afraid of any of you or all of you together.” This was boasting, plain
+boasting, but it was effective. He actually made the other birds believe
+it. Not one of them dared stand up to him and fight. They were content
+to call him a bully and all the bad names they could think of, but that
+did nothing to help Jenny and Mr. Wren recover their house. Calling
+another bad names never hurts him. Brave deeds and not brave words are
+what count.
+
+How long that disgraceful squabble in the Old Orchard would have lasted
+had it not been for something which happened, no one knows. Right in the
+midst of it some one discovered Black Pussy, the cat who lives in Farmer
+Brown's house, stealing up through the Old Orchard, her tail twitching
+and her yellow eyes glaring eagerly. She had heard that dreadful racket
+and suspected that in the midst of such excitement she might have a
+chance to catch one of the feathered folks. You can always trust Black
+Pussy to be on hand at a time like that.
+
+No sooner was she discovered than everything else was forgotten. With
+Bully in the lead, and Jenny and Mr. Wren close behind him, all the
+birds turned their attention to Black Pussy. She was the enemy of all,
+and they straightway forgot their own quarrel. Only Mrs. Bully remained
+where she was, in the little round doorway of her house. She intended
+to take no chances, but she added her voice to the general racket. How
+those birds did shriek and scream! They darted down almost into the face
+of Black Pussy, and none went nearer than Bully the English Sparrow and
+Jenny Wren.
+
+Now Black Pussy hates to be the center of so much attention. She knew
+that, now she had been discovered, there wasn't a chance in the world
+for her to catch one of those Old Orchard folks. So, with tail still
+twitching angrily, she turned and, with such dignity as she could, left
+the Old Orchard. Clear to the edge of it the birds followed, shrieking,
+screaming, calling her bad names, and threatening to do all sorts of
+dreadful things to her, quite as if they really could.
+
+When finally she disappeared towards Farmer Brown's barn, those angry
+voices changed. It was such a funny change that Peter Rabbit laughed
+right out. Instead of anger there was triumph in every note as everybody
+returned to attend to his own affairs. Jenny and Mr. Wren seemed to have
+forgotten all about Bully and his wife in their old house. They flew to
+another part of the Old Orchard, there to talk it all over and rest and
+get their breath. Peter Rabbit waited to see if they would not come
+over near enough to him for a little more gossip. But they didn't, and
+finally Peter started for his home in the dear Old Briar-patch. All the
+way there he chuckled as he thought of the spunky way in which Jenny and
+Mr. Wren had stood up for their rights.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. Jenny Has a Good Word for Some Sparrows.
+
+The morning after the fight between Jenny and Mr. Wren and Bully the
+English Sparrow found Peter Rabbit in the Old Orchard again. He was so
+curious to know what Jenny Wren would do for a house that nothing but
+some very great danger could have kept him away from there. Truth to
+tell, Peter was afraid that not being able to have their old house,
+Jenny and Mr. Wren would decide to leave the Old Orchard altogether. So
+it was with a great deal of relief that as he hopped over a low place in
+the old stone wall he heard Mr. Wren singing with all his might.
+
+The song was coming from quite the other side of the Old Orchard from
+where Bully and Mrs. Bully had set up housekeeping. Peter hurried over.
+He found Mr. Wren right away, but at first saw nothing of Jenny. He
+was just about to ask after her when he caught sight of her with a tiny
+stick in her bill. She snapped her sharp little eyes at him, but for
+once her tongue was still. You see, she couldn't talk and carry that
+stick at the same time. Peter watched her and saw her disappear in a
+little hole in a big branch of one of the old apple-trees. Hardly had
+she popped in than she popped out again. This time her mouth was free,
+and so was her tongue.
+
+“You'd better stop singing and help me,” she said to Mr. Wren sharply.
+Mr. Wren obediently stopped singing and began to hunt for a tiny little
+twig such as Jenny had taken into that hole.
+
+“Well!” exclaimed Peter. “It didn't take you long to find a new house,
+did it?”
+
+“Certainly not,” snapped Jenny “We can't afford to sit around wasting
+time like some folk I know.”
+
+Peter grinned and looked a little foolish, but he didn't resent it. You
+see he was quite used to that sort of thing. “Aren't you afraid that
+Bully will try to drive you out of that house?” he ventured.
+
+Jenny Wren's sharp little eyes snapped more than ever. “I'd like to see
+him try!” said she. “That doorway's too small for him to get more than
+his head in. And if he tries putting his head in while I'm inside, I'll
+peck his eyes out! She said this so fiercely that Peter laughed right
+out.
+
+“I really believe you would,” said he.
+
+“I certainly would,” she retorted. “Now I can't stop to talk to you,
+Peter Rabbit, because I'm too busy. Mr. Wren, you ought to know that
+that stick is too big.” Jenny snatched it out of Mr. Wren's mouth
+and dropped it on the ground, while Mr. Wren meekly went to hunt for
+another. Jenny joined him, and as Peter watched them he understood why
+Jenny is so often spoken of as a feathered busybody.
+
+For some time Peter Rabbit watched Jenny and Mr. Wren carry sticks and
+straws into that little hole until it seemed to him they were trying
+to fill the whole inside of the tree. Just watching them made Peter
+positively tired. Mr. Wren would stop every now and then to sing, but
+Jenny didn't waste a minute. In spite of that she managed to talk just
+the same.
+
+“I suppose Little Friend the Song Sparrow got here some time ago,” said
+she.
+
+Peter nodded. “Yes,” said he. “I saw him only a day or two ago over by
+the Laughing Brook, and although he wouldn't say so, I'm sure that he
+has a nest and eggs already.”
+
+Jenny Wren jerked her tail and nodded her head vigorously. “I suppose
+so,” said she. “He doesn't have to make as long a journey as we do, so
+he gets here sooner. Did you ever in your life see such a difference as
+there is between Little Friend and his cousin, Bully? Everybody loves
+Little Friend.”
+
+Once more Peter nodded. “That's right,” said he. “Everybody does love
+Little Friend. It makes me feel sort of all glad inside just to hear
+him sing. I guess it makes everybody feel that way. I wonder why we so
+seldom see him up here in the Old Orchard.”
+
+“Because he likes damp places with plenty of bushes better,” replied
+Jenny Wren. “It wouldn't do for everybody to like the same kind of
+a place. He isn't a tree bird, anyway. He likes to be on or near the
+ground. You will never find his nest much above the ground, not more
+than a foot or two. Quite often it is on the ground. Of course I prefer
+Mr. Wren's song, but I must admit that Little Friend has one of the
+happiest songs of any one I know. Then, too, he is so modest, just like
+us Wrens.”
+
+Peter turned his head aside to hide a smile, for if there is anybody
+who delights in being both seen and heard it is Jenny Wren, while Little
+Friend the Song Sparrow is shy and retiring, content to make all the
+world glad with his song, but preferring to keep out of sight as much as
+possible.
+
+Jenny chattered on as she hunted for some more material for her nest. “I
+suppose you've noticed,” said she, “that he and his wife dress very much
+alike. They don't go in for bright colors any more than we Wrens do.
+They show good taste. I like the little brown caps they wear, and the
+way their breasts and sides are streaked with brown. Then, too, they are
+such useful folks. It is a pity that that nuisance of a Bully doesn't
+learn something from them. I suppose they stay rather later than we do
+in the fall.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Peter. “They don't go until Jack Frost makes them. I
+don't know of any one that we miss more than we do them.”
+
+“Speaking of the sparrow family, did you see anything of Whitethroat?”
+ asked Jenny Wren, as she rested for a moment in the doorway of her new
+house and looked down at Peter Rabbit.
+
+Peter's face brightened. “I should say I did!” he exclaimed. “He stopped
+for a few days on his way north. I only wish he would stay here all the
+time. But he seems to think there is no place like the Great Woods
+of the North. I could listen all day to his song. Do you know what he
+always seems to be saying?”
+
+“What?” demanded Jenny.
+
+“I live happ-i-ly, happ-i-ly, happ-i-ly,” replied Peter. “I guess he
+must too, because he makes other people so happy.”
+
+Jenny nodded in her usual emphatic way. “I don't know him as well as I
+do some of the others,” said she, “but when I have seen him down in
+the South he always has appeared to me to be a perfect gentleman. He is
+social, too; he likes to travel with others.”
+
+“I've noticed that,” said Peter. “He almost always has company when he
+passes through here. Some of those Sparrows are so much alike that it
+is hard for me to tell them apart, but I can always tell Whitethroat
+because he is one of the largest of the tribe and has such a lovely
+white throat. He really is handsome with his black and white cap and
+that bright yellow spot before each eye. I am told that he is very
+dearly loved up in the north where he makes his home. They say he sings
+all the time.”
+
+“I suppose Scratcher the Fox Sparrow has been along too,” said Jenny.
+“He also started sometime before we did.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Peter. “He spent one night in the dear Old Briar-patch.
+He is fine looking too, the biggest of all the Sparrow tribe, and HOW he
+can sing. The only thing I've got against him is the color of his
+coat. It always reminds me of Reddy Fox, and I don't like anything that
+reminds me of that fellow. When he visited us I discovered something
+about Scratcher which I don't believe you know.”
+
+“What?” demanded Jenny rather sharply.
+
+“That when he scratches among the leaves he uses both feet at once,”
+ cried Peter triumphantly. “It's funny to watch him.”
+
+“Pooh! I knew that,” retorted Jenny Wren. “What do you suppose my eyes
+are make for? I thought you were going to tell me something I didn't
+know.”
+
+Peter looked disappointed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. Chippy, Sweetvoice, and Dotty.
+
+For a while Jenny Wren was too busy to talk save to scold Mr. Wren for
+spending so much time singing instead of working. To Peter it seemed
+as if they were trying to fill that tree trunk with rubbish. “I should
+think they had enough stuff in there for half a dozen nests,” muttered
+Peter. “I do believe they are carrying it in for the fun of working.”
+ Peter wasn't far wrong in this thought, as he was to discover a little
+later in the season when he found Mr. Wren building another nest for
+which he had no use.
+
+Finding that for the time being he could get nothing more from Jenny
+Wren, Peter hopped over to visit Johnny Chuck, whose home was between
+the roots of an old apple-tree in the far corner of the Old Orchard.
+Peter was still thinking of the Sparrow family; what a big family it
+was, yet how seldom any of them, excepting Bully the English Sparrow,
+were to be found in the Old Orchard.
+
+“Hello, Johnny Chuck!” cried Peter, as he discovered Johnny sitting on
+his doorstep. “You've lived in the Old Orchard a long time, so you ought
+to be able to tell me something I want to know. Why is it that none of
+the Sparrow family excepting that noisy nuisance, Bully, build in the
+trees of the Old Orchard? Is it because Bully has driven all the rest
+out?”
+
+Johnny Chuck shook his head. “Peter,” said he, “whatever is the matter
+with your ears? And whatever is the matter with your eyes?”
+
+“Nothing,” replied Peter rather shortly. “They are as good as yours any
+day, Johnny Chuck.”
+
+Johnny grinned. “Listen!” said Johnny. Peter listened. From a tree just
+a little way off came a clear “Chip, chip, chip, chip.” Peter didn't
+need to be told to look. He knew without looking who was over there. He
+knew that voice for that of one of his oldest and best friends in the
+Old Orchard, a little fellow with a red-brown cap, brown back with
+feathers streaked with black, brownish wings and tail, a gray waistcoat
+and black bill, and a little white line over each eye--altogether as
+trim a little gentleman as Peter was acquainted with. It was Chippy, as
+everybody calls the Chipping Sparrow, the smallest of the family.
+
+Peter looked a little foolish. “I forgot all about Chippy,” said he.
+“Now I think of it, I have found Chippy here in the Old Orchard ever
+since I can remember. I never have seen his nest because I never
+happened to think about looking for it. Does he build a trashy nest like
+his cousin, Bully?”
+
+Johnny Chuck laughed. “I should say not!” he exclaimed. “Twice Chippy
+and Mrs. Chippy have built their nest in this very old apple-tree. There
+is no trash in their nest, I can tell you! It is just as dainty as they
+are, and not a bit bigger than it has to be. It is made mostly of little
+fine, dry roots, and it is lined inside with horse-hair.”
+
+“What's that?” Peter's voice sounded as it he suspected that Johnny
+Chuck was trying to fool him.
+
+“It's a fact,” said Johnny, nodding his head gravely. “Goodness knows
+where they find it these days, but find it they do. Here comes Chippy
+himself; ask him.”
+
+Chippy and Mrs. Chippy came flitting from tree to tree until they were
+on a branch right over Peter and Johnny. “Hello!” cried Peter. “You
+folks seem very busy. Haven't you finished building your nest yet?”
+
+“Nearly,” replied Chippy. “It is all done but the horsehair. We are on
+our way up to Farmer Brown's barnyard now to look for some. You haven't
+seen any around anywhere, have you?”
+
+Peter and Johnny shook their heads, and Peter confessed that he wouldn't
+know horsehair if he saw it. He often had found hair from the coats of
+Reddy Fox and Old Man Coyote and Digger the Badger and Lightfoot the
+Deer, but hair from the coat of a horse was altogether another matter.
+
+“It isn't hair from the coat of a horse that we want,” cried Chippy, as
+he prepared to fly after Mrs. Chippy. “It is long hair form the tail
+or mane of a horse that we must have. It makes the very nicest kind of
+lining for a nest.”
+
+Chippy and Mrs. Chippy were gone a long time, but when they did return
+each was carrying a long black hair. They had found what they wanted,
+and Mrs. Chippy was in high spirits because, as she took pains to
+explain to Peter, that little nest would not soon be ready for the four
+beautiful little blue eggs with black spots on one end she meant to lay
+in it.
+
+“I just love Chippy and Mrs. Chippy,” said Peter, as they watched their
+two little feathered friends putting the finishing touches to the little
+nest far out on a branch of one of the apple-trees.
+
+“Everybody does,” replied Johnny. “Everybody loves them as much as they
+hate Bully and his wife. Did you know that they are sometimes called
+Tree Sparrows? I suppose it is because they so often build their nests
+in trees?”
+
+“No,” said Peter, “I didn't. Chippy shouldn't be called Tree Sparrow,
+because he has a cousin by that name.”
+
+Johnny Chuck looked as if he doubted that, “I never heard of him,” he
+grunted.
+
+Peter grinned. Here was a chance to tell Johnny Chuck something, and
+Peter never is happier than when he can tell folks something they don't
+know. “You'd know him if you didn't sleep all winter,” said Peter.
+“Dotty the Tree Sparrow spends the winter here. He left for his home in
+the Far North about the time you took it into your head to wake up.”
+
+“Why do you call him Dotty?” asked Johnny Chuck.
+
+“Because he has a little round black dot right in the middle of his
+breast,” replied Peter. “I don't know why they call him Tree Sparrow; he
+doesn't spend his time in the trees the way Chippy does, but I see him
+much oftener in low bushes or on the ground. I think Chippy has much
+more right to the name of Tree Sparrow than Dotty has. Now I think of
+it, I've heard Dotty called the Winter Chippy.”
+
+“Gracious, what a mix-up!” exclaimed Johnny Chuck. “With Chippy being
+called a Tree Sparrow and a Tree Sparrow called Chippy, I should think
+folks would get all tangled up.”
+
+“Perhaps they would,” replied Peter, “if both were here at the same
+time, but Chippy comes just as Dotty goes, and Dotty comes as Chippy
+goes. That's a pretty good arrangement, especially as they look very
+much alike, excepting that Dotty is quite a little bigger than Chippy
+and always has that black dot, which Chippy does not have. Goodness
+gracious, it is time I was back in the dear Old Briar-patch! Good-by,
+Johnny Chuck.”
+
+Away went Peter Rabbit, lipperty-lipperty-lip, heading for the dear
+Old Briar-patch. Out of the grass just ahead of him flew a rather pale,
+streaked little brown bird, and as he spread his tail Peter saw two
+white feathers on the outer edges. Those two white feathers were all
+Peter needed to recognize another little friend of whom he is very fond.
+It was Sweetvoice the Vesper Sparrow, the only one of the Sparrow family
+with white feathers in his tail.
+
+“Come over to the dear Old Briar-patch and sing to me,” cried Peter.
+
+Sweetvoice dropped down into the grass again, and when Peter came
+up, was very busy getting a mouthful of dry grass. “Can't,” mumbled
+Sweetvoice. “Can't do it now, Peter Rabbit. I'm too busy. It is high
+time our nest was finished, and Mrs. Sweetvoice will lose her patience
+if I don't get this grass over there pretty quick.”
+
+“Where is your nest; in a tree?” asked Peter innocently.
+
+“That's telling,” declared Sweetvoice. “Not a living soul knows where
+that nest is, excepting Mrs. Sweetvoice and myself. This much I will
+tell you, Peter: it isn't in a tree. And I'll tell you this much more:
+it is in a hoofprint of Bossy the Cow.”
+
+“In a WHAT?” cried Peter.
+
+“In a hoofprint of Bossy the Cow,” repeated Sweetvoice, chuckling
+softly. “You know when the ground was wet and soft early this spring,
+Bossy left deep footprints wherever she went. One of these makes the
+nicest kind of a place for a nest. I think we have picked out the very
+best one on all the Green Meadows. Now run along, Peter Rabbit, and
+don't bother me any more. I've got too much to do to sit here talking.
+Perhaps I'll come over to the edge of the dear Old Briar-patch and sing
+to you a while just after jolly, round, red Mr. Sun goes to bed behind
+the Purple Hills. I just love to sing then.”
+
+“I'll be watching for you,” replied Peter. “You don't love to sing any
+better than I love to hear you. I think that is the best time of all
+the day in which to sing. I mean, I think it's the best time to hear
+singing,” for of course Peter himself does not sing at all.
+
+That night, sure enough, just as the Black Shadows came creeping out
+over the Green Meadows, Sweetvoice, perched on the top of a bramble-bush
+over Peter's head, sang over and over again the sweetest little song and
+kept on singing even after it was quite dark. Peter didn't know it, but
+it is this habit of singing in the evening which has given Sweetvoice
+his name of Vesper Sparrow.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. Peter Learns Something He Hadn't Guessed.
+
+Running over to the Old Orchard very early in the morning for a little
+gossip with Jenny Wren and his other friends there had become a regular
+thing with Peter Rabbit. He was learning a great many things, and some
+of them were most surprising.
+
+Now two of Peter's oldest and best friends in the Old Orchard were
+Winsome Bluebird and Welcome Robin. Every spring they arrived pretty
+nearly together, though Winsome Bluebird usually was a few days ahead
+of Welcome Robin. This year Winsome had arrived while the snow still
+lingered in patches. He was, as he always is, the herald of sweet
+Mistress Spring. And when Peter had heard for the first time Winsome's
+soft, sweet whistle, which seemed to come from nowhere in particular
+and from everywhere in general, he had kicked up his long hind legs
+from pure joy. Then, when a few days later he had heard Welcome Robin's
+joyous message of “Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer!” from
+the tiptop of a tall tree, he had known that Mistress Spring really had
+arrived.
+
+Peter loves Winsome Bluebird and Welcome Robin, just as everybody else
+does, and he had known them so long and so well that he thought he knew
+all there was to know about them. He would have been very indignant had
+anybody told him he didn't.
+
+“Those cousins don't look much alike, do they?” remarked Jenny Wren, as
+she poked her head out of her house to gossip with Peter.
+
+“What cousins?” demanded Peter, staring very hard in the direction in
+which Jenny Wren was looking.
+
+“Those two sitting on the fence over there. Where are your eyes, Peter?”
+ replied Jenny rather sharply.
+
+Peter stared harder than ever. On one post sat Winsome Bluebird, and
+on another post sat Welcome Robin. “I don't see anybody but Winsome and
+Welcome, and they are not even related,” replied Peter with a little
+puzzled frown.
+
+“Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut, Peter!” exclaimed Jenny Wren. “Tut, tut, tut,
+tut, tut! Who told you any such nonsense as that? Of course they are
+related. They are cousins. I thought everybody knew that. They belong to
+the same family that Melody the Thrush and all the other Thrushes belong
+to. That makes them all cousins.”
+
+“What?” exclaimed Peter, looking as if he didn't believe a word of what
+Jenny Wren had said. Jenny repeated, and still Peter looked doubtful.
+
+Then Jenny lost her temper, a thing she does very easily. “If you don't
+believe me, go ask one of them,” she snapped, and disappeared inside her
+house, where Peter could hear her scolding away to herself.
+
+The more he thought of it, the more this struck Peter as good advice. So
+he hopped over to the foot of the fence post on which Winsome Bluebird
+was sitting. “Jenny Wren says that you and Welcome Robin are cousins.
+She doesn't know what she is talking about, does she?” asked Peter.
+
+Winsome chuckled. It was a soft, gentle chuckle. “Yes,” said he, nodding
+his head, “we are. You can trust that little busybody to know what she
+is talking about, every time. I sometimes think she knows more about
+other people's affairs than about her own. Welcome and I may not look
+much alike, but we are cousins just the same. Don't you think Welcome is
+looking unusually fine this spring?”
+
+“Not a bit finer than you are yourself, Winsome,” replied Peter
+politely. “I just love that sky-blue coat of yours. What is the reason
+that Mrs. Bluebird doesn't wear as bright a coat as you do?”
+
+“Go ask Jenny Wren,” chuckled Winsome Bluebird, and before Peter could
+say another word he flew over to the roof of Farmer Brown's house.
+
+Back scampered Peter to tell Jenny Wren that he was sorry he had doubted
+her and that he never would again. Then he begged Jenny to tell him why
+it was that Mrs. Bluebird was not as brightly dressed as was Winsome.
+
+“Mrs. Bluebird, like most mothers, is altogether too busy to spend much
+time taking care of her clothes; and fine clothes need a lot of care,”
+ replied Jenny. “Besides, when Winsome is about he attracts all the
+attention and that gives her a chance to slip in and out of her nest
+without being noticed. I don't believe you know, Peter Rabbit, where
+Winsome's nest is.”
+
+Peter had to admit that he didn't, although he had tried his best to
+find out by watching Winsome. “I think it's over in that little house
+put up by Farmer Brown's boy,” he ventured. “I saw both Mr. and Mrs.
+Bluebird go in it when they first came, and I've seen Winsome around it
+a great deal since, so I guess it is there.”
+
+“So you guess it is there!” mimicked Jenny Wren. “Well, your guess is
+quite wrong, Peter; quite wrong. As a matter of fact, it is in one of
+those old fence posts. But just which one I am not going to tell you. I
+will leave that for you to find out. Mrs. Bluebird certainly shows good
+sense. She knows a good house when she sees it. The hole in that post is
+one of the best holes anywhere around here. If I had arrived here early
+enough I would have taken it myself. But Mrs. Bluebird already had her
+nest built in it and four eggs there, so there was nothing for me to
+do but come here. Just between you and me, Peter, I think the Bluebirds
+show more sense in nest building than do their cousins the Robins. There
+is nothing like a house with stout walls and a doorway just big enough
+to get in and out of comfortably.”
+
+Peter nodded quite as if he understood all about the advantages of
+a house with walls. “That reminds me,” said he. “The other day I saw
+Welcome Robin getting mud and carrying it away. Pretty soon he was
+joined by Mrs. Robin, and she did the same thing. They kept it up till I
+got tired of watching them. What were they doing with that mud?”
+
+“Building their nest, of course, stupid,” retorted Jenny. “Welcome
+Robin, with that black head, beautiful russet breast, black and white
+throat and yellow bill, not to mention the proud way in which he carries
+himself, certainly is a handsome fellow, and Mrs. Robin is only a little
+less handsome. How they can be content to build the kind of a home they
+do is more than I can understand. People think that Mr. Wren and I use
+a lot of trash in our nest. Perhaps we do, but I can tell you one thing,
+and that is it is clean trash. It is just sticks and clean straws, and
+before I lay my eggs I see to it that my nest is lined with feathers.
+More than this, there isn't any cleaner housekeeper than I am, if I do
+say it.
+
+“Welcome Robin is a fine looker and a fine singer, and everybody loves
+him. But when it comes to housekeeping, he and Mrs. Robin are just plain
+dirty. They make the foundation of their nest of mud,--plain, common,
+ordinary mud. They cover this with dead grass, and sometimes there is
+mighty little of this over the inside walls of mud. I know because I've
+seen the inside of their nest often. Anybody with any eyes at all can
+find their nest. More than once I've known them to have their nest
+washed away in a heavy rain, or have it blown down in a high wind.
+Nothing like that ever happens to Winsome Bluebird or to me.”
+
+Jenny disappeared inside her house, and Peter waited for her to come out
+again. Welcome Robin flew down on the ground, ran a few steps, and then
+stood still with his head on one side as if listening. Then he reached
+down and tugged at something, and presently out of the ground came
+a long, wriggling angleworm. Welcome gulped it down and ran on a few
+steps, then once more paused to listen. This time he turned and ran
+three or four steps to the right, where he pulled another worm out of
+the ground.
+
+“He acts as if he heard those worms in the ground,” said Peter, speaking
+aloud without thinking.
+
+“He does,” said Jenny Wren, poking her head out of her doorway just as
+Peter spoke. “How do you suppose he would find them when they are in the
+ground if he didn't hear them?”
+
+“Can you hear them?” asked Peter.
+
+“I've never tried, and I don't intend to waste my time trying,” retorted
+Jenny. “Welcome Robin may enjoy eating them, but for my part I want
+something smaller and daintier, young grasshoppers, tender young
+beetles, small caterpillars, bugs and spiders.”
+
+Peter had to turn his head aside to hide the wry face he just had to
+make at the mention of such things as food. “Is that all Welcome Robin
+eats?” he asked innocently.
+
+“I should say not,” laughed Jenny. “He eats a lot of other kinds of
+worms, and he just dearly loves fruit like strawberries and cherries and
+all sorts of small berries. Well, I can't stop here talking any longer.
+I'm going to tell you a secret, Peter, if you'll promise not to tell.”
+
+Of course Peter promised, and Jenny leaned so far down that Peter
+wondered how she could keep from falling as she whispered, “I've got
+seven eggs in my nest, so if you don't see much of me for the next week
+or more, you'll know why. I've just got to sit on those eggs and keep
+them warm.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. An Old Friend In a New Home.
+
+Every day brought newcomers to the Old Orchard, and early in the morning
+there were so many voices to be heard that perhaps it is no wonder if
+for some time Peter Rabbit failed to miss that of one of his very good
+friends. Most unexpectedly he was reminded of this as very early one
+morning he scampered, lipperty-lipperty-lip, across a little bridge over
+the Laughing Brook.
+
+“Dear me! Dear me! Dear me!” cried rather a plaintive voice. Peter
+stopped so suddenly that he all but fell heels over head. Sitting on the
+top of a tall, dead, mullein stalk was a very soberly dressed but rather
+trim little fellow, a very little larger than Bully the English Sparrow.
+Above, his coat was of a dull olive-brown, while underneath he was of a
+grayish-white, with faint tinges of yellow in places. His head was dark,
+and his bill black. The feathers on his head were lifted just enough to
+make the tiniest kind of crest. His wings and tail were dusky, little
+bars of white showing very faintly on his wings, while the outer edges
+of his tail were distinctly white. He sat with his tail hanging straight
+down, as if he hadn't strength enough to hold it up.
+
+“Hello, Dear Me!” cried Peter joyously. “What are you doing way down
+here? I haven't seen you since you first arrived, just after Winsome
+Bluebird got here.” Peter started to say that he had wondered what had
+become of Dear Me, but checked himself, for Peter is very honest and
+he realized now that in the excitement of greeting so many friends he
+hadn't missed Dear Me at all.
+
+Dear Me the Phoebe did not reply at once, but darted out into the air,
+and Peter heard a sharp click of that little black bill. Making a short
+circle, Dear Me alighted on the mullein stalk again.
+
+“Did you catch a fly then?” asked Peter.
+
+“Dear me! Dear me! Of course I did,” was the prompt reply. And with each
+word there was a jerk of that long hanging tail. Peter almost wondered
+if in some way Dear Me's tongue and tail were connected. “I suppose,”
+ said he, “that it is the habit of catching flies and bugs in the air
+that has given your family the name of Flycatchers.”
+
+Dear Me nodded and almost at once started into the air again. Once more
+Peter heard the click of that little black bill, then Dear Me was back
+on his perch. Peter asked again what he was doing down there.
+
+“Mrs. Phoebe and I are living down here,” replied Dear Me. “We've made
+our home down here and we like it very much.”
+
+Peter looked all around, this way, that way, every way, with the
+funniest expression on his face. He didn't see anything of Mrs. Phoebe
+and he didn't see any place in which he could imagine Mr. and Mrs.
+Phoebe building a nest. “What are you looking for?” asked Dear Me.
+
+“For Mrs. Phoebe and your home,” declared Peter quite frankly. “I didn't
+suppose you and Mrs. Phoebe ever built a nest on the ground, and I don't
+see any other place around here for one.”
+
+Dear Me chuckled. “I wouldn't tell any one but you, Peter,” said he,
+“but I've known you so long that I'm going to let you into a little
+secret. Mrs. Phoebe and our home are under the very bridge you are
+sitting on.”
+
+“I don't believe it!” cried Peter.
+
+But Dear Me knew from the way Peter said it that he really didn't mean
+that. “Look and see for yourself,” said Dear Me.
+
+So Peter lay flat on his stomach and tried to stretch his head over
+the edge of the bridge so as to see under it. But his neck wasn't long
+enough, or else he was afraid to lean over as far as he might have.
+Finally he gave up and at Mr. Phoebe's suggestion crept down the bank to
+the very edge of the Laughing Brook. Dear Me darted out to catch another
+fly, then flew right in under the bridge and alighted on a little ledge
+of stone just beneath the floor. There, sure enough, was a nest, and
+Peter could see Mrs. Phoebe's bill and the top of her head above the
+edge of it. It was a nest with a foundation of mud covered with moss and
+lined with feathers.
+
+“That's perfectly splendid!” cried Peter, as Dear Me resumed his perch
+on the old mullein stalk. “How did you ever come to think of such a
+place? And why did you leave the shed up at Farmer Brown's where you
+have build your home for the last two or three years?”
+
+“Oh,” replied Dear Me, “we Phoebes always have been fond of building
+under bridges. You see a place like this is quite safe. Then, too, we
+like to be near water. Always there are many insects flying around where
+there is water, so it is an easy matter to get plenty to eat. I left the
+shed at Farmer Brown's because that pesky cat up there discovered our
+nest last year, and we had a dreadful time keeping our babies out of
+her clutches. She hasn't found us down here, and she wouldn't be able to
+trouble us if she should find us.”
+
+“I suppose,” said Peter, “that as usual you were the first of your
+family to arrive.”
+
+“Certainly. Of course,” replied Dear Me. “We always are the first. Mrs.
+Phoebe and I don't go as far south in winter as the other members of the
+family do. They go clear down into the Tropics, but we manage to pick up
+a pretty good living without going as far as that. So we get back here
+before the rest of them, and usually have begun housekeeping by the time
+they arrive. My cousin, Chebec the Least Flycatcher, should be here by
+this time. Haven't you heard anything of him up in the Old Orchard?”
+
+“No,” replied Peter, “but to tell the truth I haven't looked for him.
+I'm on my way to the Old Orchard now, and I certainly shall keep my ears
+and eyes open for Chebec. I'll tell you if I find him. Good-by.”
+
+“Dear me! Dear me! Good-by Peter. Dear me!” replied Mr. Phoebe as Peter
+started off for the Old Orchard.
+
+Perhaps it was because Peter was thinking of him that almost the first
+voice he heard when he reached the Old Orchard was that of Chebec,
+repeating his own name over and over as if he loved the sound of it. It
+didn't take Peter long to find him. He was sitting out on the up of one
+of the upper branches of an apple-tree where he could watch for flies
+and other winged insects. He looked so much like Mr. Phoebe, save that
+he was smaller, that any one would have know they were cousins. “Chebec!
+Chebec! Chebec!” he repeated over and over, and with every note jerked
+his tail. Now and then he would dart out into the air and snap up
+something so small that Peter, looking up from the ground, couldn't see
+it at all.
+
+“Hello, Chebec!” cried Peter. “I'm glad to see you back again. Are you
+going to build in the Old Orchard this year?”
+
+“Of course I am,” replied Chebec promptly. “Mrs. Chebec and I have built
+here for the last two or three years, and we wouldn't think of going
+anywhere else. Mrs. Chebec is looking for a place now. I suppose I ought
+to be helping her, but I learned a long time ago, Peter Rabbit, that in
+matters of this kind it is just as well not to have any opinion at all.
+When Mrs. Chebec has picked out just the place she wants, I'll help her
+build the nest. It certainly is good to be back here in the Old Orchard
+and planning a home once more. We've made a terribly long journey, and I
+for one am glad it's over.”
+
+“I just saw your cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Phoebe, and they already have a
+nest and eggs,” said Peter.
+
+“The Phoebes are a funny lot,” replied Chebec. “They are the only
+members of the family that can stand cold weather. What pleasure they
+get out of it I don't understand. They are queer anyway, for they never
+build their nests in trees as the rest of us do.”
+
+“Are you the smallest in the family?” asked Peter, for it had suddenly
+struck him that Chebec was a very little fellow indeed.
+
+Chebec nodded. “I'm the smallest,” said he. “That's why they call me
+Least Flycatcher. I may be least in size, but I can tell you one thing,
+Peter Rabbit, and that is that I can catch just as many bugs and flies
+as any of them.” Suiting action to the word, he darted out into the air.
+His little bill snapped and with a quick turn he was back on his former
+perch, jerking his tail and uttering his sharp little cry of, “Chebec!
+Chebec! Chebec!” until Peter began to wonder which he was the most fond
+of, catching flies, or the sound of his own voice.
+
+Presently they both heard Mrs. Chebec calling from somewhere in the
+middle of the Old Orchard. “Excuse me, Peter,” said Chebec, “I must go
+at once. Mrs. Chebec says she has found just the place for our nest,
+and now we've got a busy time ahead of us. We are very particular how we
+build a nest.”
+
+“Do you start it with mud the way Welcome Robin and your cousins, the
+Phoebes, do?” asked Peter.
+
+“Mud!” cried Chebec scornfully. “Mud! I should say not! I would have you
+understand, Peter, that we are very particular about what we use in our
+nest. We use only the finest of rootlets, strips of soft bark, fibers of
+plants, the brown cotton that grows on ferns, and perhaps a little
+hair when we can find it. We make a dainty nest, if I do say it, and
+we fasten it securely in the fork made by two or three upright little
+branches. Now I must go because Mrs. Chebec is getting impatient. Come
+see me when I'm not so busy Peter.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. The Watchman of the Old Orchard.
+
+A few days after Chebec and his wife started building their nest in
+the Old Orchard Peter dropped around as usual for a very early call. He
+found Chebec very busy hunting for materials for that nest, because, as
+he explained to Peter, Mrs. Chebec is very particular indeed about what
+her nest is made of. But he had time to tell Peter a bit of news.
+
+“My fighting cousin and my handsomest cousin arrived together yesterday,
+and now our family is very well represented in the Old Orchard,” said
+Chebec proudly.
+
+Slowly Peter reached over his back with his long left hind foot and
+thoughtfully scratched his long right ear. He didn't like to admit that
+he couldn't recall those two cousins of Chebec's. “Did you say your
+fighting cousin?” he asked in a hesitating way.
+
+“That's what I said,” replied Chebec. “He is Scrapper the Kingbird, as
+of course you know. The rest of us always feel safe when he is about.”
+
+“Of course I know him,” declared Peter, his face clearing. “Where is he
+now?”
+
+At that very instant a great racket broke out on the other side of the
+Old Orchard and in no time at all the feathered folks were hurrying from
+every direction, screaming at the top of their voices. Of course, Peter
+couldn't be left out of anything like that, and he scampered for the
+scene of trouble as fast as his legs could take him. When he got there
+he saw Redtail the Hawk flying up and down and this way and that way, as
+if trying to get away from something or somebody.
+
+For a minute Peter couldn't think what was the trouble with Redtail, and
+then he saw. A white-throated, white-breasted bird, having a black cap
+and back, and a broad white band across the end of his tail, was darting
+at Redtail as if he meant to pull out every feather in the latter's
+coat.
+
+He was just a little smaller than Welcome Robin, and in comparison with
+him Redtail was a perfect giant. But this seemed to make no difference
+to Scrapper, for that is who it was. He wasn't afraid, and he intended
+that everybody should know it, especially Redtail. It is because of his
+fearlessness that he is called Kingbird. All the time he was screaming
+at the top of his lungs, calling Redtail a robber and every other
+bad name he could think of. All the other birds joined him in calling
+Redtail bad names. But none, not even Bully the English Sparrow, was
+brave enough to join him in attacking big Redtail.
+
+When he had succeeded in driving Redtail far enough from the Old Orchard
+to suit him, Scrapper flew back and perched on a dead branch of one of
+the trees, where he received the congratulations of all his feathered
+neighbors. He took them quite modestly, assuring them that he had done
+nothing, nothing at all, but that he didn't intend to have any of the
+Hawk family around the Old Orchard while he lived there. Peter couldn't
+help but admire Scrapper for his courage.
+
+As Peter looked up at Scrapper he saw that, like all the rest of the
+flycatchers, there was just the tiniest of hooks on the end of his bill.
+Scrapper's slightly raised cap seemed all black, but if Peter could have
+gotten close enough, he would have found that hidden in it was a patch
+of orange-red. While Peter sat staring up at him Scrapper suddenly
+darted out into the air, and his bill snapped in quite the same way
+Chebec's did when he caught a fly. But it wasn't a fly that Scrapper
+had. It was a bee. Peter saw it very distinctly just as Scrapper snapped
+it up. It reminded Peter that he had often heard Scrapper called the Bee
+Martin, and now he understood why.
+
+“Do you live on bees altogether?” asked Peter.
+
+“Bless your heart, Peter, no,” replied Scrapper with a chuckle. “There
+wouldn't be any honey if I did. I like bees. I like them first rate. But
+they form only a very small part of my food. Those that I do catch are
+mostly drones, and you know the drones are useless. They do no work at
+all. It is only by accident that I now and then catch a worker. I eat
+all kinds of insects that fly and some that don't. I'm one of Farmer
+Brown's best friends, if he did but know it. You can talk all you please
+about the wonderful eyesight of the members of the Hawk family, but if
+any one of them has better eyesight than I have, I'd like to know who it
+is. There's a fly 'way over there beyond that old apple-tree; watch me
+catch it.”
+
+Peter knew better than to waste any effort trying to see that fly. He
+knew that he couldn't have seen it had it been only one fourth that
+distance away. But if he couldn't see the fly he could hear the sharp
+click of Scrapper's bill, and he knew by the way Scrapper kept opening
+and shutting his mouth after his return that he had caught that fly and
+it had tasted good.
+
+“Are you going to build in the Old Orchard this year?” asked Peter.
+
+“Of course I am,” declared Scrapper. “I--”
+
+Just then he spied Blacky the Crow and dashed out to meet him. Blacky
+saw him coming and was wise enough to suddenly appear to have no
+interest whatever in the Old Orchard, turning away toward the Green
+Meadows instead.
+
+Peter didn't wait for Scrapper to return. It was getting high time for
+him to scamper home to the dear Old Briar-patch and so he started along,
+lipperty-lipperty-lip. Just as he was leaving the far corner of the
+Old Orchard some one called him. “Peter! Oh, Peter Rabbit!” called the
+voice. Peter stopped abruptly, sat up very straight, looked this way,
+looked that way and looked the other way, every way but the right way.
+
+“Look up over your head,” cried the voice, rather a harsh voice. Peter
+looked, then all in a flash it came to him who it was Chebec had meant
+by the handsomest member of his family. It was Cresty the Great Crested
+Flycatcher. He was a wee bit bigger than Scrapper the Kingbird, yet not
+quite so big as Welcome Robin, and more slender. His throat and breast
+were gray, shading into bright yellow underneath. His back and head were
+of a grayish-brown with a tint of olive-green. A pointed cap was all
+that was needed to make him quite distinguished looking. He certainly
+was the handsomest as well as the largest of the Flycatcher family.
+
+“You seem to be in a hurry, so don't let me detain you, Peter,” said
+Cresty, before Peter could find his tongue. “I just want to ask one
+little favor of you.”
+
+“What is it?” asked Peter, who is always glad to do any one a favor.
+
+“If in your roaming about you run across an old cast-off suit of Mr.
+Black Snake, or of any other member of the Snake family, I wish you
+would remember me and let me know. Will you, Peter?” said Cresty.
+
+“A--a--a--what?” stammered Peter.
+
+“A cast-off suit of clothes from any member of the Snake family,”
+ replied Cresty somewhat impatiently. “Now don't forget, Peter. I've
+got to go house hunting, but you'll find me there or hereabouts, if it
+happens that you find one of those cast-off Snake suits.”
+
+Before Peter could say another word Cresty had flown away. Peter
+hesitated, looking first towards the dear Old Briar-patch and then
+towards Jenny Wren's house. He just couldn't understand about those
+cast-off suits of the Snake family, and he felt sure that Jenny Wren
+could tell him. Finally curiosity got the best of him, and back he
+scampered, lipperty-lipperty-lip, to the foot of the tree in which Jenny
+Wren had her home.
+
+“Jenny!” called Peter. “Jenny Wren! Jenny Wren!” No one answered him.
+He could hear Mr. Wren singing in another tree, but he couldn't see him.
+“Jenny! Jenny Wren! Jenny Wren!” called Peter again. This time Jenny
+popped her head out, and her little eyes fairly snapped. “Didn't I tell
+you the other day, Peter Rabbit, that I'm not to be disturbed? Didn't
+I tell you that I've got seven eggs in here, and that I can't spend any
+time gossiping? Didn't I, Peter Rabbit? Didn't I? Didn't I?”
+
+“You certainly did, Jenny. You certainly did, and I'm sorry to disturb
+you,” replied Peter meekly. “I wouldn't have thought of doing such a
+thing, but I just didn't know who else to go to.”
+
+“Go to for what?” snapped Jenny Wren. “What is it you've come to me
+for?”
+
+“Snake skins,” replied Peter.
+
+“Snake skins! Snake skins!” shrieked Jenny Wren. “What are you talking
+about, Peter Rabbit? I never have anything to do with Snake skins and
+don't want to. Ugh! It makes me shiver just to think of it.”
+
+“You don't understand,” cried Peter hurriedly. “What I want to know
+is, why should Cresty the Flycatcher ask me to please let him know if
+I found any cast-off suits of the Snake family? He flew away before I
+could ask him why he wants them, and so I came to you, because I know
+you know everything, especially everything concerning your neighbors.”
+
+Jenny Wren looked as if she didn't know whether to feel flattered or
+provoked. But Peter looked so innocent that she concluded he was trying
+to say something nice.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. Old Clothes and Old Houses.
+
+“I can't stop to talk to you any longer now, Peter Rabbit,” said
+Jenny Wren, “but if you will come over here bright and early to-morrow
+morning, while I am out to get my breakfast, I will tell you about
+Cresty the Flycatcher and why he wants the cast-off clothes of some of
+the Snake family. Perhaps I should say WHAT he wants of them instead
+of WHY he wants them, for why any one should want anything to do with
+Snakes is more then I can understand.”
+
+With this Jenny Wren disappeared inside her house, and there was nothing
+for Peter to do but once more start for the dear Old Briar-patch. On his
+way he couldn't resist the temptation to run over to the Green Forest,
+which was just beyond the Old Orchard. He just HAD to find out if there
+was anything new over there. Hardly had he reached it when he heard
+a plaintive voice crying, “Pee-wee! Pee-wee! Pee-wee!” Peter chuckled
+happily. “I declare, there's Pee-wee,” he cried. “He usually is one of
+the last of the Flycatcher family to arrive. I didn't expect to find him
+yet. I wonder what has brought him up so early.”
+
+It didn't take Peter long to find Pewee. He just followed the sound of
+that voice and presently saw Pewee fly out and make the same kind of
+a little circle as the other members of the family make when they are
+hunting flies. It ended just where it had started, on a dead twig of a
+tree in a shady, rather lonely part of the Green Forest. Almost at once
+he began to call his name in a rather sad, plaintive tone, “Pee-wee!
+Pee-wee! Pee-wee!” But he wasn't sad, as Peter well knew. It was his way
+of expressing how happy he felt. He was a little bigger than his cousin,
+Chebec, but looked very much like him. There was a little notch in the
+end of his tail. The upper half of his bill was black, but the lower
+half was light. Peter could see on each wing two whitish bars, and he
+noticed that Pewee's wings were longer than his tail, which wasn't the
+case with Chebec. But no one could ever mistake Pewee for any of his
+relatives, for the simple reason that he keeps repeating his own name
+over and over.
+
+“Aren't you here early?” asked Peter.
+
+Pewee nodded. “Yes,” said he. “It has been unusually warm this spring,
+so I hurried a little and came up with my cousins, Scrapper and Cresty.
+That is something I don't often do.”
+
+“If you please,” Peter inquired politely, “why do folks call you Wood
+Pewee?”
+
+Pewee chuckled happily. “It must be,” said he, “because I am so very
+fond of the Green Forest. It is so quiet and restful that I love
+it. Mrs. Pewee and I are very retiring. We do not like too many near
+neighbors.”
+
+“You won't mind if I come to see you once in a while, will you?” asked
+Peter as he prepared to start on again for the dear Old Briar-patch.
+
+“Come as often as you like,” replied Pewee. “The oftener the better.”
+
+Back in the Old Briar-patch Peter thought over all he had learned about
+the Flycatcher family, and as he recalled how they were forever catching
+all sorts of flying insects it suddenly struck him that they must be
+very useful little people in helping Old Mother Nature take care of her
+trees and other growing things which insects so dearly love to destroy.
+
+But most of all Peter thought about that queer request of Cresty's, and
+a dozen times that day he found himself peeping under old logs in the
+hope of finding a cast-off coat of Mr. Black Snake. It was such a funny
+thing for Cresty to ask for that Peter's curiosity would allow him no
+peace, and the next morning he was up in the Old Orchard before jolly
+Mr. Sun had kicked his bedclothes off.
+
+Jenny Wren was as good as her word. While she flitted and hopped about
+this way and that way in that fussy way of hers, getting her breakfast,
+she talked. Jenny couldn't keep her tongue still if she wanted to.
+
+“Did you find any old clothes of the Snake family?” she demanded. Then
+as Peter shook his head her tongue ran on without waiting for him to
+reply. “Cresty and his wife always insist upon having a piece of Snake
+skin in their nest,” said she. “Why they want it, goodness knows! But
+they do want it and never can seem to settle down to housekeeping unless
+they have it. Perhaps they think it will scare robbers away. As for me,
+I should have a cold chill every time I got into my nest if I had to sit
+on anything like that. I have to admit that Cresty and his wife are a
+handsome couple, and they certainly have good sense in choosing a house,
+more sense than any other member of their family to my way of thinking.
+But Snake skins! Ugh!”
+
+“By the way, where does Cresty build?” asked Peter.
+
+“In a hole in a tree, like the rest of us sensible people,” retorted
+Jenny Wren promptly.
+
+Peter looked quite as surprised as he felt. “Does Cresty make the hole?”
+ he asked.
+
+“Goodness gracious, no!” exclaimed Jenny Wren. “Where are your eyes,
+Peter? Did you ever see a Flycatcher with a bill that looked as if it
+could cut wood?” She didn't wait for a reply, but rattled on. “It is a
+good thing for a lot of us that the Woodpecker family are so fond of new
+houses. Look! There is Downy the Woodpecker hard at work on a new house
+this very minute. That's good. I like to see that. It means that next
+year there will be one more house for some one here in the Old Orchard.
+For myself I prefer old houses. I've noticed there are a number of my
+neighbors who feel the same way about it. There is something settled
+about an old house. It doesn't attract attention the way a new one does.
+So long as it has got reasonably good walls, and the rain and the
+wind can't get in, the older it is the better it suits me. But the
+Woodpeckers seem to like new houses best, which, as I said before, is a
+very good thing for the rest of us.”
+
+“Who is there besides you and Cresty and Bully the English Sparrow who
+uses these old Woodpecker houses?” asked Peter.
+
+“Winsome Bluebird, stupid!” snapped Jenny Wren.
+
+Peter grinned and looked foolish. “Of course,” said he. “I forgot all
+about Winsome.”
+
+“And Skimmer the Tree Swallow,” added Jenny.
+
+“That's so; I ought to have remembered him,” exclaimed Peter. “I've
+noticed that he is very fond of the same house year after year. Is there
+anybody else?”
+
+Again Jenny Wren nodded. “Yank-Yank the Nuthatch uses an old house, I'm
+told, but he usually goes up North for his nesting,” said she. “Tommy
+Tit the Chickadee sometimes uses an old house. Then again he and Mrs.
+Chickadee get fussy and make a house for themselves. Yellow Wing the
+flicker, who really is a Woodpecker, often uses an old house, but quite
+often makes a new one. Then there are Killy the Sparrow Hawk and Spooky
+the Screech Owl.”
+
+Peter looked surprised. “I didn't suppose THEY nested in holes in
+trees!” he exclaimed.
+
+“They certainly do, more's the pity!” snapped Jenny. “It would be a good
+thing for the rest of us if they didn't nest at all. But they do, and an
+old house of Yellow Wing the Flicker suits either of them. Killy always
+uses one that is high up, and comes back to it year after year. Spooky
+isn't particular so long as the house is big enough to be comfortable.
+He lives in it more or less the year around. Now I must get back to
+those eggs of mine. I've talked quite enough for one morning.”
+
+“Oh, Jenny,” cried Peter, as a sudden thought struck him.
+
+Jenny paused and jerked her tail impatiently. “Well, what is it now?”
+ she demanded.
+
+“Have you got two homes?” asked Peter.
+
+“Goodness gracious, no!” exclaimed Jenny. “What do you suppose I want of
+two homes? One is all I can take care of.”
+
+“Then why,” demanded Peter triumphantly, “does Mr. Wren work all day
+carrying sticks and straws into a hole in another tree? It seems to me
+that he has carried enough in there to build two or three nests.”
+
+Jenny Wren's eyes twinkled, and she laughed softly. “Mr. Wren just has
+to be busy about something, bless his heart,” said she. “He hasn't a
+lazy feather on him. He's building that nest to take up his time and
+keep out of mischief. Besides, if he fills that hollow up nobody else
+will take it, and you know we might want to move some time. Good-by,
+Peter.” With a final jerk of her tail Jenny Wren flew to the little
+round doorway of her house and popped inside.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. Longbill and Teeter.
+
+From the decided way in which Jenny Wren had popped into the little
+round doorway of her home, Peter knew that to wait in the hope of more
+gossip with her would be a waste of time. He wasn't ready to go back
+home to the dear Old Briar-patch, yet there seemed nothing else to do,
+for everybody in the Old Orchard was too busy for idle gossip. Peter
+scratched a long ear with a long hind foot, trying to think of some
+place to go. Just then he heard the clear “peep, peep, peep” of the
+Hylas, the sweet singers of the Smiling Pool.
+
+“That's where I'll go!” exclaimed Peter. “I haven't been to the
+Smiling Pool for some time. I'll just run over and pay my respects to
+Grandfather Frog, and to Redwing the Blackbird. Redwing was one of the
+first birds to arrive, and I've neglected him shamefully.”
+
+When Peter thinks of something to do he wastes no time. Off he started,
+lipperty-lipperty-lip, for the Smiling Pool. He kept close to the edge
+of the Green Forest until he reached the place where the Laughing Brook
+comes out of the Green Forest on its way to the Smiling Pool in the
+Green Meadows. Bushes and young trees grow along the banks of the
+Laughing Brook at this point. The ground was soft in places, quite
+muddy. Peter doesn't mind getting his feet damp, so he hopped along
+carelessly. From right under his very nose something shot up into the
+air with a whistling sound. It startled Peter so that he stopped short
+with his eyes popping out of his head. He had just a glimpse of a
+brown form disappearing over the tops of some tall bushes. Then Peter
+chuckled. “I declare,” said he, “I had forgotten all about my old
+friend, Longbill the Woodcock. He scared me for a second.”
+
+“Then you are even,” said a voice close at hand. “You scared him. I saw
+you coming, but Longbill didn't.”
+
+Peter turned quickly. There was Mrs. Woodcock peeping at him from behind
+a tussock of grass.
+
+“I didn't mean to scare him,” apologized Peter. “I really didn't mean
+to. Do you think he was really very much scared?”
+
+“Not too scared to come back, anyway,” said Longbill himself,
+dropping down just in front of Peter. “I recognized you just as I
+was disappearing over the tops of the bushes, so I came right back. I
+learned when I was very young that when startled it is best to fly first
+and find out afterwards whether or not there is real danger. I am glad
+it is no one but you, Peter, for I was having a splendid meal here, and
+I should have hated to leave it. You'll excuse me while I go on eating,
+I hope. We can talk between bites.”
+
+“Certainly I'll excuse you,” replied Peter, staring around very hard to
+see what it could be Longbill was making such a good meal of. But Peter
+couldn't see a thing that looked good to eat. There wasn't even a bug
+or a worm crawling on the ground. Longbill took two or three steps in
+rather a stately fashion. Peter had to hide a smile, for Longbill had
+such an air of importance, yet at the same time was such an odd looking
+fellow. He was quite a little bigger than Welcome Robin, his tail was
+short, his legs were short, and his neck was short. But his bill was
+long enough to make up. His back was a mixture of gray, brown, black and
+buff, while his breast and under parts were a beautiful reddish-buff. It
+was his head that made him look queer. His eyes were very big and they
+were set so far back that Peter wondered if it wasn't easier for him to
+look behind him than in front of him.
+
+Suddenly Longbill plunged his bill into the ground. He plunged it in for
+the whole length. Then he pulled it out and Peter caught a glimpse of
+the tail end of a worm disappearing down Longbill's throat. Where that
+long bill had gone into the ground was a neat little round hole. For the
+first time Peter noticed that there were many such little round holes
+all about. “Did you make all those little round holes?” exclaimed Peter.
+
+“Not at all,” replied Longbill. “Mrs. Woodcock made some of them.”
+
+“And was there a worm in every one?” asked Peter, his eyes very wide
+with interest.
+
+Longbill nodded. “Of course,” said he. “You don't suppose we would take
+the trouble to bore one of them if we didn't know that we would get a
+worm at the end of it, do you?”
+
+Peter remembered how he had watched Welcome Robin listen and then
+suddenly plunge his bill into the ground and pull out a worm. But the
+worms Welcome Robin got were always close to the surface, while these
+worms were so deep in the earth that Peter couldn't understand how it
+was possible for any one to know that they were there. Welcome Robin
+could see when he got hold of a worm, but Longbill couldn't. “Even if
+you know there is a worm down there in the ground, how do you know when
+you've reached him? And how is it possible for you to open your bill
+down there to take him in?” asked Peter.
+
+Longbill chuckled. “That's easy,” said he. “I've got the handiest bill
+that ever was. See here!” Longbill suddenly thrust his bill straight
+out in front of him and to Peter's astonishment he lifted the end of the
+upper half without opening the rest of his bill at all. “That's the way
+I get them,” said he. “I can feel them when I reach them, and then I
+just open the top of my bill and grab them. I think there is one right
+under my feet now; watch me get him.” Longbill bored into the ground
+until his head was almost against it. When he pulled his bill out, sure
+enough, there was a worm. “Of course,” explained Longbill, “it is only
+in soft ground that I can do this. That is why I have to fly away south
+as soon as the ground freezes at all.”
+
+“It's wonderful,” sighed Peter. “I don't suppose any one else can find
+hidden worms that way.”
+
+“My cousin, Jack Snipe, can,” replied Longbill promptly. “He feeds the
+same way I do, only he likes marshy meadows instead of brushy swamps.
+Perhaps you know him.”
+
+Peter nodded. “I do,” said he. “Now you speak of it, there is a strong
+family resemblance, although I hadn't thought of him as a relative of
+yours before. Now I must be running along. I'm ever so glad to have seen
+you, and I'm coming over to call again the first chance I get.”
+
+So Peter said good-by and kept on down the Laughing Brook to the Smiling
+Pool. Right where the Laughing Brook entered the Smiling Pool there was
+a little pebbly beach. Running along the very edge of the water was
+a slim, trim little bird with fairly long legs, a long slender bill,
+brownish-gray back with black spots and markings, and a white waistcoat
+neatly spotted with black. Every few steps he would stop to pick up
+something, then stand for a second bobbing up and down in the funniest
+way, as if his body was so nicely balanced on his legs that it teetered
+back and forth like a seesaw. It was Teeter the Spotted Sandpiper, an
+old friend of Peter's. Peter greeted him joyously.
+
+“Peet-weet! Peet-weet!” cried Teeter, turning towards Peter and bobbing
+and bowing as only Teeter can. Before Peter could say another word
+Teeter came running towards him, and it was plain to see that Teeter was
+very anxious about something. “Don't move, Peter Rabbit! Don't move!” he
+cried.
+
+“Why not?” demanded Peter, for he could see no danger and could think of
+no reason why he shouldn't move. Just then Mrs. Teeter came hurrying up
+and squatted down in the sand right in front of Peter.
+
+“Thank goodness!” exclaimed Teeter, still bobbing and bowing. “If you
+had taken another step, Peter Rabbit, you would have stepped right on
+our eggs. You gave me a dreadful start.”
+
+Peter was puzzled. He showed it as he stared down at Mrs. Teeter just in
+front of him. “I don't see any nest or eggs or anything,” said he rather
+testily.
+
+Mrs. Teeter stood up and stepped aside. Then Peter saw right in a little
+hollow in the sand, with just a few bits of grass for a lining, four
+white eggs with big dark blotches on them. They looked so much like the
+surrounding pebbles that he never would have seen them in the world
+but for Mrs. Teeter. Peter hastily backed away a few steps. Mrs. Teeter
+slipped back on the eggs and settled herself comfortably. It suddenly
+struck Peter that if he hadn't seen her do it, he wouldn't have known
+she was there. You see she looked so much like her surroundings that he
+never would have noticed her at all.
+
+“My!” he exclaimed. “I certainly would have stepped on those eggs if you
+hadn't warned me,” said he. “I'm so thankful I didn't. I don't see how
+you dare lay them in the open like this.”
+
+Mrs. Teeter chuckled softly. “It's the safest place in the world,
+Peter,” said she. “They look so much like these pebbles around here
+that no one sees them. The only time they are in danger is when somebody
+comes along, as you did, and is likely to step on them without seeing
+them. But that doesn't happen often.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. Redwing and Yellow Wing.
+
+Peter had come over to the Smiling Pool especially to pay his respects
+to Redwing the Blackbird, so as soon as he could, without being
+impolite, he left Mrs. Teeter sitting on her eggs, and Teeter himself
+bobbing and bowing in the friendliest way, and hurried over to where
+the bulrushes grow. In the very top of the Big Hickory-tree, a little
+farther along on the bank of the Smiling Pool, sat some one who at that
+distance appeared to be dressed all in black. He was singing as if
+there were nothing but joy in all the great world. “Quong-ka-reee!
+Quong-ka-reee! Quong-ka-reee!” he sang. Peter would have known from this
+song alone that it was Redwing the Blackbird, for there is no other song
+quite like it.
+
+As soon as Peter appeared in sight Redwing left his high perch and flew
+down to light among the broken-down bulrushes. As he flew, Peter saw the
+beautiful red patch on the bend of each wing, from which Redwing gets
+his name. “No one could ever mistake him for anybody else,” thought
+Peter, “For there isn't anybody else with such beautiful shoulder
+patches.”
+
+“What's the news, Peter Rabbit?” cried Redwing, coming over to sit very
+near Peter.
+
+“There isn't much,” replied Peter, “excepting that Teeter the Sandpiper
+has four eggs just a little way from here.”
+
+Redwing chuckled. “That is no news, Peter,” said he. “Do you suppose
+that I live neighbor to Teeter and don't know where his nest is and all
+about his affairs? There isn't much going on around the Smiling Pool
+that I don't know, I can tell you that.”
+
+Peter looked a little disappointed, because there is nothing he likes
+better than to be the bearer of news. “I suppose,” said he politely,
+“that you will be building a nest pretty soon yourself, Redwing.”
+
+Redwing chuckled softly. It was a happy, contented sort of chuckle. “No,
+Peter,” said he. “I am not going to build a nest.”
+
+“What?” exclaimed Peter, and his two long ears stood straight up with
+astonishment.
+
+“No,” replied Redwing, still chuckling. “I'm not going to build a nest,
+and if you want to know a little secret, we have four as pretty eggs as
+ever were laid.”
+
+Peter fairly bubbled over with interest and curiosity. “How splendid!”
+ he cried. “Where is your nest, Redwing? I would just love to see it. I
+suppose it is because she is sitting on those eggs that I haven't seen
+Mrs. Redwing. It was very stupid of me not to guess that folks who come
+as early as you do would be among the first to build a home. Where is
+it, Redwing? Do tell me.”
+
+Redwing's eyes twinkled.
+
+     “A secret which is known by three
+      Full soon will not a secret be,”
+
+said he. “It isn't that I don't trust you, Peter. I know that you
+wouldn't intentionally let my secret slip out. But you might do it by
+accident. What you don't know, you can't tell.”
+
+“That's right, Redwing. I am glad you have so much sense,” said another
+voice, and Mrs. Redwing alighted very near to Redwing.
+
+Peter couldn't help thinking that Old Mother Nature had been very unfair
+indeed in dressing Mrs. Redwing. She was, if anything, a little bit
+smaller than her handsome husband, and such a plain, not to say homely,
+little body that it was hard work to realize that she was a Blackbird
+at all. In the first place she wasn't black. She was dressed all over in
+grayish-brown with streaks of darker brown which in places were almost
+black. She wore no bright-colored shoulder patches. In fact, there
+wasn't a bright feather on her anywhere. Peter wanted to ask why it was
+that she was so plainly dressed, but he was too polite and decided to
+wait until he should see Jenny Wren. She would be sure to know. Instead,
+he exclaimed, “How do you do, Mrs. Redwing? I'm ever so glad to see you.
+I was wondering where you were. Where did you come from?”
+
+“Straight from my home,” replied Mrs. Redwing demurely. “And if I do say
+it, it is the best home we've ever had.”
+
+Redwing chuckled. He was full of chuckles. You see, he had noticed how
+eagerly Peter was looking everywhere.
+
+“This much I will tell you, Peter,” said Redwing; “our nest is somewhere
+in these bulrushes, and if you can find it we won't say a word, even if
+you don't keep the secret.”
+
+Then Redwing chuckled again and Mrs. Redwing chuckled with him. You see,
+they knew that Peter doesn't like water, and that nest was hidden in
+a certain clump of brown, broken-down rushes, with water all around.
+Suddenly Redwing flew up in the air with a harsh cry. “Run, Peter! Run!”
+ he screamed. “Here comes Reddy Fox!”
+
+Peter didn't wait for a second warning. He knew by the sound of
+Redwing's voice that Redwing wasn't joking. There was just one place
+of safety, and that was an old hole of Grandfather Chuck's between
+the roots of the Big Hickory-tree. Peter didn't waste any time getting
+there, and he was none too soon, for Reddy was so close at his heels
+that he pulled some white hairs out of Peter's tail as Peter plunged
+headfirst down that hole. It was a lucky thing for Peter that that hole
+was too small for Reddy to follow and the roots prevented Reddy from
+digging it any bigger.
+
+For a long time Peter sat in Grandfather Chuck's old house, wondering
+how soon it would be safe for him to come out. For a while he heard Mr.
+and Mrs. Redwing scolding sharply, and by this he knew that Reddy Fox
+was still about. By and by they stopped scolding, and a few minutes
+later he heard Redwing's happy song. “That means,” thought Peter, “that
+Reddy Fox has gone away, but I think I'll sit here a while longer to
+make sure.”
+
+Now Peter was sitting right under the Big Hickory-tree. After a while he
+began to hear faint little sounds, little taps, and scratching sounds as
+of claws. They seemed to come from right over his head, but he knew that
+there was no one in that hole but himself. He couldn't understand it at
+all.
+
+Finally Peter decided it would be safe to peek outside. Very carefully
+he poked his head out. Just as he did so, a little chip struck him right
+on the nose. Peter pulled his head back hurriedly and stared at the
+little chip which lay just in front of the hole. Then two or three more
+little chips fell. Peter knew that they must come from up in the Big
+Hickory-tree, and right away his curiosity was aroused. Redwing was
+singing so happily that Peter felt sure no danger was near, so he hopped
+outside and looked up to find out where those little chips had come
+from. Just a few feet above his head he saw a round hole in the trunk
+of the Big Hickory-tree. While he was looking at it, a head with a long
+stout bill was thrust out and in that bill were two or three little
+chips. Peter's heart gave a little jump of glad surprise.
+
+“Yellow Wing!” he cried. “My goodness, how you startled me!”
+
+The chips were dropped and the head was thrust farther out. The sides
+and throat were a soft reddish-tan and on each side at the beginning of
+the bill was a black patch. The top of the head was gray and just at the
+back was a little band of bright red. There was no mistaking that head.
+It belonged to Yellow Wing the Flicker beyond a doubt.
+
+“Hello, Peter!” exclaimed Yellow Wing, his eyes twinkling. “What are you
+doing here?”
+
+“Nothing,” replied Peter, “but I want to know what you are doing. What
+are all those chips?”
+
+“I'm fixing up this old house of mine,” replied Yellow Wing promptly.
+“It wasn't quite deep enough to suit me, so I am making it a little
+deeper. Mrs. Yellow Wing and I haven't been able to find another house
+to suit us, so we have decided to live here again this year.” He came
+wholly out and flew down on the ground near Peter. When his wings
+were spread, Peter saw that on the under sides they were a beautiful
+golden-yellow, as were the under sides of his tail feathers. Around his
+throat was a broad, black collar. From this, clear to his tail, were
+black dots. When his wings were spread, the upper part of his body just
+above the tail was pure white.
+
+“My,” exclaimed Peter, “you are a handsome fellow! I never realized
+before how handsome you are.”
+
+Yellow Wing looked pleased. Perhaps he felt a little flattered. “I
+am glad you think so, Peter,” said he. “I am rather proud of my suit,
+myself. I don't know of any member of my family with whom I would change
+coats.”
+
+A sudden thought struck Peter. “What family do you belong to?” He asked
+abruptly.
+
+“The Woodpecker family,” replied Yellow Wing proudly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. Drummers and Carpenters.
+
+Peter Rabbit was so full of questions that he hardly knew which one to
+ask first. But Yellow Wing the Flicker didn't give him a chance to ask
+any. From the edge of the Green forest there came a clear, loud call of,
+“Pe-ok! Pe-ok! Pe-ok!”
+
+“Excuse me, Peter, there's Mrs. Yellow Wing calling me,” exclaimed
+Yellow Wing, and away he went. Peter noticed that as he flew he went up
+and down. It seemed very much as if he bounded through the air just as
+Peter bounds over the ground. “I would know him by the way he flies just
+as far as I could see him,” thought Peter, as he started for home in the
+dear Old Briar-patch. “Somehow he doesn't seem like a Woodpecker because
+he is on the ground so much. I must ask Jenny Wren about him.”
+
+It was two or three days before Peter had a chance for a bit of gossip
+with Jenny Wren. When he did the first thing he asked was if Yellow Wing
+is a true Woodpecker.
+
+“Certainly he is,” replied Jenny Wren. “Of course he is. Why under the
+sun should you think he isn't?”
+
+“Because it seems to me he is on the ground more than he's in the
+trees,” retorted Peter. “I don't know any other Woodpeckers who come
+down on the ground at all.”
+
+“Tut, tut, tut, tut!” scolded Jenny. “Think a minute, Peter! Think a
+minute! Haven't you ever seen Redhead on the ground?”
+
+Peter blinked his eyes. “Ye-e-s,” he said slowly. “Come to think of it,
+I have. I've seen him picking up beechnuts in the fall. The Woodpeckers
+are a funny family. I don't understand them.”
+
+Just then a long, rolling rat-a-tat-tat rang out just over their heads.
+“There's another one of them,” chuckled Jenny. “That's Downy, the
+smallest of the whole family. He certainly makes an awful racket for
+such a little fellow. He is a splendid drummer and he's just as good a
+carpenter. He made the very house I am occupying now.”
+
+Peter was sitting with his head tipped back trying to see Downy. At
+first he couldn't make him out. Then he caught a little movement on top
+of a dead limb. It was Downy's head flying back and forth as he beat
+his long roll. He was dressed all in black and white. On the back of his
+head was a little scarlet patch. He was making a tremendous racket for
+such a little chap, only a little bigger than one of the Sparrow family.
+
+“Is he making a hole for a nest up there?” asked Peter eagerly.
+
+“Gracious, Peter, what a question! What a perfectly silly question!”
+ exclaimed Jenny Wren scornfully. “Do give us birds credit for a little
+common sense. If he were cutting a hole for a nest, everybody within
+hearing would know just where to look for it. Downy has too much sense
+in that little head of his to do such a silly thing as that. When he
+cuts a hole for a nest he doesn't make any more noise than is absolutely
+necessary. You don't see any chips flying, do you?”
+
+“No-o,” replied Peter slowly. “Now you speak of it, I don't. Is--is he
+hunting for worms in the wood?”
+
+Jenny laughed right out. “Hardly, Peter, hardly,” said she. “He's just
+drumming, that's all. That hollow limb makes the best kind of a drum
+and Downy is making the most of it. Just listen to that! There isn't a
+better drummer anywhere.”
+
+But Peter wasn't satisfied. Finally he ventured another question.
+“What's he doing it for?”
+
+“Good land, Peter!” cried Jenny. “What do you run and jump for in the
+spring? What is Mr. Wren singing for over there? Downy is drumming for
+precisely the same reason--happiness. He can't run and jump and he can't
+sing, but he can drum. By the way, do you know that Downy is one of the
+most useful birds in the Old Orchard?”
+
+Just then Downy flew away, but hardly had he disappeared when another
+drummer took his place. At first Peter thought Downy had returned until
+he noticed that the newcomer was just a bit bigger than Downy. Jenny
+Wren's sharp eyes spied him at once.
+
+“Hello!” she exclaimed. “There's Hairy. Did you ever see two cousins
+look more alike? If it were not that Hairy is bigger than Downy it
+would be hard work to tell them apart. Do you see any other difference,
+Peter?”
+
+Peter stared and blinked and stared again, then slowly shook his head.
+“No,” he confessed, “I don't.”
+
+“That shows you haven't learned to use your eyes, Peter,” said Jenny
+rather sharply. “Look at the outside feathers of his tail; they are all
+white. Downy's outside tail feathers have little bars of black. Hairy is
+just as good a carpenter as is Downy, but for that matter I don't know
+of a member of the Woodpecker family who isn't a good carpenter. Where
+did you say Yellow Wing the Flicker is making his home this year?”
+
+“Over in the Big Hickory-tree by the Smiling Pool,” replied Peter. “I
+don't understand yet why Yellow Wing spends so much time on the ground.”
+
+“Ants,” replied Jenny Wren. “Just ants. He's as fond of ants as is Old
+Mr. Toad, and that is saying a great deal. If Yellow Wing keeps on he'll
+become a ground bird instead of a tree bird. He gets more than half his
+living on the ground now. Speaking of drumming, did you ever hear Yellow
+Wing drum on a tin roof?”
+
+Peter shook his head.
+
+“Well, if there's a tin roof anywhere around, and Yellow Wing can find
+it, he will be perfectly happy. He certainly does love to make a noise,
+and tin makes the finest kind of a drum.”
+
+Just then Jenny was interrupted by the arrival, on the trunk of the very
+next tree to the one on which she was sitting, of a bird about the size
+of Sammy Jay. His whole head and neck were a beautiful, deep red. His
+breast was pure white, and his back was black to nearly the beginning of
+his tail, where it was white.
+
+“Hello, Redhead!” exclaimed Jenny Wren. “How did you know we were
+talking about your family?”
+
+“Hello, chatterbox,” retorted Redhead with a twinkle in his eyes. “I
+didn't know you were talking about my family, but I could have guessed
+that you were talking about some one's family. Does your tongue ever
+stop, Jenny?”
+
+Jenny Wren started to become indignant and scold, then thought better
+of it. “I was talking for Peter's benefit,” said she, trying to look
+dignified, a thing quite impossible for any member of the Wren family to
+do. “Peter has always had the idea that true Woodpeckers never go
+down on the ground. I was explaining to him that Yellow Wing is a true
+Woodpecker, yet spends half his time on the ground.”
+
+Redhead nodded. “It's all on account of ants,” said he. “I don't know of
+any one quite so fond of ants unless it is Old Mr. Toad. I like a few of
+them myself, but Yellow Wing just about lives on them when he can. You
+may have noticed that I go down on the ground myself once in a while.
+I am rather fond of beetles, and an occasional grasshopper tastes
+very good to me. I like a variety. Yes, sir, I certainly do like a
+variety--cherries, blackberries, raspberries, strawberries, grapes. In
+fact most kinds of fruit taste good to me, not to mention beechnuts and
+acorns when there is no fruit.”
+
+Jenny Wren tossed her head. “You didn't mention the eggs of some of your
+neighbors,” said she sharply.
+
+Redhead did his best to look innocent, but Peter noticed that he gave a
+guilty start and very abruptly changed the subject, and a moment later
+flew away.
+
+“Is it true,” asked Peter, “that Redhead does such a dreadful thing?”
+
+Jenny bobbed her head rapidly and jerked her tail. “So I an told,” said
+she. “I've never seen him do it, but I know others who have. They say he
+is no better than Sammy Jay or Blacky the Crow. But gracious, goodness!
+I can't sit here gossiping forever.” Jenny twitched her funny little
+tail, snapped her bright eyes at Peter, and disappeared in her house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. Some Unlikely Relatives.
+
+Having other things to attend to, or rather having other things to
+arouse his curiosity, Peter Rabbit did not visit the Old Orchard for
+several days. When he did it was to find the entire neighborhood quite
+upset. There was an indignation meeting in progress in and around the
+tree in which Chebec and his modest little wife had their home. How the
+tongues did clatter! Peter knew that something had happened, but though
+he listened with all his might he couldn't make head or tail of it.
+
+Finally Peter managed to get the attention of Jenny Wren. “What's
+happened?” demanded Peter. “What's all this fuss about?”
+
+Jenny Wren was so excited that she couldn't keep still an instant. Her
+sharp little eyes snapped and her tail was carried higher than ever.
+“It's a disgrace! It's a disgrace to the whole feathered race, and
+something ought to be done about it!” sputtered Jenny. “I'm ashamed to
+think that such a contemptible creature wears feathers! I am so!”
+
+“But what's it all about?” demanded Peter impatiently. “Do keep still
+long enough to tell me. Who is this contemptible creature?”
+
+“Sally Sly,” snapped Jenny Wren. “Sally Sly the Cowbird. I hoped she
+wouldn't disgrace the Old Orchard this year, but she has. When Mr. and
+Mrs. Chebec returned from getting their breakfast this morning they
+found one of Sally Sly's eggs in their nest. They are terribly upset,
+and I don't blame them. If I were in their place I simply would throw
+that egg out. That's what I'd do, I'd throw that egg out!”
+
+Peter was puzzled. He blinked his eyes and stroked his whiskers as he
+tried to understand what it all meant. “Who is Sally Sly, and what did
+she do that for?” he finally ventured.
+
+“For goodness' sake, Peter Rabbit, do you mean to tell me you don't
+know who Sally Sly is?” Then without waiting for Peter to reply, Jenny
+rattled on. “She's a member of the Blackbird family and she's the
+laziest, most good-for-nothing, sneakiest, most unfeeling and most
+selfish wretch I know of!” Jenny paused long enough to get her breath.
+“She laid that egg in Chebec's nest because she is too lazy to build a
+nest of her own and too selfish to take care of her own children. Do you
+know what will happen, Peter Rabbit? Do you know what will happen?”
+
+Peter shook his head and confessed that he didn't. “When that egg
+hatches out, that young Cowbird will be about twice as big as Chebec's
+own children,” sputtered Jenny. “He'll be so big that he'll get most
+of the food. He'll just rob those little Chebecs in spite of all
+their mother and father can do. And Chebec and his wife will be just
+soft-hearted enough to work themselves to skin and bone to feed the
+young wretch because he is an orphan and hasn't anybody to look after
+him. The worst of it is, Sally Sly is likely to play the same trick on
+others. She always chooses the nest of some one smaller than herself.
+She's terribly sly. No one has seen her about. She just sneaked into
+the Old Orchard this morning when everybody was busy, laid that egg and
+sneaked out again.”
+
+“Did you say that she is a member of the Blackbird family?” asked Peter.
+
+Jenny Wren nodded vigorously. “That's what she is,” said she. “Thank
+goodness, she isn't a member of MY family. If she were I never would be
+able to hold my head up. Just listen to Goldy the Oriole over in that
+big elm. I don't see how he can sing like that, knowing that one of his
+relatives has just done such a shameful deed. It's a queer thing that
+there can be two members of the same family so unlike. Mrs. Goldy builds
+one of the most wonderful nests of any one I know, and Sally Sly is too
+lazy to build any. If I were in Goldy's place I--”
+
+“Hold on!” cried Peter. “I thought you said Sally Sly is a member of
+the Blackbird family. I don't see what she's got to do with Goldy the
+Oriole.”
+
+“You don't, eh?” exclaimed Jenny. “Well, for one who pokes into other
+people's affairs as you do, you don't know much. The Orioles and the
+Meadow Larks and the Grackles and the Bobolinks all belong to the
+Blackbird family. They're all related to Redwing the Blackbird, and
+Sally Sly the Cowbird belongs in the same family.”
+
+Peter gasped. “I--I--hadn't the least idea that any of these folks were
+related,” stammered Peter.
+
+“Well, they are,” retorted Jenny Wren. “As I live, there's Sally Sly
+now!”
+
+Peter caught a glimpse of a brownish-gray bird who reminded him somewhat
+of Mrs. Redwing. She was about the same size and looked very much like
+her. It was plain that she was trying to keep out of sight, and the
+instant she knew that she had been discovered she flew away in the
+direction of the Old Pasture. It happened that late that afternoon Peter
+visited the Old Pasture and saw her again. She and some of her friends
+were busily walking about close to the feet of the cows, where they
+seemed to be picking up food. One had a brown head, neck and breast; the
+rest of his coat was glossy black. Peter rightly guessed that this
+must be Mr. Cowbird. Seeing them on such good terms with the cows he
+understood why they are called Cowbirds.
+
+Sure that Sally Sly had left the Old Orchard, the feathered folks
+settled down to their personal affairs and household cares, Jenny Wren
+among them. Having no one to talk to, Peter found a shady place close
+to the old stone wall and there sat down to think over the surprising
+things he had learned. Presently Goldy the Baltimore Oriole alighted in
+the nearest apple-tree, and it seemed to Peter that never had he seen
+any one more beautifully dressed. His head, neck, throat and upper part
+of his back were black. The lower part of his back and his breast were
+a beautiful deep orange color. There was a dash of orange on his
+shoulders, but the rest of his wings were black with an edging of white.
+His tail was black and orange. Peter had heard him called the Firebird,
+and now he understood why. His song was quite as rich and beautiful as
+his coat.
+
+Shortly he was joined by Mrs. Goldy. Compared with her handsome husband
+she was very modestly dressed. She wore more brown than black, and where
+the orange color appeared it was rather dull. She wasted no time in
+singing. Almost instantly her sharp eyes spied a piece of string caught
+in the bushes almost over Peter's head. With a little cry of delight
+she flew down and seized it. But the string was caught, and though she
+tugged and pulled with all her might she couldn't get it free. Goldy saw
+the trouble she was having and cutting his song short, flew down to help
+her. Together they pulled and tugged and tugged and pulled, until they
+had to stop to rest and get their breath.
+
+“We simply must have this piece of string,” said Mrs. Goldy. “I've been
+hunting everywhere for a piece, and this is the first I've found. It is
+just what we need to bind our nest fast to the twigs. With this I won't
+have the least bit of fear that that nest will ever tear loose, no
+matter how hard the wind blows.”
+
+Once more they tugged and pulled and pulled and tugged until at last
+they got it free, and Mrs. Goldy flew away in triumph with the string in
+her bill. Goldy himself followed. Peter watched them fly to the top of a
+long, swaying branch of a big elm-tree up near Farmer Brown's house. He
+could see something which looked like a bag hanging there, and he knew
+that this must be the nest.
+
+“Gracious!” said Peter. “They must get terribly tossed about when the
+wind blows. I should think their babies would be thrown out.”
+
+“Don't you worry about them,” said a voice.
+
+Peter looked up to find Welcome Robin just over him. “Mrs. Goldy makes
+one of the most wonderful nests I know of,” continued Welcome Robin. “It
+is like a deep pocket made of grass, string, hair and bark, all woven
+together like a piece of cloth. It is so deep that it is quite safe for
+the babies, and they seem to enjoy being rocked by the wind. I shouldn't
+care for it myself because I like a solid foundation for my home, but
+the Goldies like it. It looks dangerous but it really is one of the
+safest nests I know of. Snakes and cats never get 'way up there and
+there are few feathered nest-robbers who can get at those eggs so deep
+down in the nest. Goldy is sometimes called Golden Robin. He isn't a
+Robin at all, but I would feel very proud if he were a member of my
+family. He's just as useful as he is handsome, and that's saying a great
+deal. He just dotes on caterpillars. There's Mrs. Robin calling me.
+Good-by, Peter.”
+
+With this Welcome Robin flew away and Peter once more settled himself to
+think over all he had learned.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. More of the Blackbird Family.
+
+Peter Rabbit was dozing. Yes, sir, Peter was dozing. He didn't mean to
+doze, but whenever Peter sits still for a long time and tries to think,
+he is pretty sure to go to sleep. By and by he wakened with a start. At
+first he didn't know what had wakened him, but as he sat there blinking
+his eyes, he heard a few rich notes from the top of the nearest
+apple-tree. “It's Goldy the Oriole,” thought Peter, and peeped out to
+see.
+
+But though he looked and looked he couldn't see Goldy anywhere, but he
+did see a stranger. It was some one of about Goldy's size and shape. In
+fact he was so like Goldy, but for the color of his suit, that at first
+Peter almost thought Goldy had somehow changed his clothes. Of course he
+knew that this couldn't be, but it seemed as if it must be, for the
+song the stranger was singing was something like that of Goldy. The
+stranger's head and throat and back were black, just like Goldy's, and
+his wings were trimmed with white in just the same way. But the rest
+of his suit, instead of being the beautiful orange of which Goldy is so
+proud, was a beautiful chestnut color.
+
+Peter blinked and stared very hard. “Now who can this be?” said he,
+speaking aloud without thinking.
+
+“Don't you know him?” asked a sharp voice so close to Peter that it made
+him jump. Peter whirled around. There sat Striped Chipmunk grinning
+at him from the top of the old stone wall. “That's Weaver the Orchard
+Oriole,” Striped Chipmunk rattled on. “If you don't know him you ought
+to, because he is one of the very nicest persons in the Old Orchard. I
+just love to hear him sing.”
+
+“Is--is--he related to Goldy?” asked Peter somewhat doubtfully.
+
+“Of course,” retorted Striped Chipmunk. “I shouldn't think you would
+have to look at him more than once to know that. He's first cousin to
+Goldy. There comes Mrs. Weaver. I do hope they've decided to build in
+the Old Orchard this year.”
+
+“I'm glad you told me who she is because I never would have guessed it,”
+ confessed Peter as he studied the newcomer. She did not look at all
+like Weaver. She was dressed in olive-green and dull yellow, with white
+markings on her wings.
+
+Peter couldn't help thinking how much easier it must be for her than for
+her handsome husband to hide among the green leaves.
+
+As he watched she flew down to the ground and picked up a long piece
+of grass. “They are building here, as sure as you live!” cried Striped
+Chipmunk. “I'm glad of that. Did you ever see their nest, Peter? Of
+course you haven't, because you said you had never seen them before.
+Their nest is a wonder, Peter. It really is. It is made almost wholly of
+fine grass and they weave it together in the most wonderful way.”
+
+“Do they have a hanging nest like Goldy's?” asked Peter a bit timidly.
+
+“Not such a deep one,” replied Striped Chipmunk. “They hang it between
+the twigs near the end of a branch, but they bind it more closely to the
+branch and it isn't deep enough to swing as Goldy's does.”
+
+Peter had just opened his mouth to ask another question when there was a
+loud sniffing sound farther up along the old stone wall. He didn't wait
+to hear it again. He knew that Bowser the Hound was coming.
+
+“Good-by, Striped Chipmunk! This is no place for me,” whispered Peter
+and started for the dear Old Briar-patch. He was in such a hurry to get
+there that on his way across the Green Meadows he almost ran into Jimmy
+Skunk before he saw him.
+
+“What's your hurry, Peter?” demanded Jimmy
+
+“Bowser the Hound almost found me up in the Old Orchard,” panted Peter.
+“It's a wonder he hasn't found my tracks. I expect he will any minute.
+I'm glad to see you, Jimmy, but I guess I'd better be moving along.”
+
+“Don't be in such a hurry, Peter. Don't be in such a hurry,” replied
+Jimmy, who himself never hurries. “Stop and talk a bit. That old
+nuisance won't bother you as long as you are with me.”
+
+Peter hesitated. He wanted to gossip, but he still felt nervous about
+Bowser the Hound. However, as he heard nothing of Bowser's great voice,
+telling all the world that he had found Peter's tracks, he decided to
+stop a few minutes. “What are you doing down here on the Green Meadows?”
+ he demanded.
+
+Jimmy grinned. “I'm looking for grasshoppers and grubs, if you must
+know,” said he. “And I've just got a notion I may find some fresh eggs.
+I don't often eat them, but once in a while one tastes good.”
+
+“If you ask me, it's a funny place to be looking for eggs down here on
+the Green Meadows,” replied Peter. “When I want a thing; I look for it
+where it is likely to be found.”
+
+“Just so, Peter; just so,” retorted Jimmy Skunk, nodding his head with
+approval. “That's why I am here.”
+
+Peter looked puzzled. He was puzzled. But before he could ask another
+question a rollicking song caused both of them to look up. There on
+quivering wings in mid-air was the singer. He was dressed very much like
+Jimmy Skunk himself, in black and white, save that in places the white
+had a tinge of yellow, especially on the back of his neck. It was
+Bubbling Bob the Bobolink. And how he did sing! It seemed as if the
+notes fairly tumbled over each other.
+
+Jimmy Skunk raised himself on his hind-legs a little to see just where
+Bubbling Bob dropped down in the grass. Then Jimmy began to move in that
+direction. Suddenly Peter understood. He remembered that Bubbling Bob's
+nest is always on the ground. It was his eggs that Jimmy Skunk was
+looking for.
+
+“You don't happen to have seen Mrs. Bob anywhere around here, do you,
+Peter?” asked Jimmy, trying to speak carelessly.
+
+“No,” replied Peter. “If I had I wouldn't tell you where. You ought to
+be ashamed, Jimmy Skunk, to think of robbing such a beautiful singer as
+Bubbling Bob.”
+
+“Pooh!” retorted Jimmy. “What's the harm? If I find those eggs he and
+Mrs. Bob could simply build another nest and lay some more. They won't
+be any the worse off, and I will have had a good breakfast.”
+
+“But think of all the work they would have to do to build another nest,”
+ replied Peter.
+
+“I should worry,” retorted Jimmy Skunk. “Any one who can spend so much
+time singing can afford to do a little extra work.”
+
+“You're horrid, Jimmy Skunk. You're just horrid,” said Peter. “I hope
+you won't find a single egg, so there!”
+
+With this, Peter once more headed for the dear Old Briar-patch,
+while Jimmy Skunk continued toward the place where Bubbling Bob had
+disappeared in the long grass. Peter went only a short distance and then
+sat up to watch Jimmy Skunk. Just before Jimmy reached the place where
+Bubbling Bob had disappeared, the latter mounted into the air again,
+pouring out his rollicking song as if there were no room in his heart
+for anything but happiness. Then he saw Jimmy Shrunk and became very
+much excited. He flew down in the grass a little farther on and then up
+again, and began to scold.
+
+It looked very much as if he had gone down in the grass to warn Mrs.
+Bob. Evidently Jimmy thought so, for he at once headed that way. When
+Bubbling Bob did the same thing all over again. Peter grew anxious. He
+knew just how patient Jimmy Skunk could be, and he very much feared
+that Jimmy would find that nest. Presently he grew tired of watching
+and started on for the dear Old Briar-patch. Just before he reached it a
+brown bird, who reminded him somewhat of Mrs. Redwing and Sally Sly the
+Cowbird, though she was smaller, ran across the path in front of him
+and then flew up to the top of a last year's mullein stalk. It was Mrs.
+Bobolink. Peter knew her well, for he and she were very good friends.
+
+“Oh!” cried Peter. “What are you doing here? Don't you know that Jimmy
+Skunk, is hunting for your nest over there? Aren't you worried to death?
+I would be if I were in your place.”
+
+Mrs. Bob chuckled. “Isn't he a dear? And isn't he smart?” said she,
+meaning Bubbling Bob, of course, and not Jimmy Skunk. “Just see him lead
+that black-and-white robber away.”
+
+Peter stared at her for a full minute. “Do you mean to say,” said he
+“that your nest isn't over there at all?”
+
+Mrs. Bob chuckled harder than ever. “Of course it isn't over there,”
+ said she.
+
+“Then where is it?” demanded Peter.
+
+“That's telling,” replied Mrs. Bob. “It isn't over there, and it isn't
+anywhere near there. But where it is is Bob's secret and mine, and we
+mean to keep it. Now I must go get something to eat,” and with a hasty
+farewell Mrs. Bobolink flew over to the other side of the dear Old
+Briar-patch.
+
+Peter remembered that he had seen Mrs. Bob running along the ground
+before she flew up to the old mullein stalk. He went back to the spot
+where he had first seen her and hunted all around in the grass, but
+without success. You see, Mrs. Bobolink had been quite as clever in
+fooling Peter as Bubbling Bob had been in fooling Jimmy Skunk.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. Bob White and Carol the Meadow Lark.
+
+“Bob--Bob White! Bob--Bob White! Bob--Bob White!” clear and sweet, that
+call floated over to the dear Old Briar-patch until Peter could stand it
+no longer. He felt that he just had to go over and pay an early morning
+call on one of his very best friends, who at this season of the year
+delights in whistling his own name--Bob White.
+
+“I suppose,” muttered Peter, “that Bob White has got a nest. I wish
+he would show it to me. He's terribly secretive about it. Last year I
+hunted for his nest until my feet were sore, but it wasn't the least bit
+of use. Then one morning I met Mrs. Bob White with fifteen babies out
+for a walk. How she could hide a nest with fifteen eggs in it is more
+than I can understand.”
+
+Peter left the Old Briar-patch and started off over the Green Meadows
+towards the Old Pasture. As he drew near the fence between the Green
+Meadows and the Old Pasture he saw Bob White sitting on one of the
+posts, whistling with all his might. On another post near him sat
+another bird very near the size of Welcome Robin. He also was telling
+all the world of his happiness. It was Carol the Meadow Lark.
+
+Peter was so intent watching these two friends of his that he took no
+heed to his footsteps. Suddenly there was a whirr from almost under
+his very nose and he stopped short, so startled that he almost squealed
+right out. In a second he recognized Mrs. Meadow Lark. He watched
+her fly over to where Carol was singing. Her stout little wings moved
+swiftly for a moment or two, then she sailed on without moving them at
+all. Then they fluttered rapidly again until she was flying fast enough
+to once more sail on them outstretched. The white outer feathers of her
+tail showed clearly and reminded Peter of the tail of Sweetvoice the
+Vesper Sparrow, only of course it was ever so much bigger.
+
+Peter sat still until Mrs. Meadow Lark had alighted on the fence near
+Carol. Then he prepared to hurry on, for he was anxious for a bit of
+gossip with these good friends of his. But just before he did this he
+just happened to glance down and there, almost at his very feet, he
+caught sight of something that made him squeal right out. It was a nest
+with four of the prettiest eggs Peter ever had seen. They were white
+with brown spots all over them. Had it not been for the eggs he never
+would have seen that nest, never in the world. It was made of dry, brown
+grass and was cunningly hidden is a little clump of dead grass which
+fell over it so as to almost completely hide it. But the thing that
+surprised Peter most was the clever way in which the approach to it was
+hidden. It was by means of a regular little tunnel of grass.
+
+“Oh!” cried Peter, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure. “This must be
+the nest of Mrs. Meadow Lark. No wonder I have never been able to find
+it, when I have looked for it. It is just luck and nothing else that
+I have found it this time. I think it is perfectly wonderful that Mrs.
+Meadow Lark can hide her home in such a way. I do hope Jimmy Skunk isn't
+anywhere around.”
+
+Peter sat up straight and anxiously looked this way and that way. Jimmy
+Skunk was nowhere to be seen and Peter gave a little sigh of relief.
+Very carefully he walked around that nest and its little tunnel, then
+hurried over toward the fence as fast as he could go.
+
+“It's perfectly beautiful, Carol!” he cried, just as soon as he was near
+enough. “And I won't tell a single soul!”
+
+“I hope not. I certainly hope not,” cried Mrs. Meadow Lark in an anxious
+tone. “I never would have another single easy minute if I thought you
+would tell a living soul about my nest. Promise that you won't, Peter.
+Cross your heart and promise that you won't.”
+
+Peter promptly crossed his heart and promised that he wouldn't tell a
+single soul. Mrs. Meadow Lark seemed to feel better. Right away she flew
+back and Peter turned to watch her. He saw her disappear in the grass,
+but it wasn't where he had found the nest. Peter waited a few minutes,
+thinking that he would see her rise into the air again and fly over to
+the nest. But he waited in vain. Then with a puzzled look on his face,
+he turned to look up at Carol.
+
+Carol's eyes twinkled. “I know what you're thinking, Peter,” he
+chuckled. “You are thinking that it is funny Mrs. Meadow Lark didn't go
+straight hack to our nest when she seemed so anxious about it. I would
+have you to know that she is too clever to do anything so foolish as
+that. She knows well enough that somebody might see her and so find our
+secret. She has walked there from the place where you saw her disappear
+in the grass. That is the way we always do when we go to our nest. One
+never can be too careful these days.”
+
+Then Carol began to pour out his happiness once more, quite as if
+nothing had interrupted his song.
+
+Somehow Peter never before had realized how handsome Carol the Meadow
+Lark was. As he faced Peter, the latter saw a beautiful yellow throat
+and waistcoat, with a broad black crescent on his breast. There was a
+yellow line above each eye. His back was of brown with black markings.
+His sides were whitish, with spats and streaks of black. The outer edges
+of his tail were white. Altogether he was really handsome, far handsomer
+than one would suspect, seeing him at a distance.
+
+Having found out Carol's secret, Peter was doubly anxious to find Bob
+White's home, so he hurried over to the post where Bob was whistling
+with all his might. “Bob!” cried Peter. “I've just found Carol's nest
+and I've promised to keep it a secret. Won't you show me your nest, too,
+if I'll promise to keep THAT a secret?”
+
+Rob threw back his head and laughed joyously. “You ought to know, Peter,
+by this time,” said he, “that there are secrets never to be told to
+anybody. My nest is one of these. If you find it, all right; but I
+wouldn't show it to my very best friend, and I guess I haven't any
+better friend than you, Peter.” Then from sheer happiness he whistled,
+“--Bob White! Bob--Bob White!” with all his might.
+
+Peter was disappointed and a little put out. “I guess,” said he, “I
+could find it if I wanted to. I guess it isn't any better hidden than
+Mrs. Meadow Lark's, and I found that. Some folks aren't as smart as they
+think they are.”
+
+Bob White, who is sometimes called Quail and sometimes called Partridge,
+and who is neither, chuckled heartily. “Go ahead, old Mr. Curiosity,
+go ahead and hunt all you please,” said he. “It's funny to me how some
+folks think themselves smart when the truth is they simply have been
+lucky. You know well enough that you just happened to find Carol's nest.
+If you happen to find mine, I won't have a word to say.”
+
+Bob White took a long breath, tipped his head back until his bill was
+pointing right up in the blue, blue sky, and with all his might whistled
+his name, “Bob--Bob White! Bob--Bob White!”
+
+As Peter looked at him it came over him that Bob White was the plumpest
+bird of his acquaintance. He was so plump that his body seemed almost
+round. The shortness of his tail added to this effect, for Bob has a
+very short tail. The upper part of his coat was a handsome reddish-brown
+with dark streaks and light edgings. His sides and the upper part of his
+breast were of the same handsome reddish-brown, while underneath he was
+whitish with little bars of black. His throat was white, and above each
+eye was a broad white stripe. His white throat was bordered with black,
+and a band of black divided the throat from the white line above each
+eye. The top of his head was mixed black and brown. Altogether he was a
+handsome little fellow in a modest way.
+
+Suddenly Bob White stopped whistling and looked down at Peter with a
+twinkle in his eye. “Why don't you go hunt for that nest, Peter?” said
+he.
+
+“I'm going,” replied Peter rather shortly, for he knew that Bob knew
+that he hadn't the least idea where to look. It might be somewhere on
+the Green Meadows or it might be in the Old Pasture; Bob hadn't given
+the least hint. Peter had a feeling that the nest wasn't far away and
+that it was on the Green Meadows, so he began to hunt, running aimlessly
+this way and that way, all the time feeling very foolish, for of course
+he knew that Bob White was watching him and chuckling down inside.
+
+It was very warm down there on the Green Meadows, and Peter grew hot and
+tired. He decided to run up in the Old Pasture in the shade of an old
+bramble-tangle there. Just the other side of the fence was a path made
+by the cows and often used by Farmer Brown's boy and Reddy Fox and
+others who visited the Old Pasture. Along this Peter scampered,
+lipperty-lipperty-lip, on his way to the bramble-tangle. He didn't look
+either to right or left. It didn't occur to him that there would be any
+use at all, for of course no one would build a nest near a path where
+people passed to and fro every day.
+
+And so it was that in his happy-go-lucky way Peter scampered right past
+a clump of tall weeds close beside the path without the least suspicion
+that cleverly hidden in it was the very thing he was looking for. With
+laughter in her eyes, shrewd little Mrs. Bob White, with sixteen white
+eggs under her, watched him pass. She had chosen that very place for her
+nest because she knew that it was the last place anyone would expect to
+find it. The very fact that it seemed the most dangerous place she could
+have chosen made it the safest.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. A Swallow and One Who Isn't.
+
+Johnny and Polly Chuck had made their home between the roots of an old
+apple-tree in the far corner of the Old Orchard. You know they have
+their bedroom way down in the ground, and it is reached by a long hall.
+They had dug their home between the roots of that old apple-tree because
+they had discovered that there was just room enough between those
+spreading roots for them to pass in and out, and there wasn't room to
+dig the entrance any larger. So they felt quite safe from Reddy Fox; and
+Bowser the Hound, either of whom would have delighted to dig them out
+but for those roots.
+
+Right in front of their doorway was a very nice doorstep of shining
+sand where Johnny Chuck delighted to sit when he had a full stomach and
+nothing else to do. Johnny's nearest neighbors had made their home only
+about five feet above Johnny's head when he sat up on his doorstep. They
+were Skimmer the Tree Swallow and his trim little wife, and the doorway
+of their home was a little round hole in the trunk of that apple-tree, a
+hole which had been cut some years before by one of the Woodpeckers.
+
+Johnny and Skimmer were the best of friends. Johnny used to delight in
+watching Skimmer dart out from beneath the branches of the trees and
+wheel and turn and glide, now sometimes high in the blue, blue sky, and
+again just skimming the tops of the grass, on wings which seemed never
+to tire. But he liked still better the bits of gossip when Skimmer would
+sit in his doorway and chat about his neighbors of the Old Orchard and
+his adventures out in the Great World during his long journeys to and
+from the far-away South.
+
+To Johnny Chuck's way of thinking, there was no one quite so trim and
+neat appearing as Skimmer with his snowy white breast and blue-green
+back and wings. Two things Johnny always used to wonder at, Skimmer's
+small bill and short legs. Finally he ventured to ask Skimmer about
+them.
+
+“Gracious, Johnny!” exclaimed Skimmer. “I wouldn't have a big bill for
+anything. I wouldn't know what to do with it; it would be in the
+way. You see, I get nearly all my food in the air when I am flying,
+mosquitoes and flies and all sorts of small insects with wings. I don't
+have to pick them off trees and bushes or from the ground and so I don't
+need any more of a bill than I have. It's the same way with my legs.
+Have you ever seen me walking on the ground?”
+
+Johnny thought a moment. “No,” said he, “now you speak of it, I never
+have.”
+
+“And have you ever seen me hopping about in the branches of a tree?”
+ persisted Skimmer.
+
+Again Johnny Chuck admitted that he never had.
+
+“The only use I have for feet,” continued Skimmer, “is for perching
+while I rest. I don't need long legs for walking or hopping about, so
+Mother Nature has made my legs very short. You see I spend most of my
+time in the air.”
+
+“I suppose it's the same with your cousin; Sooty the Chimney Swallow,”
+ said Johnny.
+
+“That shows just how much some people know!” twittered Skimmer
+indignantly. “The idea of calling Sooty a Swallow! The very idea! I'd
+leave you to know, Johnny Chuck, that Sooty isn't even related to me.
+He's a Swift, and not a Swallow.”
+
+“He looks like a Swallow,” protested Johnny Chuck.
+
+“He doesn't either. You just think he does because he happens to spend
+most of his time in the air the way we Swallows do,” sputtered Skimmer.
+“The Swallow family never would admit such a homely looking fellow as he
+is as a member.
+
+“Tut, tut, tut, tut! I do believe Skimmer is jealous,” cried Jenny Wren,
+who had happened along just in time to hear Skimmer's last remarks.
+
+“Nothing of the sort,” declared Skimmer, growing still more indignant.
+“I'd like to know what there is about Sooty the Chimney Swift that could
+possibly make a Swallow jealous.”
+
+Jenny Wren cocked her tail up in that saucy way of hers and winked at
+Johnny Chuck. “The way he can fly,” said she softly.
+
+“The way he can fly!” sputtered Skimmer, “The way he can fly! Why, there
+never was a day in his life that he could fly like a Swallow. There
+isn't any one more graceful on the wing than I am, if I do say so. And
+there isn't any one more ungraceful than Sooty.”
+
+Just then there was a shrill chatter overhead and all looked up to see
+Sooty the Chimney Swift racing through the sky as if having the very
+best time in the world. His wings would beat furiously and then he would
+glide very much as you or I would on skates. It was quite true that he
+wasn't graceful. But he could twist and turn and cut up all sorts of
+antics, such as Skimmer never dreamed of doing.
+
+“He can use first one wing and then the other, while you have to use
+both wings at once,” persisted Jenny Wren. “You couldn't, to save your
+life, go straight down into a chimney, and you know it, Skimmer. He can
+do things with his wings which you can't do, nor any other bird.”
+
+“That may be true, but just the same I'm not the least teeny weeny bit
+jealous of him,” said Skimmer, and darted away to get beyond the reach
+of Jenny's sharp tongue.
+
+“Is it really true that he and Sooty are not related?” asked Johnny
+Chuck, as they watched Skimmer cutting airy circles high up in the slay.
+
+Jenny nodded. “It's quite true, Johnny,” said site. “Sooty belongs to
+another family altogether. He's a funny fellow. Did you ever in your
+life see such narrow wings? And his tail is hardly worth calling a
+tail.”
+
+Johnny Chuck laughed. “Way up there in the air he looks almost alike at
+both ends,” said he. “Is he all black?”
+
+“He isn't black at all,” declared Jenny. “He is sooty-brown, rather
+grayish on the throat and breast. Speaking of that tail of his, the
+feathers end in little, sharp, stiff points. He uses them in the same
+way that Downy the Woodpecker uses his tail feathers when he braces
+himself with them on the trunk of a tree.”
+
+“But I've never seen Sooty on the trunk of a tree,” protested Johnny
+Chuck. “In fact, I've never seen him anywhere but in the air.”
+
+“And you never will,” snapped Jenny. “The only place he ever alights is
+inside a chimney or inside a hollow tree. There he clings to the side
+just as Downy the Woodpecker clings to the trunk of a tree.”
+
+Johnny looked as if he didn't quite believe this. “If that's the case
+where does he nest?” he demanded. “And where does he sleep?”
+
+“In a chimney, stupid. In a chimney, of course,” retorted Jenny Wren.
+“He fastens his nest right to the inside of a chimney. He makes a
+regular little basket of twigs and fastens it to the side of the
+chimney.”
+
+“Are you trying to stuff me with nonsense?” asked Johnny Chuck
+indignantly. “How can he fasten his nest to the side of a chimney unless
+there's a little shelf to put it on? And if he never alights, how does
+he get the little sticks to make a nest of? I'd just like to know how
+you expect me to believe any such story as that.”
+
+Jenny Wren's sharp little eyes snapped. “If you half used your eyes you
+wouldn't have to ask me how he gets those little sticks,” she sputtered.
+“If you had watched him when he was flying close to the tree tops you
+would have seen him clutch little dead twigs in his claws and snap them
+off without stopping. That's the way he gets his little sticks, Mr.
+Smarty, He fastens them together with a sticky substance he has in his
+mouth, and he fastens the nest to the side of the chimney in the same
+way. You can believe it or not, but it's so.”
+
+“I believe it, Jenny, I believe it,” replied Johnny Chuck very humbly.
+“If you please, Jenny, does Sooty get all his food in the air too?”
+
+“Of course,” replied Jenny tartly. “He eats nothing but insects, and he
+catches them flying. Now I must get back to my duties at home.”
+
+“Just tell me one more thing,” cried Johnny Chuck hastily. “Hasn't Sooty
+any near relatives as most birds have?”
+
+“He hasn't any one nearer than some sort of second cousins, Boomer the
+Nighthawk, Whippoorwill, and Hummer the Hummingbird.”
+
+“What?” cried Johnny Chuck, quite as if he couldn't believe he had heard
+aright. “Did you say Hummer the Hummingbird?” But he got no reply, for
+Jenny Wren was already beyond hearing.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. A Robber in the Old Orchard.
+
+“I don't believe it,” muttered Johnny Chuck out loud. “I don't believe
+Jenny Wren knows what she's talking about.”
+
+“What is it Jenny Wren has said that you don't believe?” demanded
+Skimmer the Tree Swallow, as he once more settled himself in his
+doorway.
+
+“She said that Hummer the Hummingbird is a sort of second cousin to
+Sooty the Chimney Swift,” replied Johnny Chuck.
+
+“Well, it's so, if you don't believe it,” declared Skimmer. “I don't see
+that that is any harder to believe than that you are cousin to Striped
+Chipmunk and Nappy Jack the Gray Squirrel. To look at you no one would
+ever think you are a member of the Squirrel family, but you must admit
+that you are.”
+
+Johnny Chuck nodded his head thoughtfully. “Yes,” said he, “I am, even
+if I don't look it. This is a funny world, isn't it? You can't always
+tell by a person's looks who he may be related to. Now that I've found
+out that Sooty isn't related to you and is related to Hummer, I'll never
+dare guess again about anybody's relatives. I always supposed Twitter
+the Martin to be a relative of yours, but now that I've learned that
+Sooty isn't, I suspect that Twitter isn't either.”
+
+“Oh, yes, he is,” replied Skimmer promptly. “He's the largest of the
+Swallow family, and we all feel very proud of him. Everybody loves him.”
+
+“Is he as black as he looks, flying round up in the air?” asked Johnny
+Chuck. “He never comes down here as you do where a fellow can get a good
+look at him.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Skimmer, “he dresses all in black, but it is a beautiful
+blue-black, and when the sun shines on his back it seems to be almost
+purple. That is why some folks call him the Purple Martin. He is one of
+the most social fellows I know of. I like a home by myself, such as I've
+got here, but Twitter loves company. He likes to live in an apartment
+house with a lot of his own kind. That is why he always looks for one of
+those houses with a lot of rooms in it, such as Farmer Brown's boy has
+put up on the top of that tall pole out in his back yard. He pays for
+all the trouble Farmer Brown's boy took to put that house up. If there
+is anybody who catches more flies and winged insects than Twitter, I
+don't know who it is.”
+
+“How about me?” demanded a new voice, as a graceful form skimmed
+over Johnny Chuck's head, and turning like a flash, came back. It was
+Forktail the Barn Swallow, the handsomest and one of the most graceful
+of all the Swallow family. He passed so close to Johnny that the latter
+had a splendid chance to see and admire his glistening steel-blue back
+and the beautiful chestnut-brown of his forehead and throat with its
+narrow black collar, and the brown to buff color of his under parts. But
+the thing that was most striking about him was his tail, which was so
+deeply forked as to seem almost like two tails.
+
+“I would know him as far as I could see him just by his tail alone,”
+ exclaimed Johnny. “I don't know of any other tail at all like it.”
+
+“There isn't any other like it,” declared Skimmer. “If Twitter the
+Martin is the largest of our family, Forktail is the handsomest.”
+
+“How about my usefulness?” demanded Forktail, as he came skimming past
+again. “Cousin Twitter certainly does catch a lot of flies and insects
+but I'm willing to go against him any day to see who can catch the
+most.”
+
+With this he darted away. Watching him they saw him alight on the top of
+Farmer Brown's barn. “It's funny,” remarked Johnny Chuck, “but as long
+as I've known Forktail, and I've known him ever since I was big enough
+to know anybody, I've never found out how he builds his nest. I've seen
+him skimming over the Green Meadows times without number, and often he
+comes here to the Old Orchard as he did just now, but I've never seen
+him stop anywhere except over on that barn.”
+
+“That's where he nests,” chuckled Skimmer.
+
+“What?” cried Johnny Chuck. “Do you mean to say he nests on Farmer
+Brown's barn?”
+
+“No,” replied Skimmer. “He nests in it. That's why he is called the Barn
+Swallow, and why you never have seen his nest. If you'll just go over to
+Farmer Brown's barn and look up in the roof, you'll see Forktail's nest
+there somewhere.”
+
+“Me go over to Farmer Brown's barn!” exclaimed Johnny Chuck. “Do you
+think I'm crazy?”
+
+Skimmer chuckled. “Forktail isn't crazy,” said he, “and he goes in and
+out of that barn all day long. I must say I wouldn't care to build in
+such a place myself, but he seems to like it. There's one thing about
+it, his home is warm and dry and comfortable, no matter what the weather
+is. I wouldn't trade with him, though. No, sir, I wouldn't trade with
+him for anything. Give me a hollow in a tree well lined with feathers to
+a nest made of mud and straw, even if it is feather-lined.”
+
+“Do you mean that such a neat-looking, handsome fellow as Forktail uses
+mud in his nest?” cried Johnny.
+
+Skimmer bobbed his head. “He does just that,” said he. “He's something
+like Welcome Robin in this respect. I--”
+
+But Johnny Chuck never knew what Skimmer was going to say next, for
+Skimmer happened at that instant to glance up. For an instant he sat
+motionless with horror, then with a shriek he darted out into the air.
+At the sound of that shriek Mrs. Skimmer, who all the time had been
+sitting on her eggs inside the hollow of the tree, darted out of her
+doorway, also shrieking. For a moment Johnny Chuck couldn't imagine what
+could be the trouble. Then a slight rustling drew his eyes to a crotch
+in the tree a little above the doorway of Skimmer's home. There, partly
+coiled around a branch, with head swaying to and fro, eyes glittering
+and forked tongue darting out and in, as he tried to look down into
+Skimmer's nest, was Mr. Blacksnake.
+
+It seemed to Johnny as if in a minute every bird in the Old Orchard had
+arrived on the scene. Such a shrieking and screaming as there was! First
+one and then another would dart at Mr. Blacksnake, only to lose courage
+at the last second and turn aside. Poor Skimmer and his little wife were
+frantic. They did their utmost to distract Mr. Blacksnake's attention,
+darting almost into his very face and then away again before he could
+strike. But Mr. Blacksnake knew that they were powerless to hurt him,
+and he knew that there were eggs in that nest. There is nothing he
+loves better than eggs unless it is a meal of baby birds. Beyond hissing
+angrily two or three times he paid no attention to Skimmer or his
+friends, but continued to creep nearer the entrance to that nest.
+
+At last he reached a position where he could put his head in the
+doorway. As he did so, Skimmer and Mrs. Skimmer each gave a little cry
+of hopelessness and despair. But no sooner had his head disappeared in
+the hole in the old apple-tree than Scrapper the Kingbird struck him
+savagely. Instantly Mr. Blacksnake withdrew his head, hissing fiercely,
+and struck savagely at the birds nearest him. Several times the same
+thing happened. No sooner would his head disappear in that hole than
+Scrapper or one or the other of Skimmer's friends, braver than the rest,
+would dart in and peck at him viciously, and all the time all the birds
+were screaming as only excited feathered folk can. Johnny Chuck was
+quite as excited as his feathered friends, and so intent watching the
+hated black robber that he had eyes for nothing else. Suddenly he heard
+a step just behind him. He turned his head and then frantically dived
+head first down into his hole. He had looked right up into the eyes of
+Farmer Brown's boy!
+
+“Ha, ha!” cried Farmer Brown's boy, “I thought as much!” And with a long
+switch he struck Mr. Blacksnake just as the latter had put his head in
+that doorway, resolved to get those eggs this time. But when he felt
+that switch and heard the voice of Farmer Brown's boy he changed his
+mind in a flash. He simply let go his hold on that tree and dropped. The
+instant he touched the ground he was off like a shot for the safety of
+the old stone wall, Farmer Brown's boy after him. Farmer Brown's boy
+didn't intend to kill Mr. Blacksnake, but he did want to give him such a
+fright that he wouldn't visit the Old Orchard again in a hurry, and this
+he quite succeeded in doing.
+
+No sooner had Mr. Blacksnake disappeared than all the birds set up such
+a rejoicing that you would have thought they, and not Farmer Brown's
+boy, had saved the eggs of Mr. and Mrs. Skimmer. Listening to them,
+Johnny Chuck just had to smile.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. More Robbers.
+
+By the sounds of rejoicing among the feathered folks of the Old Orchard
+Johnny Chuck knew that it was quite safe for him to come out. He
+was eager to tell Skimmer the Tree Swallow how glad he was that Mr.
+Blacksnake had been driven away before he could get Skimmer's eggs. As
+he poked his head out of his doorway he became aware that something was
+still wrong in the Old Orchard. Into the glad chorus there broke a
+note of distress and sorrow. Johnny instantly recognized the voices
+of Welcome Robin and Mrs. Robin. There is not one among his feathered
+neighbors who can so express worry and sorrow as can the Robins.
+
+Johnny was just in time to see all the birds hurrying over to that part
+of the Old Orchard where the Robins had built their home. The rejoicing
+suddenly gave way to cries of indignation and anger, and Johnny caught
+the words, “Robber! Thief! Wretch!” It appeared that there was just as
+much excitement over there as there had been when Mr. Blacksnake had
+been discovered trying to rob Skimmer and Mrs. Skimmer. It couldn't be
+Mr. Blacksnake again, because Farmer Brown's boy had chased him in quite
+another direction.
+
+“What is it now?” asked Johnny of Skimmer, who was still excitedly
+discussing with Mrs. Skimmer their recent fright.
+
+“I don't know, but I'm going to find out,” replied Skimmer and darted
+away.
+
+Johnny Chuck waited patiently. The excitement among the birds seemed
+to increase, and the chattering and angry cries grew louder. Only the
+voices of Welcome and Mrs. Robin were not angry. They were mournful, as
+if Welcome and Mrs. Robin were heartbroken. Presently Skimmer came back
+to tell Mrs. Skimmer the news.
+
+“The Robins have lost their eggs!” he cried excitedly. “All four have
+been broken and eaten. Mrs. Robin left them to come over here to help
+drive away Mr. Blacksnake, and while she was here some one ate those
+eggs. Nobody knows who it could have been, because all the birds of the
+Old Orchard were over here at that time. It might leave been Chatterer
+the Red Squirrel, or it might have been Sammy Jay, or it might have been
+Creaker the Grackle, or it might have been Blacky the Crow. Whoever it
+was just took that chance to sneak over there and rob that nest when
+there was no one to see him.”
+
+Just then from over towards the Green Forest sounded a mocking “Caw,
+caw, caw!” Instantly the noise in the Old Orchard ceased for a moment.
+Then it broke out afresh. There wasn't a doubt now in any one's mind.
+Blacky the Crow was the robber. How those tongues did go! There was
+nothing too bad to say about Blacky. And such dreadful things as those
+birds promised to do to Blacky the Crow if ever they should catch him in
+the Old Orchard.
+
+“Caw, caw, caw!” shouted Blacky from the distance, and his voice sounded
+very much as if he thought he had done something very smart. It was
+quite clear that at least he was not sorry for what he had done.
+
+All the birds were so excited and so angry, as they gathered around
+Welcome and Mrs. Robin trying to comfort them, that it was some time
+before their indignation meeting broke up and they returned to their own
+homes and duties. Almost at once there was another cry of distress.
+Mr. and Mrs. Chebec had been robbed of their eggs! While they had been
+attending the indignation meeting at the home of the Robins, a thief had
+taken the chance to steal their eggs and get away.
+
+Of course right away all the birds hurried over to sympathize with the
+Chebecs and to repeat against the unknown thief all the threats they
+had made against Blacky the Crow. They knew it couldn't have been Blacky
+this time because they had heard Blacky cawing over on the edge of the
+Green Forest. In the midst of the excited discussion as to who the thief
+was, Weaver the Orchard Oriole spied a blue and white feather on the
+ground just below Chebec's nest.
+
+“It was Sammy Jay! There is no doubt about it, it was Sammy Jay!” he
+cried.
+
+At the sight of that telltale feather all the birds knew that Weaver was
+right, and led by Scrapper the Kingbird they began a noisy search of the
+Old Orchard for the sly robber. But Sammy wasn't to be found, and they
+soon gave up the search, none daring to stay longer away from his
+own home lest something should happen there. Welcome and Mrs. Robin
+continued to cry mournfully, but little Mr. and Mrs. Chebec bore their
+trouble almost silently.
+
+“There is one thing about it,” said Mr. Chebec to his sorrowful little
+wife, “that egg of Sally Sly's went with the rest, and we won't have to
+raise that bothersome orphan.”
+
+“That's true,” said she. “There is no use crying over what can't be
+helped. It is a waste of time to sit around crying. Come on, Chebec,
+let's look for a place to build another nest. Next time I won't leave
+the eggs unwatched for a minute.”
+
+Meanwhile Jenny Wren's tongue was fairly flying as she chattered to
+Peter Rabbit, who had come up in the midst of the excitement and of
+course had to know all about it.
+
+“Blacky the Crow has a heart as black as his coat, and his cousin Sammy
+Jay isn't much better,” declared Jenny. “They belong to a family of
+robbers.”
+
+“Wait a minute,” cried Peter. “Do you mean to say that Blacky the Crow
+and Sammy Jay are cousins?”
+
+“For goodness' sake, Peter!” exclaimed Jenny, “do you mean to say that
+you don't know that? Of course they're cousins. They don't look much
+alike, but they belong to the same family. I would expect almost
+anything bad of any one as black as Blacky the Crow. But how such
+a handsome fellow as Sammy Jay can do such dreadful things I don't
+understand. He isn't as bad as Blacky, because he does do a lot of good.
+He destroys a lot of caterpillars and other pests.
+
+“There are no sharper eyes anywhere than those of Sammy Jay, and I'll
+have to say this for him, that whenever he discovers any danger he
+always gives us warning. He has saved the lives of a good many of us
+feathered folks in this way. If it wasn't for this habit of stealing our
+eggs I wouldn't have a word to say against him, but at that, he isn't
+as bad as Blacky the Crow. They say Blacky does some good by destroying
+white grubs and some other harmful pests, but he's a regular cannibal,
+for he is just as fond of young birds as he is of eggs, and the harm he
+does in this way is more than the good he does in other ways. He's bold,
+black, and bad, if you ask me.”
+
+Remembering her household duties, Jenny Wren disappeared inside her
+house in her usual abrupt fashion. Peter hung around for a while but
+finding no one who would take the time to talk to him he suddenly
+decided to go over to the Green Forest to look for some of his friends
+there. He had gone but a little way in the Green Forest when he caught a
+glimpse of a blue form stealing away through the trees. He knew it in
+an instant, for there is no one with such a coat but Sammy Jay. Peter
+glanced up in the tree from which Sammy had flown and there he saw a
+nest in a crotch halfway up. “I wonder,” thought Peter, “if Sammy was
+stealing eggs there, or if that is his own nest.” Then he started
+after Sammy as fast as he could go, lipperty-lipperty-lip. As he ran he
+happened to look back and was just in time to see Mrs. Jay slip on
+to the nest. Then Peter knew that he had discovered Sammy's home. He
+chuckled as he ran.
+
+“I've found out your secret, Sammy Jay!” cried Peter when at last he
+caught up with Sammy.
+
+“Then I hope you'll be gentleman enough to keep it,” grumbled Sammy,
+looking not at all pleased.
+
+“Certainly,” replied Peter with dignity. “I wouldn't think of telling
+any one. My, what a handsome fellow you are, Sammy.”
+
+Sammy looked pleased. He is a little bit vain, is Sammy Jay. There is no
+denying that he is handsome. He is just a bit bigger than Welcome Robin.
+His back is grayish-blue. His tail is a bright blue crossed with little
+black bars and edged with white. His wings are blue with white and black
+bars. His throat and breast are a soft grayish-white, and he wears a
+collar of black. On his head he wears a pointed cap, a very convenient
+cap, for at times he draws it down so that it is not pointed at all.
+
+“Why did you steal Mrs. Chebec's eggs?” demanded Peter abruptly.
+
+Sammy didn't look the least bit put out. “Because I like eggs,” he
+replied promptly. “If people will leave their eggs unguarded they must
+expect to lose them. How did you know I took those eggs?”
+
+“Never mind, Sammy; never mind. A little bird told me,” retorted Peter
+mischievously.
+
+Sammy opened his mouth for a sharp reply, but instead he uttered a cry
+of warning. “Run, Peter! Run! Here comes Reddy Fox!” he cried.
+
+Peter dived headlong under a great pile of brush. There he was quite
+safe. While he waited for Reddy Fox to go away he thought about Sammy
+Jay. “It's funny,” he mused, “how so much good and so much bad can be
+mixed together. Sammy Jay stole Chebec's eggs, and then he saved my
+life. I just know he would have done as much for Mr. and Mrs. Chebec,
+or for any other feathered neighbor. He can only steal eggs for a little
+while in the spring. I guess on the whole he does more good than harm.
+I'm going to think so anyway.”
+
+Peter was quite right. Sammy Jay does do more good than harm.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. Some Homes in the Green Forest.
+
+Reddy Fox wasted very little time waiting for Peter Rabbit to come
+out from under that pile of brush where he had hidden at Sammy Jay's
+warning. After making some terrible threats just to try to frighten
+Peter, he trotted away to look for some Mice. Peter didn't mind those
+threats at all. He was used to them. He knew that he was safe where he
+was, and all he had to do was to stay there until Reddy should be so far
+away that it would be safe to come out.
+
+Just to pass away the time Peter took a little nap. When he awoke he sat
+for a few minutes trying to make up his mind where to go and what to do
+next. From 'way over in the direction of the Old Pasture the voice of
+Blacky the Crow reached him. Peter pricked up his ears, then chuckled.
+
+“Reddy Fox has gone back to the Old Pasture and Blacky has discovered
+him there,” he thought happily. You see, he understood what Blacky was
+saying. To you or me Blacky would have been saying simply, “Caw! Caw!”
+ But to all the little people of the Green Forest and Green Meadows
+within hearing he was shouting, “Fox! Fox!”
+
+“I wonder,” thought Peter, “where Blacky is nesting this year. Last
+year his nest was in a tall pine-tree not far from the edge of the Green
+Forest. I believe I'll run over there and see if he has a new nest near
+the old one.”
+
+So Peter scampered over to the tall pine in which was Blacky's old nest.
+As he sat with his head tipped back, staring up at it, it struck him
+that that nest didn't look so old, after all. In fact, it looked as if
+it had recently been fixed up quite like new. He was wondering about
+this and trying to guess what it meant, when Blacky himself alighted
+close to the edge of it.
+
+There was something in his bill, though what it was Peter couldn't see.
+Almost at once a black head appeared above the edge of the nest and
+a black bill seized the thing which Blacky had brought. Then the head
+disappeared and Blacky silently flew away.
+
+“As sure as I live,” thought Peter, “that was Mrs. Blacky, and Blacky
+brought her some food so that she would not have to leave those eggs she
+must have up there. He may be the black-hearted robber every one says he
+is, but he certainly is a good husband. He's a better husband than some
+others I know, of whom nothing but good is said. It just goes to show
+that there is some good in the very worst folks. Blacky is a sly old
+rascal. Usually he is as noisy as any one I know, but he came and went
+without making a sound. Now I think of it, I haven't once heard his
+voice near here this spring. I guess if Farmer Brown's boy could find
+this nest he would get even with Blacky for pulling up his corn. I know
+a lot of clever people, but no one quite so clever as Blacky the Crow.
+With all his badness I can't help liking him.”
+
+Twice, while Peter watched, Blacky returned with food for Mrs. Blacky.
+Then, tired of keeping still so long, Peter decided to run over to a
+certain place farther in the Green Forest which was seldom visited
+by any one. It was a place Peter usually kept away from. It was pure
+curiosity which led him to go there now. The discovery that Blacky the
+Crow was using his old nest had reminded Peter that Redtail the Hawk
+uses his old nest year after year, and he wanted to find out if Redtail
+had come back to it this year.
+
+Halfway over to that lonesome place in the Green Forest a trim little
+bird flew up from the ground, hopped from branch to branch of a tree,
+walked along a limb, then from pure happiness threw back his head and
+cried, “Teacher, teacher, teacher, teacher, teacher!” each time a little
+louder than before. It was Teacher the Oven Bird.
+
+In his delight at seeing this old friend, Peter quite forgot Redtail the
+Hawk. “Oh, Teacher!” cried Peter. “I'm so glad to see you again!”
+
+Teacher stopped singing and looked down at Peter. “If you are so glad
+why haven't you been over to see me before?” he demanded. “I've been
+here for some time.”
+
+Peter looked a little foolish. “The truth is, Teacher,” said he very
+humbly, “I have been visiting the Old Orchard so much and learning so
+many things that this is the first chance I have had to come 'way over
+here in the Green Forest. You see, I have been learning a lot of things
+about you feathered folks, things I hadn't even guessed. There is
+something I wish you'd tell me, Teacher; will you?”
+
+“That depends on what it is,” replied Teacher, eyeing Peter a little
+suspiciously.
+
+“It is why you are called Oven Bird,” said Peter.
+
+“Is that all?” asked Teacher. Then without waiting for a reply he added,
+“It is because of the way Mrs. Teacher and I build our nest. Some people
+think it is like an oven and so they call us Oven Birds. I think that is
+a silly name myself, quite as silly as Golden Crowned Thrush, which is
+what some people call me. I'm not a Thrush. I'm not even related to the
+Thrush family. I'm a Warbler, a Wood Warbler.”
+
+“I suppose,” said Peter, looking at Teacher thoughtfully, “they've given
+you that name because you are dressed something like the Thrushes. That
+olive-green coat, and white waistcoat all streaked and spotted with
+black, certainly does remind me of the Thrush family. If you were not so
+much smaller than any of the Thrushes I should almost think you were
+one myself. Why, you are not very much bigger than Chippy the Chipping
+Sparrow, only you've got longer legs. I suppose that's because you spend
+so much time on the ground. I think that just Teacher is the best name
+for you. No one who has once heard you could ever mistake you for any
+one else. By the way, Teacher, where did you say your nest is?”
+
+“I didn't say,” retorted Teacher. “What's more, I'm not going to say.”
+
+“Won't you at least tell me if it is in a tree?” begged Peter.
+
+Teacher's eyes twinkled. “I guess it won't do any harm to tell you that
+much,” said he. “No, it isn't in a tree. It is on the ground and, if I
+do say it, it is as well hidden a nest as anybody can build. Oh, Peter,
+watch your step! Watch your step!” Teacher fairly shrieked this warning.
+
+Peter, who had just started to hop off to his right, stopped short
+in sheer astonishment. Just in front of him was a tiny mound of dead
+leaves, and a few feet beyond Mrs. Teacher was fluttering about on the
+ground as if badly hurt. Peter simply didn't know what to make of it.
+Once more he made a movement as if to hop. Teacher flew right down in
+front of him. “You'll step on my nest!” he cried.
+
+Peter stared, for he didn't see any nest. He said as much.
+
+“It's under that little mound of leaves right in front of your feet!”
+ cried Teacher. “I wasn't going to tell you, but I just had to or you
+certainly would have stepped on it.”
+
+Very carefully Peter walked around the little bunch of leaves and peered
+under them from the other side. There, sure enough, was a nest beneath
+them, and in it four speckled eggs. “I won't tell a soul, Teacher. I
+promise you I won't tell a soul,” declared Peter very earnestly. “I
+understand now why you are called Oven Bird, but I still like the name
+Teacher best.”
+
+Feeling that Mr. and Mrs. Teacher would feel easier in their minds if he
+left them, Peter said good-by and started on for the lonesome place
+in the Green Forest where he knew the old nest of Redtail the Hawk had
+been. As he drew near the place he kept sharp watch through the treetops
+for a glimpse of Redtail. Presently he saw him high in the blue sky,
+sailing lazily in big circles. Then Peter became very, very cautious.
+He tiptoed forward, keeping under cover as much as possible. At last,
+peeping out from beneath a little hemlock-tree, he could see Redtail's
+old nest. He saw right away that it was bigger than it had been when he
+saw it last. Suddenly there was a chorus of hungry cries and Peter saw
+Mrs. Redtail approaching with a Mouse in her claws. From where he sat he
+could see four funny heads stretched above the edge of the nest.
+
+“Redtail is using his old nest again and has got a family already,”
+ exclaimed Peter. “I guess this is no place for me. The sooner I get away
+from here the better.”
+
+Just then Redtail himself dropped down out of the blue, blue sky and
+alighted on a tree close at hand. Peter decided that the best thing he
+could do was to sit perfectly still where he was. He had a splendid view
+of Redtail, and he couldn't help but admire this big member of the Hawk
+family. The upper parts of his coat were a dark grayish-brown mixed with
+touches of chestnut color. The upper part of his breast was streaked
+with grayish-brown and buff, the lower part having but few streaks.
+Below this were black spots and bars ending in white. But it was the
+tail which Peter noticed most of all. It was a rich reddish-brown with a
+narrow black band near its end and a white tip. Peter understood at once
+why this big Hawk is called Redtail.
+
+It was not until Mr. and Mrs. Redtail had gone in quest of more food for
+their hungry youngsters that Peter dared steal away. As soon as he
+felt it safe to do so, he headed for home as fast as he could go,
+lipperty-lipperty-lip. He knew that he wouldn't feel safe until that
+lonesome place in the Green Forest was far behind.
+
+Yet if the truth be known, Peter had less cause to worry than would have
+been the case had it been some other member of the Hawk family instead
+of Redtail. And while Redtail and his wife do sometimes catch some of
+their feathered and furred neighbors, and once in a while a chicken,
+they do vastly more good than harm.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. A Maker of Thunder and a Friend in Black.
+
+Peter Rabbit's intentions were of the best. Once safely away from that
+lonesome part of the Green Forest where was the home of Redtail the
+Hawk, he intended to go straight back to the dear Old Briar-patch. But
+he was not halfway there when from another direction in the Green Forest
+there came a sound that caused him to stop short and quite forget all
+about home. It was a sound very like distant thunder. It began slowly at
+first and then went faster and faster. Boom--Boom--Boom--Boom-Boom-Boom
+Boo-Boo-B-B-B-B-b-b-b-b-boom! It was like the long roll on a bass drum.
+
+Peter laughed right out. “That's Strutter the Stuffed Grouse!” he cried
+joyously. “I had forgotten all about him. I certainly must go over and
+pay him a call and find out where Mrs. Grouse is. My, how Strutter can
+drum!”
+
+Peter promptly headed towards that distant thunder. As he drew nearer
+to it, it sounded louder and louder. Presently Peter stopped to try to
+locate exactly the place where that sound, which now was more than ever
+like thunder, was coming from. Suddenly Peter remembered something.
+“I know just where he is,” said he to himself. “There's a big, mossy,
+hollow log over yonder, and I remember that Mrs. Grouse once told me
+that that is Strutter's thunder log.”
+
+Very, very carefully Peter stole forward, making no sound at all. At
+last he reached a place where he could peep out and see that big, mossy,
+hollow log. Sure enough, there was Strutter the Ruffed Grouse. When
+Peter first saw him he was crouched on one end of the log, a fluffy ball
+of reddish-brown, black and gray feathers. He was resting. Suddenly he
+straightened up to his full height, raised his tail and spread it until
+it was like an open fan above his back. The outer edge was gray, then
+came a broad band of black, followed by bands of gray, brown and black.
+Around his neck was a wonderful ruff of black. His reddish-brown wings
+were dropped until the tips nearly touched the log. His full breast
+rounded out and was buff color with black markings. He was of about the
+size of the little Bantam hens Peter had seen in Farmer Brown's henyard.
+
+In the most stately way you can imagine Strutter walked the length of
+that mossy log. He was a perfect picture of pride as he strutted very
+much like Tom Gobbler the big Turkey cock. When he reached the end of
+the log he suddenly dropped his tail, stretched himself to his full
+height and his wings began to beat, first slowly then faster and faster,
+until they were just a blur. They seemed to touch above his back but
+when they came down they didn't quite strike his sides. It was those
+fast moving wings that made the thunder. It was so loud that Peter
+almost wanted to stop his ears. When it ended Strutter settled down to
+rest and once more appeared like a ball of fluffy feathers. His ruff was
+laid flat.
+
+Peter watched him thunder several times and then ventured to show
+himself. “Strutter, you are wonderful! simply wonderful!” cried Peter,
+and he meant just what he said.
+
+Strutter threw out his chest proudly. “That is just what Mrs. Grouse
+says,” he replied. “I don't know of any better thunderer if I do say it
+myself.”
+
+“Speaking of Mrs. Grouse, where is she?” asked Peter eagerly.
+
+“Attending to her household affairs, as a good housewife should,”
+ retorted Strutter promptly.
+
+“Do you mean she has a nest and eggs?” asked Peter.
+
+Strutter nodded. “She has twelve eggs,” he added proudly.
+
+“I suppose,” said Peter artfully, “her nest is somewhere near here on
+the ground.”
+
+“It's on the ground, Peter, but as to where it is I am not saying a
+word. It may or it may not be near here. Do you want to hear me thunder
+again?”
+
+Of course Peter said he did, and that was sufficient excuse for Strutter
+to show off. Peter stayed a while longer to gossip, but finding Strutter
+more interested in thundering than in talking, he once more started for
+home.
+
+“I really would like to know where that nest is,” said he to himself
+as he scampered along. “I suppose Mrs. Grouse has hidden it so cleverly
+that it is quite useless to look for it.”
+
+On his way he passed a certain big tree. All around the ground was
+carpeted with brown, dead leaves. There were no bushes or young trees
+there. Peter never once thought of looking for a nest. It was the last
+place in the world he would expect to find one. When he was well past
+the big tree there was a soft chuckle and from among the brown leaves
+right at the foot of that big tree a head with a pair of the brightest
+eyes was raised a little. Those eyes twinkled as they watched Peter out
+of sight.
+
+“He didn't see me at all,” chuckled Mrs. Grouse, as she settled down
+once more. “That is what comes of having a cloak so like the color
+of these nice brown leaves. He isn't the first one who has passed me
+without seeing me at all. It is better than trying to hide a nest, and I
+certainly am thankful to Old Mother Nature for the cloak she gave me.
+I wonder if every one of these twelve eggs will hatch. If they do, I
+certainly will have a family to be proud of.”
+
+Meanwhile Peter hurried on in his usual happy-go-lucky fashion until
+he came to the edge of the Green Forest. Out on the Green Meadows just
+beyond he caught sight of a black form walking about in a stately way
+and now and then picking up something. It reminded him of Blacky the
+Crow, but he knew right away that it wasn't Blacky, because it was so
+much smaller, being not more than half as big.
+
+“It's Creaker the Grackle. He was one of the first to arrive this spring
+and I'm ashamed of myself for not having called on him,” thought Peter,
+as he hopped out and started across the Green Meadows towards Creaker.
+“What a splendid long tail he has. I believe Jenny Wren told me that he
+belongs to the Blackbird family. He looks so much like Blacky the Crow
+that I suppose this is why they call him Crow Blackbird.”
+
+Just then Creaker turned in such a way that the sun fell full on his
+head and back. “Why! Why-ee!” exclaimed Peter, rubbing his eyes with
+astonishment. “He isn't just black! He's beautiful, simply beautiful,
+and I've always supposed he was just plain, homely black.”
+
+It was true. Creaker the Grackle with the sun shining on him was truly
+beautiful. His head and neck, his throat and upper breast, were a
+shining blue-black, while his back was a rich, shining brassy-green.
+His wings and tail were much like his head and neck. As Peter watched
+it seemed as if the colors were constantly changing. This changing of
+colors is called iridescence. One other thing Peter noticed and this
+was that Creaker's eyes were yellow. Just at the moment Peter couldn't
+remember any other bird with yellow eyes.
+
+“Creaker,” cried Peter, “I wonder if you know how handsome you are!”
+
+“I'm glad you think so,” replied Creaker. “I'm not at all vain, but
+there are mighty few birds I would change coats with.”
+
+“Is--is--Mrs. Creaker dressed as handsomely as you are?” asked Peter
+rather timidly.
+
+Creaker shook his head. “Not quite,” said he. “She likes plain black
+better. Some of the feathers on her back shine like mine, but she says
+that she has no time to show off in the sun and to take care of fine
+feathers.”
+
+“Where is she now?” asked Peter.
+
+“Over home,” replied Creaker, pulling a white grub out of the roots of
+the grass. “We've got a nest over there in one of those pine-trees on
+the edge of the Green Forest and I expect any day now we will have four
+hungry babies to feed. I shall have to get busy then. You know I am
+one of those who believe that every father should do his full share in
+taking care of his family.”
+
+“I'm glad to hear you say it,” declared Peter, nodding his head with
+approval quite as if he was himself the best of fathers, which he isn't
+at all.
+
+“May I ask you a very personal question, Creaker?”
+
+“Ask as many questions as you like. I don't have to answer them unless I
+want to,” retorted Creaker.
+
+“Is it true that you steal the eggs of other birds?” Peter blurted the
+question out rather hurriedly.
+
+Creaker's yellow eyes began to twinkle. “That is a very personal
+question,” said he. “I won't go so far as to say I steal eggs, but I've
+found that eggs are very good for my constitution and if I find a nest
+with nobody around I sometimes help myself to the eggs. You see the
+owner might not come back and then those eggs would spoil, and that
+would be a pity.”
+
+“That's no excuse at all,” declared Peter. “I believe you're no better
+than Sammy Jay and Blacky the Crow.”
+
+Creaker chuckled, but he did not seem to be at all offended. Just then
+he heard Mrs. Creaker calling him and with a hasty farewell he spread
+his wings and headed for the Green Forest. Once in the air he seemed
+just plain black. Peter watched him out of sight and then once more
+headed for the dear Old Briar-patch.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. A Fisherman Robbed.
+
+Just out of curiosity, and because he possesses what is called the
+wandering foot, which means that he delights to roam about, Peter Rabbit
+had run over to the bank of the Big River. There were plenty of bushes,
+clumps of tall grass, weeds and tangles of vines along the bank of the
+Big River, so that Peter felt quite safe there. He liked to sit gazing
+out over the water and wonder where it all came from and where it was
+going and what, kept it moving.
+
+He was doing this very thing on this particular morning when he happened
+to glance up in the blue, blue sky. There he saw a broad-winged bird
+sailing in wide, graceful circles. Instantly Peter crouched a little
+lower in his hiding-place, for he knew this for a member of the Hawk
+family and Peter has learned by experience that the only way to keep
+perfectly safe when one of these hook-clawed, hook-billed birds is about
+is to keep out of sight.
+
+So now he crouched very close to the ground and kept his eyes fixed on
+the big bird sailing so gracefully high up in the blue, blue sky over
+the Big River. Suddenly the stranger paused in his flight and for a
+moment appeared to remain in one place, his great wings heating rapidly
+to hold him there. Then those wings were closed and with a rush he shot
+down straight for the water, disappearing with a great splash. Instantly
+Peter sat up to his full height that he might see better.
+
+“It's Plunger the Osprey fishing, and I've nothing to fear from him,” he
+cried happily.
+
+Out of the water, his great wings flapping, rose Plunger. Peter looked
+eagerly to see if he had caught a fish, but there was nothing in
+Plunger's great, curved claws. Either that fish had been too deep or
+had seen Plunger and darted away just in the nick of time. Peter had a
+splendid view of Plunger. He was just a little bigger than Redtail the
+Hawk. Above he was dark brown, his head and neck marked with white. His
+tail was grayish, crossed by several narrow dark bands and tipped with
+white. His under parts were white with some light brown spots on his
+breast. Peter could see clearly the great, curved claws which are
+Plunger's fishhooks.
+
+Up, up, up he rose, going round and round in a spiral. When he was well
+up in the blue, blue sky, he began to sail again in wide circles as when
+Peter had first seen him. It wasn't long before he again paused and
+then shot down towards the water. This time he abruptly spread his great
+wings just before reaching the water so that he no more than wet his
+feet. Once more a fish had escaped him. But Plunger seemed not in the
+least discouraged. He is a true fisherman and every true fisherman
+possesses patience. Up again he spiraled until he was so high that Peter
+wondered how he could possibly see a fish so far below. You see, Peter
+didn't know that it is easier to see down into the water from high above
+it than from close to it. Then, too, there are no more wonderful eyes
+than those possessed by the members of the Hawk family. And Plunger the
+Osprey is a Hawk, usually called Fish Hawk.
+
+A third time Plunger shot down and this time, as in his first attempt,
+he struck the water with a great splash and disappeared. In an instant
+he reappeared, shaking the water from him in a silver spray and flapping
+heavily. This time Fetes could gee a great shining fish in his claws.
+It was heavy, as Peter could tell by the way in which Plunger flew. He
+headed towards a tall tree on the other bank of the Big River, there to
+enjoy his breakfast. He was not more than halfway there when Peter was
+startled by a harsh scream.
+
+He looked up to see a great bird, with wonderful broad wings, swinging
+in short circles about Plunger. His body and wings were dark brown, and
+his head was snowy white, as was his tail. His great hooked beak was
+yellow and his legs were yellow. Peter knew in an instant who it was.
+There could be no mistake. It was King Eagle, commonly known as Bald
+Head, though his head isn't bald at all.
+
+Peter's eyes looked as if they would pop out of his head, for it was
+quite plain to him that King Eagle was after Plunger, and Peter didn't
+understand this at all. You see, he didn't understand what King Eagle
+was screaming. But Plunger did. King Eagle was screaming, “Drop that
+fish! Drop that fish!”
+
+Plunger didn't intend to drop that fish if he could help himself. It was
+his fish. Hadn't he caught it himself? He didn't intend to give it up to
+any robber of the air, even though that robber was King Eagle himself,
+unless he was actually forced to. So Plunger began to dodge and twist
+and turn in the air, all the time mounting higher and higher, and all
+the time screaming harshly, “Robber! Thief! I won't drop this fish! It's
+mine! It's mine!”
+
+Now the fish was heavy, so of course Plunger couldn't fly as easily and
+swiftly as if he were carrying nothing. Up, up he went, but all the time
+King Eagle went up with him, circling round him, screaming harshly, and
+threatening to strike him with those great cruel, curved claws. Peter
+watched them, so excited that he fairly danced. “O, I do hope Plunger
+will get away from that big robber,” cried Peter. “He may be king of the
+air, but he is a robber just the same.”
+
+Plunger and King Eagle were now high in the air above the Big River.
+Suddenly King Eagle swung above Plunger and for an instant seemed to
+hold himself still there, just as Plunger had done before he had shot
+down into the water after that fish. There was a still harsher note in
+King Eagle's scream. If Peter had been near enough he would have seen
+a look of anger and determination in King Eagle's fierce, yellow eyes.
+Plunger saw it and knew what it meant. He knew that King Eagle would
+stand for no more fooling. With a cry of bitter disappointment and anger
+he let go of the big fish.
+
+Down, down, dropped the fish, shining in the sun like a bar of silver.
+King Eagle's wings half closed and he shot down like a thunderbolt. Just
+before the fish reached the water King Eagle struck it with his great
+claws, checked himself by spreading his broad wings and tail, and then
+in triumph flew over to the very tree towards which Plunger had started
+when he had caught the fish. There he leisurely made his breakfast,
+apparently enjoying it as much as if he had come by it honestly.
+
+As for poor Plunger, he shook himself, screamed angrily once or twice,
+then appeared to think that it was wisest to make the best of a bad
+matter and that there were more fish where that one had come from, for
+he once more began to sail in circles over the Big River, searching
+for a fish near the surface. Peter watched him until he saw him catch
+another fish and fly away with it in triumph. King Eagle watched him,
+too, but having had a good breakfast he was quite willing to let Plunger
+enjoy his catch in peace.
+
+Late that afternoon Peter visited the Old Orchard, for he just had to
+tell Jenny Wren all about what he had seen that morning.
+
+“King Eagle is king simply because he is so big and fierce and strong,”
+ sputtered Jenny. “He isn't kingly in his habits, not the least bit. He
+never hesitates to rob those smaller than himself, just as you saw him
+rob Plunger. He is very fond of fish, and once in a while he catches one
+for himself when Plunger isn't around to be robbed, but he isn't a very
+good fisherman, and he isn't the least bit fussy about his fish. Plunger
+eats only fresh fish which he catches himself, but King Eagle will eat
+dead fish which he finds on the shore. He doesn't seem to care how long
+they have been dead either.”
+
+“Doesn't he eat anything but fish?” asked Peter innocently.
+
+“Well,” retorted Jenny Wren, her eyes twinkling, “I wouldn't advise you
+to run across the Green Meadows in sight of King Eagle. I am told he is
+very fond of Rabbit. In fact he is very fond of fresh meat of any kind.
+He even catches the babies of Lightfoot the Deer when he gets a chance.
+He is so swift of wing that even the members of the Duck family fear
+him, for he is especially fond of fat Duck. Even Honker the Goose is not
+safe from him. King he may he, but he rules only through fear. He is
+a white-headed old robber. The best thing I can say of him is that he
+takes a mate for life and is loyal and true to her as long as she lives,
+and that is a great many years. By the way, Peter, did you know that
+she is bigger than he is, and that the young during the first year after
+leaving their nest, are bigger than their parents and do not have white
+heads? By the time they get white heads they are the same size as their
+parents.”
+
+“That's queer and its hard to believe,” said Peter.
+
+“It is queer, but it is true just the same, whether you believe it or
+not,” retorted Jenny Wren, and whisked out of sight into her home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. A Fishing Party.
+
+Peter Rabbit sat on the edge of the Old Briar-patch trying to make up
+his mind whether to stay at home, which was the wise and proper thing
+to do, or to go call on some of the friends he had not yet visited. A
+sharp, harsh rattle caused him to look up to see a bird about a third
+larger than Welcome Robin, and with a head out of all proportion to
+the size of his body. He was flying straight towards the Smiling Pool,
+rattling harshly as he flew. The mere sound of his voice settled the
+matter for Peter. “It's Rattles the Kingfisher,” he cried. “I think I'll
+run over to the Smiling Pool and pay him my respects.”
+
+So Peter started for the Smiling Pool as fast as his long legs could
+take him, lipperty-lipperty-lip. He had lost sight of Rattles the
+Kingfisher, and when he reached the back of the Smiling Pool he was in
+doubt which way to turn. It was very early in the morning and there was
+not so much as a ripple on the surface of the Smiling Pool. As Peter sat
+there trying to make up his mind which way to go, he saw coming from the
+direction of the Big River a great, broad-winged bird, flying slowly. He
+seemed to have no neck at all, but carried straight out behind him were
+two long legs.
+
+“Longlegs the Great Blue Heron! I wonder if he is coming here,”
+ exclaimed Peter. “I do hope so.”
+
+Peter stayed right where he was and waited. Nearer and nearer came
+Longlegs. When he was right opposite Peter he suddenly dropped his long
+legs, folded his great wings, and alighted right on the edge of the
+Smiling Pool across from where Peter was sitting. If he seemed to have
+no neck at all when he was flying, now he seemed to be all neck as he
+stretched it to its full length. The fact is, his neck was so long that
+when he was flying he carried it folded back on his shoulders. Never
+before had Peter had such an opportunity to see Longlegs.
+
+He stood quite four feet high. The top of his head and throat were
+white. From the base of his great bill and over his eye was a black
+stripe which ended in two long, slender, black feathers hanging from
+the back of his head. His bill was longer than his head, stout and
+sharp like a spear and yellow in color. His long neck was a light
+brownish-gray. His back and wings were of a bluish color. The bend of
+each wing and the feathered parts of his legs were a rusty-red. The
+remainder of his legs and his feet were black. Hanging down over his
+breast were beautiful long pearly-gray feathers quite unlike any Peter
+had seen on any of his other feathered friends. In spite of the
+length of his legs and the length of his neck he was both graceful and
+handsome.
+
+“I wonder what has brought him over to the Smiling Pool,” thought Peter.
+
+He didn't have to wait long to find out. After standing perfectly still
+with his neck stretched to its full height until he was sure that no
+danger was near, Longlegs waded into the water a few steps, folded his
+neck back on his shoulders until his long bill seemed to rest on his
+breast, and then remained as motionless as if there were no life in him.
+Peter also sat perfectly still. By and by he began to wonder if Longlegs
+had gone to sleep. His own patience was reaching an end and he was just
+about to go on in search of Rattles the Kingfisher when like a flash the
+dagger-like bill of Longlegs shot out and down into the water. When he
+withdrew it Peter saw that Longlegs had caught a little fish which he at
+once proceeded to swallow head-first. Peter almost laughed right out as
+he watched the funny efforts of Longlegs to gulp that fish down his long
+throat. Then Longlegs resumed his old position as motionless as before.
+
+It was no trouble now for Peter to sit still, for he was too interested
+in watching this lone fisherman to think of leaving. It wasn't long
+before Longlegs made another catch and this time it was a fat Pollywog.
+Peter thought of how he had watched Plunger the Osprey fishing in the
+Big River and the difference in the ways of the two fishermen.
+
+“Plunger hunts for his fish while Longlegs waits for his fish to come to
+him,” thought Peter. “I wonder if Longlegs never goes hunting.”
+
+As if in answer to Peter's thought Longlegs seemed to conclude that
+no more fish were coming his way. He stretched himself up to his full
+height, looked sharply this way and that way to make sure that all was
+safe, then began to walk along the edge of the Smiling Pool. He put each
+foot down slowly and carefully so as to make no noise. He had gone but
+a few steps when that great bill darted down like a flash, and Peter
+saw that he had caught a careless young Frog. A few steps farther on he
+caught another Pollywog. Then coming to a spot that suited him, he once
+more waded in and began to watch for fish.
+
+Peter was suddenly reminded of Rattles the Kingfisher, whom he had quite
+forgotten. From the Big Hickory-tree on the bank, Rattles flew out over
+the Smiling Pool, hovered for an instant, then plunged down head-first.
+There was a splash, and a second later Rattles was in the air again,
+shaking the water from him in a silver spray. In his long, stout, black
+bill was a little fish. He flew back to a branch of the Big Hickory-tree
+that hung out over the water and thumped the fish against the branch
+until it was dead. Then he turned it about so he could swallow it
+head-first. It was a big fish for the size of the fisherman and he had a
+dreadful time getting it down. But at last it was down, and Rattles set
+himself to watch for another. The sun shone full on him, and Peter gave
+a little gasp of surprise.
+
+“I never knew before how handsome Rattles is,” thought Peter. He was
+about the size of Yellow Wing the Flicker, but his head made him look
+bigger than he really was. You see, the feathers on top of his head
+stood up in a crest, as if they had been brushed the wrong way. His
+head, back, wings and tail were a bluish-gray. His throat was white and
+he wore a white collar. In front of each eye was a little white spot.
+Across his breast was a belt of bluish-gray, and underneath he was
+white. There were tiny spots of white on his wings, and his tail was
+spotted with white. His bill was black and, like that of Longlegs, was
+long, and stout, and sharp. It looked almost too big for his size.
+
+Presently Rattles flew out and plunged into the Smiling Pool again, this
+time, very near to where Longlegs was patiently waiting. He caught a
+fish, for it is not often that Rattles misses. It was smaller than the
+first one Peter had seen him catch, and this time as soon as he got back
+to the Big Hickory-tree, he swallowed it without thumping it against the
+branch. As for Longlegs, he looked thoroughly put out. For a moment or
+two he stood glaring angrily up at Rattles. You see, when Rattles had
+plunged so close to Longlegs he had frightened all the fish. Finally
+Longlegs seemed to make up his mind that there was room for but one
+fisherman at a time at the Smiling Pool. Spreading his great wings,
+folding his long neck back on his shoulders, and dragging his long legs
+out behind him, he flew heavily away in the direction of the Big River.
+
+Rattles remained long enough to catch another little fish, and then
+with a harsh rattle flew off down the Laughing Brook. “I would know him
+anywhere by that rattle,” thought Peter. “There isn't any one who can
+make a noise anything like it. I wonder where he has gone to now. He
+must have a nest, but I haven't the least idea what kind of a nest he
+builds. Hello! There's Grandfather Frog over on his green lily pad.
+Perhaps he can tell me.”
+
+So Peter hopped along until he was near enough to talk to Grandfather
+Frog. “What kind of a nest does Rattles the Kingfisher build?” repeated
+Grandfather Frog. “Chug-arum, Peter Rabbit! I thought everybody knew
+that Rattles doesn't build a nest. At least I wouldn't call it a nest.
+He lives in a hole in the ground.”
+
+“What!” cried Peter, and looked as if he couldn't believe his own ears.
+
+Grandfather Frog grinned and his goggly eyes twinkled. “Yes,” said he,
+“Rattles lives in a hole in the ground.”
+
+“But--but--but what kind of a hole?” stammered Peter.
+
+“Just plain hole,” retorted Grandfather Frog, grinning more broadly than
+ever. Then seeing how perplexed and puzzled Peter looked, he went on to
+explain. “He usually picks out a high gravelly bank close to the water
+and digs a hole straight in just a little way from the top. He makes
+it just big enough for himself and Mrs. Rattles to go in and out of
+comfortably, and he digs it straight in for several feet. I'm told that
+at the end of it he makes a sort of bedroom, because he usually has a
+good-sized family.”
+
+“Do you mean to say that he digs it himself?” asked Peter.
+
+Grandfather Frog nodded. “If he doesn't, Mrs. Kingfisher does,” he
+replied. “Those big bills of theirs are picks as well as fish spears.
+They loosen the sand with those and scoop it out with their feet. I've
+never seen the inside of their home myself, but I'm told that their
+bedroom is lined with fish bones. Perhaps you may call that a nest, but
+I don't.”
+
+“I'm going straight down the Laughing Brook to look for that hole,”
+ declared Peter, and left in such a hurry that he forgot to be polite
+enough to say thank you to Grandfather Frog.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. Some Feathered Diggers.
+
+Peter Rabbit scampered along down one bank of the Laughing Brook,
+eagerly watching for a high, gravelly bank such as Grandfather Frog had
+said that Rattles the Kingfisher likes to make his home in. If Peter had
+stopped to do a little thinking, he would have known that he was simply
+wasting time. You see, the Laughing Brook was flowing through the Green
+Meadows, so of course there would be no high, gravelly bank, because the
+Green Meadows are low. But Peter Rabbit, in his usual heedless way, did
+no thinking. He had seen Rattles fly down the Laughing Brook, and so he
+had just taken it for granted that the home of Rattles must be somewhere
+down there.
+
+At last Peter reached the place where the Laughing Brook entered the
+Big River. Of course he hadn't found the home of Rattles. But now he did
+find something that for the time being made him quite forget Rattles and
+his home. Just before it reached the Big River the Laughing Brook wound
+through a swamp in which were many tall trees and a great number of
+young trees. A great many big ferns grew there and were splendid to hide
+under. Peter always did like that swamp.
+
+He had stopped to rest in a clump of ferns when he was startled by
+seeing a great bird alight in a tree just a little way from him. His
+first thought was that it was a Hawk, so you can imagine how surprised
+and pleased he was to discover that it was Mrs. Longlegs. Somehow
+Peter had always thought of Longlegs the Blue Heron as never alighting
+anywhere except on the ground. But here was Mrs. Longlegs in a tree.
+Having nothing to fear, Peter crept out from his hiding place that he
+might see better.
+
+In the tree in which Mrs. Longlegs was perched and just below her he
+saw a little platform of sticks. He didn't suspect that it was a nest,
+because it looked too rough and loosely put together to be a nest.
+Probably he wouldn't have thought about it at all had not Mrs. Longlegs
+settled herself on it right while Peter was watching. It didn't seem big
+enough or strong enough to hold her, but it did.
+
+“As I live,” thought Peter, “I've found the nest of Longlegs! He and
+Mrs. Longlegs may be good fishermen but they certainly are mighty poor
+nest-builders. I don't see how under the sun Mrs. Longlegs ever gets on
+and off that nest without kicking the eggs out.”
+
+Peter sat around for a while, but as he didn't care to let his presence
+be known, and as there was no one to talk to, he presently made up his
+mind that being so near the Big River he would go over there to see if
+Plunger the Osprey was fishing again on this day.
+
+When he reached the Big River, Plunger was not in sight. Peter was
+disappointed. He had just about made up his mind to return the way he
+had come, when from beyond the swamp, farther up the Big River, he heard
+the harsh, rattling cry of Rattles the Kingfisher. It reminded him of
+what he had come for, and he at once began to hurry in that direction.
+
+Peter came out of the swamp on a little sandy beach. There he squatted
+for a moment, blinking his eyes, for out there the sun was very bright.
+Then a little way beyond him he discovered something that in his eager
+curiosity made him quite forget that he was out in the open where it was
+anything but safe for a Rabbit to be. What he saw was a high sandy bank.
+With a hasty glance this way and that way to make sure that no enemy was
+in sight, Peter scampered along the edge of the water till he was right
+at the foot of that sandy bank. Then he squatted down and looked eagerly
+for a hole such as he imagined Rattles the Kingfisher might make.
+Instead of one hole he saw a lot of holes, but they were very small
+holes. He knew right away that Rattles couldn't possibly get in or out
+of a single one of those holes. In fact, those holes in the bank were
+no bigger than the holes Downy the Woodpecker makes in trees. Peter
+couldn't imagine who or what had made them.
+
+As Peter sat there staring and wondering a trim little head appeared
+at the entrance to one of those holes. It was a trim little head with a
+very small bill and a snowy white throat. At first glance Peter thought
+it was his old friend, Skimmer the Tree Swallow, and he was just on the
+point of asking what under the sun Skimmer was doing in such a place as
+that, when with a lively twitter of greeting the owner of that little
+hole in the bank flew out and circled over Peter's head. It wasn't
+Skimmer at all. It was Banker the Bank Swallow, own cousin to Skimmer
+the Tree Swallow. Peter recognized him the instant he got a full view of
+him.
+
+In the first place Banker was a little smaller than Skimmer. Then too,
+he was not nearly so handsome. His back, instead of being that
+beautiful rich steel-blue which makes Skimmer so handsome, was a sober
+grayish-brown. He was a little darker on his wings and tail. His breast,
+instead of being all snowy white, was crossed with a brownish band. His
+tail was more nearly square across the end than is the case with other
+members of the Swallow family.
+
+“Wha--wha--what were you doing there?” stuttered Peter, his eyes popping
+right out with curiosity and excitement.
+
+“Why, that's my home,” twittered Banker.
+
+“Do--do--do you mean to say that you live in a hole in the ground?”
+ cried Peter.
+
+“Certainly; why not?” twittered Banker as he snapped up a fly just over
+Peter's head.
+
+“I don't know any reason why you shouldn't,” confessed Peter. “But
+somehow it is hard for me to think of birds as living in holes in the
+ground. I've only just found out that Rattles the Kingfisher does. But
+I didn't suppose there were any others. Did you make that hole yourself,
+Banker?”
+
+“Of course,” replied Banker. “That is, I helped make it. Mrs. Banker did
+her share. 'Way in at the end of it we've got the nicest little nest of
+straw and feathers. What is more, we've got four white eggs in there,
+and Mrs. Banker is sitting on them now.”
+
+By this time the air seemed to be full of Banker's friends, skimming and
+circling this way and that, and going in and out of the little holes in
+the bank.
+
+“I am like my big cousin, Twitter the Purple Martin, fond of society,”
+ explained Banker. “We Bank Swallows like our homes close together. You
+said that you had just learned that Rattles the Kingfisher has his home
+in a bank. Do you know where it is?”
+
+“No,” replied Peter. “I was looking for it when I discovered your home.
+Can you tell me where it is?”
+
+“I'll do better than that;” replied Banker. “I'll show you where it is.”
+
+He darted some distance up along the bank and hovered for an instant
+close to the top. Peter scampered over there and looked up. There, just
+a few inches below the top, was another hole, a very much larger hole
+than those he had just left. As he was staring up at it a head with a
+long sharp bill and a crest which looked as if all the feathers on the
+top of his head had been brushed the wrong way, was thrust out. It was
+Rattles himself. He didn't seem at all glad to see Peter. In fact, he
+came out and darted at Peter angrily. Peter didn't wait to feel that
+sharp dagger-like bill. He took to his heels. He had seen what he
+started out to find and he was quite content to go home.
+
+Peter took a short cut across the Green Meadows. It took him past a
+certain tall, dead tree. A sharp cry of “Kill-ee, kill-ee, kill-ee!”
+ caused Peter to look up just in time to see a trim, handsome bird whose
+body was about the size of Sammy Jay's but whose longer wings and longer
+tail made him look bigger. One glance was enough to tell Peter that
+this was a member of the Hawk family, the smallest of the family. It was
+Killy the Sparrow Hawk. He is too small for Peter to fear him, so now
+Peter was possessed of nothing more than a very lively curiosity, and
+sat up to watch.
+
+Out over the meadow grass Killy sailed. Suddenly, with beating wings,
+he kept himself in one place in the air and then dropped down into the
+grass. He was up again in an instant, and Peter could see that he had a
+fat grasshopper in his claws. Back to the top of the tall, dead tree
+he flew and there ate the grasshopper. When it was finished he sat up
+straight and still, so still that he seemed a part of the tree itself.
+With those wonderful eyes of his he was watching for another grasshopper
+or for a careless Meadow Mouse.
+
+Very trim and handsome was Killy. His back was reddish-brown crossed by
+bars of black. His tail was reddish-brown with a band of black near
+its end and a white tip. His wings were slaty-blue with little bars
+of black, the longest feathers leaving white bars. Underneath he was a
+beautiful buff, spotted with black. His head was bluish with a reddish
+patch right on top. Before and behind each ear was a black mark. His
+rather short bill, like the bills of all the rest of his family, was
+hooked.
+
+As Peter sat there admiring Killy, for he was handsome enough for any
+one to admire, he noticed for the first time a hole high up in the trunk
+of the tree, such a hole as Yellow Wing the Flicker might have made and
+probably did make. Right away Peter remembered what Jenny Wren had
+told him about Killy's making his nest in just such a hole. “I wonder,”
+ thought Peter, “if that is Killy's home.”
+
+Just then Killy flew over and dropped in the grass just in front of
+Peter, where he caught another fat grasshopper. “Is that your home up
+there?” asked Peter hastily.
+
+“It certainly is, Peter,” replied Killy. “This is the third summer Mrs.
+Killy and I have had our home there.”
+
+“You seem to be very fond of grasshoppers,” Peter ventured.
+
+“I am,” replied Killy. “They are very fine eating when one can get
+enough of them.”
+
+“Are they the only kind of food you eat?” ventured Peter.
+
+Killy laughed. It was a shrill laugh. “I should say not,” said he. “I
+eat spiders and worms and all sorts of insects big enough to give a
+fellow a decent bite. But for real good eating give me a fat Meadow
+Mouse. I don't object to a Sparrow or some other small bird now and
+then, especially when I have a family of hungry youngsters to feed. But
+take it the season through, I live mostly on grasshoppers and insects
+and Meadow Mice. I do a lot of good in this world, I'd have you know.”
+
+Peter said that he supposed that this was so, but all the time he
+kept thinking what a pity it was that Killy ever killed his feathered
+neighbors. As soon as he conveniently could he politely bade Killy
+good-by and hurried home to the dear Old Briar-patch, there to think
+over how queer it seemed that a member of the hawk family should nest
+in a hollow tree and a member of the Swallow family should dig a hole in
+the ground.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. Some Big Mouths.
+
+Boom! Peter Rabbit jumped as if he had been shot. It was all so sudden
+and unexpected that Peter jumped before he had time to think. Then
+he looked foolish. He felt foolish. He had been scared when there was
+nothing to be afraid of.
+
+“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” tittered Jenny Wren. “What are you jumping for, Peter
+Rabbit? That was only Boomer the Nighthawk.”
+
+“I know it just as well as you do, Jenny Wren,” retorted Peter rather
+crossly. “You know being suddenly startled is apt to make people feel
+cross. If I had seen him anywhere about he wouldn't have made me jump.
+It was the unexpectedness of it. I don't see what he is out now for,
+anyway, It isn't even dusk yet, and I thought him a night bird.”
+
+“So he is,” retorted Jenny Wren. “Anyway, he is a bird of the evening,
+and that amounts to the same thing. But just because he likes the
+evening best isn't any reason why he shouldn't come out in the daylight,
+is it?”
+
+“No-o,” replied Peter rather slowly. “I don't suppose it is.”
+
+“Of course it isn't,” declared Jenny Wren. “I see Boomer late in the
+afternoon nearly every day. On cloudy days I often see him early in the
+afternoon. He's a queer fellow, is Boomer. Such a mouth as he has! I
+suppose it is very handy to have a big mouth if one must catch all one's
+food in the air, but it certainly isn't pretty when it is wide open.”
+
+“I never saw a mouth yet that was pretty when it was wide open,”
+ retorted Peter, who was still feeling a little put out. “I've never
+noticed that Boomer has a particularly big mouth.”
+
+“Well he has, whether you've noticed it or not,” retorted Jenny Wren
+sharply. “He's got a little bit of a bill, but a great big mouth. I
+don't see what folks call him a Hawk for when he isn't a Hawk at all. He
+is no more of a Hawk than I am, and goodness knows I'm not even related
+to the Hawk family.”
+
+“I believe you told me the other day that Boomer is related to Sooty the
+Chimney Swift,” said Peter.
+
+Jenny nodded vigorously. “So I did, Peter,” she replied. “I'm glad you
+have such a good memory. Boomer and Sooty are sort of second cousins.
+There is Boomer now, way up in the sky. I do wish he'd dive and scare
+some one else.”
+
+Peter tipped his head 'way back. High up in the blue, blue sky was
+a bird which at that distance looked something like a much overgrown
+Swallow. He was circling and darting about this way and that. Even while
+Peter watched he half closed his wings and shot down with such speed
+that Peter actually held his breath. It looked very, very much as if
+Boomer would dash himself to pieces. Just before he reached the earth he
+suddenly opened those wings and turned upward. At the instant he turned,
+the booming sound which had so startled Peter was heard. It was made by
+the rushing of the wind through the larger feathers of his wings as he
+checked himself.
+
+In this dive Boomer had come near enough for Peter to get a good look
+at him. His coat seemed to be a mixture of brown and gray, very soft
+looking. His wings were brown with a patch of white on each. There was a
+white patch on his throat and a band of white near the end of his tail.
+
+“He's rather handsome, don't you think?” asked Jenny Wren.
+
+“He certainly is,” replied Peter. “Do you happen to know what kind of a
+nest the Nighthawks build, Jenny?”
+
+“They don't build any.” Jenny Wren was a picture of scorn as she said
+this. “They don't built any nests at all. It can't be because they are
+lazy for I don't know of any birds that hunt harder for their living
+than do Boomer and Mrs. Boomer.”
+
+“But if there isn't any nest where does Mrs. Boomer lay her eggs?” cried
+Peter. “I think you must be mistaken, Jenny Wren. They must have some
+kind of a nest. Of course they must.”
+
+“Didn't I say they don't have a nest?” sputtered Jenny. “Mrs. Nighthawk
+doesn't lay but two eggs, anyway. Perhaps she thinks it isn't worth
+while building a nest for just two eggs. Anyway, she lays them on the
+ground or on a flat rock and lets it go at that. She isn't quite as bad
+as Sally Sly the Cowbird, for she does sit on those eggs and she is a
+good mother. But just think of those Nighthawk children never having any
+home! It doesn't seem to me right and it never will. Did you ever see
+Boomer in a tree?”
+
+Peter shook his head. “I've seen him on the ground,” said he, “but I
+never have seen him in a tree. Why did you ask, Jenny Wren?”
+
+“To find out how well you have used your eyes,” snapped Jenny. “I just
+wanted to see if you had noticed anything peculiar about the way he sits
+in a tree. But as long as you haven't seen him in a tree I may as well
+tell you that he doesn't sit as most birds do. He sits lengthwise of a
+branch. He never sits across it as the rest of us do.”
+
+“How funny!” exclaimed Peter. “I suppose that is Boomer making that
+queer noise we hear.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Jenny. “He certainly does like to use his voice. They
+tell me that some folks call him Bullbat, though why they should call
+him either Bat or Hawk is beyond me. I suppose you know his cousin,
+Whip-poor-will.”
+
+“I should say I do,” replied Peter. “He's enough to drive one crazy when
+he begins to shout 'Whip poor Will' close at hand. That voice of his
+goes through me so that I want to stop both ears. There isn't a person
+of my acquaintance who can say a thing over and over, over and over,
+so many times without stopping for breath. Do I understand that he is
+cousin to Boomer?”
+
+“He is a sort of second cousin, the same as Sooty the Chimney Swift,”
+ explained Jenny Wren. “They look enough alike to be own cousins.
+Whip-poor-will has just the same kind of a big mouth and he is dressed
+very much like Boomer, save that there are no white patches on his
+wings.”
+
+“I've noticed that,” said Peter. “That is one way I can tell them
+apart.”
+
+“So you noticed that much, did you?” cried Jenny. “It does you credit,
+Peter. It does you credit. I wonder if you also noticed Whip-poor-will's
+whiskers.”
+
+“Whiskers!” cried Peter. “Who ever heard of a bird having whiskers? You
+can stuff a lot down me, Jenny Wren, but there are some things I cannot
+swallow, and bird whiskers is one of them.”
+
+“Nobody asked you to swallow them. Nobody wants you to swallow them,”
+ snapped Jenny. “I don't know why a bird shouldn't have whiskers just as
+well as you, Peter Rabbit. Anyway, Whip-poor-will has them and that is
+all there is to it. It doesn't make any difference whether you believe
+in them or not, they are there. And I guess Whip-poor-will finds them
+just as useful as you find yours, and a little more so. I know this
+much, that if I had to catch all my food in the air I'd want whiskers
+and lots of them so that the insects would get tangled in them. I
+suppose that's what Whip-poor-will's are for.”
+
+“I beg your pardon, Jenny Wren,” said Peter very humbly. “Of course
+Whip-poor-will has whiskers if you say so. By the way, do the
+Whip-poor-wills do any better in the matter of a nest than the
+Nighthawks?”
+
+“Not a bit,” replied Jenny Wren. “Mrs. Whip-poor-will lays her eggs
+right on the ground, but usually in the Green Forest where it is dark
+and lonesome. Like Mrs. Nighthawk, she lays only two. It's the same way
+with another second cousin, Chuck-will's-widow.”
+
+“Who?” cried Peter, wrinkling his brows.
+
+“Chuck-will's-widow,” Jenny Wren fairly shouted it. “Don't you know
+Chuck-will's-widow?”
+
+Peter shook his head. “I never heard of such a bird,” he confessed.
+
+“That's what comes of never having traveled,” retorted Jenny Wren.
+“If you'd ever been in the South the way I have you would know
+Chuck-will's-widow. He looks a whole lot like the other two we've been
+talking about, but has even a bigger mouth. What's more, he has whiskers
+with branches. Now you needn't look as if you doubted that, Peter
+Rabbit; it's so. In his habits he's just like his cousins, no nest and
+only two eggs. I never saw people so afraid to raise a real family. If
+the Wrens didn't do better than that, I don't know what would become of
+us.” You know Jenny usually has a family of six or eight.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. The Warblers Arrive.
+
+If there is one family of feathered friends which perplexes Peter Rabbit
+more than another, it is the Warbler family.
+
+“So many of them come together and they move about so constantly that
+a fellow doesn't have a chance to look at one long enough to recognize
+him,” complained Peter to Jenny Wren one morning when the Old Orchard
+was fairly alive with little birds no bigger than Jenny Wren herself.
+
+And such restless little folks as they were!
+
+They were not still an instant, flitting from tree to tree, twig to
+twig, darting out into the air and all the time keeping up an endless
+chattering mingled with little snatches of song. Peter would no sooner
+fix his eyes on one than another entirely different in appearance would
+take its place. Occasionally he would see one whom he recognized, one
+who would stay for the nesting season. But the majority of them would
+stop only for a day or two, being bound farther north to make their
+summer homes.
+
+Apparently, Jenny Wren did not look upon them altogether with favor.
+Perhaps Jenny was a little bit envious, for compared with the bright
+colors of some of them Jenny was a very homely small person indeed.
+Then, too, there were so many of them and they were so busy catching all
+kinds of small insects that it may be Jenny was a little fearful they
+would not leave enough for her to get her own meals easily.
+
+“I don't see what they have to stop here for,” scolded Jenny. “They
+could just as well go somewhere else where they would not be taking the
+food out of the mouths of honest folk who are here to stay all summer.
+Did you ever in your life see such uneasy people? They don't keep still
+an instant. It positively makes me tired just to watch them.”
+
+Peter couldn't help but chuckle, for Jenny Wren herself is a very
+restless and uneasy person. As for Peter, he was thoroughly enjoying
+this visit of the Warblers, despite the fact that he was having no end
+of trouble trying to tell who was who. Suddenly one darted down and
+snapped up a fly almost under Peter's very nose and was back up in a
+tree before Peter could get his breath. “It's Zee Zee the Redstart!”
+ cried Peter joyously. “I would know Zee Zee anywhere. Do you know who he
+reminds me of, Jenny Wren?”
+
+“Who?” demanded Jenny.
+
+“Goldy the Oriole,” replied Peter promptly. “Only of course he's ever
+and ever so much smaller. He's all black and orange-red and white
+something as Goldy is, only there isn't quite so much orange on him.”
+
+For just an instant Zee Zee sat still with his tail spread. His head,
+throat and back were black and there was a black band across the end of
+his tail and a black stripe down the middle of it. The rest was bright
+orange-red. On each wing was a band of orange-red and his sides were the
+same color. Underneath he was white tinged more or less with orange.
+
+It was only for an instant that Zee Zee sat still; then he was in the
+air, darting, diving, whirling, going through all sorts of antics as he
+caught tiny insects too small for Peter to see. Peter began to wonder
+how he kept still long enough to sleep at night. And his voice was quite
+as busy as his wings. “Zee, zee, zee, zee!” he would cry. But this was
+only one of many notes. At times he would sing a beautiful little song
+and then again it would seem as if he were trying to imitate other
+members of the Warbler family.
+
+“I do hope Zee Zee is going to stay here,” said Peter. “I just love to
+watch him.”
+
+“He'll stay fast enough,” retorted Jenny Wren. “I don't imagine he'll
+stay in the Old Orchard and I hope he won't, because if he does it will
+make it just that much harder for me to catch enough to feed my big
+family. Probably he and Mrs. Redstart will make their home on the edge
+of the Green Forest. They like it better over there, for which I am
+thankful. There's Mrs Redstart now. Just notice that where Zee Zee is
+bright orange-y red she is yellow, and instead of a black head she has
+a gray head and her back is olive-green with a grayish tinge. She isn't
+nearly as handsome as Zee Zee, but then, that's not to be expected. She
+lets Zee Zee do the singing and the showing off and she does the work.
+I expect she'll build that nest with almost no help at all from him. But
+Zee Zee is a good father, I'll say that much for him. He'll do his share
+in feeding their babies.”
+
+Just then Peter caught sight of a bird all in yellow. He was about the
+same size as Zee Zee and was flitting about among the bushes along
+the old stone wall. “There's Sunshine!” cried Peter, and without being
+polite enough to even bid Jenny Wren farewell, he scampered over to
+where he could see the one he called Sunshine flitting about from bush
+to bush.
+
+“Oh, Sunshine!” he cried, as he came within speaking distance, “I'm ever
+and ever so glad to see you back. I do hope you and Mrs. Sunshine are
+going to make your home somewhere near here where I can see you every
+day.”
+
+“Hello, Peter! I am just as glad to see you as you are to see me,” cried
+Sunshine the Yellow Warbler. “Yes, indeed, we certainly intend to stay
+here if we can find just the right place for our nest. It is lovely to
+be back here again. We've journeyed so far that we don't want to go
+a bit farther if we can help it. Have you seen Sally Sly the Cowbird
+around here this spring?”
+
+Peter nodded. “Yes,” said he, “I have.”
+
+“I'm sorry to hear it,” declared Sunshine. “She made us a lot of trouble
+last year. But we fooled her.”
+
+“How did you fool her?” asked Peter.
+
+Sunshine paused to pick a tiny worm from a leaf. “Well,” said he, “she
+found our nest just after we had finished it and before Mrs. Sunshine
+had had a chance to lay an egg. Of course you know what she did.”
+
+“I can guess,” replied Peter. “She laid one of her own eggs in your
+nest.”
+
+Sunshine stopped to pick two or three more worms from the leaves. “Yes,”
+ said he. “She did just that, the lazy good-for-nothing creature! But
+it didn't do her a bit of good, not a bit. That egg never hatched. We
+fooled her and that's what we'll do again if she repeats that trick this
+year.”
+
+“What did you do, throw that egg out?” asked Peter.
+
+“No,” replied Sunshine. “Our nest was too deep for us to get that egg
+out. We just made a second bottom in our nest right over that egg and
+built the sides of the nest a little higher. Then we took good care that
+she didn't have a chance to lay another egg in there.”
+
+“Then you had a regular two-story nest, didn't you?” cried Peter,
+opening his eyes very wide.
+
+Sunshine nodded. “Yes, sir,” said he, “and it was a mighty fine nest, if
+I do say it. If there's anything Mrs. Sunshine and I pride ourselves on
+it is our nest. There are no babies who have a softer, cozier home than
+ours.”
+
+“What do you make your nest of?” asked Peter.
+
+“Fine grasses and soft fibers from plants, some hair when we can find
+it, and a few feathers. But we always use a lot of that nice soft
+fern-cotton. There is nothing softer or nicer that I know of.”
+
+All the time Peter had been admiring Sunshine and thinking how
+wonderfully well he was named. At first glance he seemed to be all
+yellow, as if somehow he had managed to catch and hold the sunshine in
+his feathers. There wasn't a white feather on him. When he came very
+close Peter could see that on his breast and underneath were little
+streaks of reddish brown and his wings and tail were a little blackish.
+Otherwise he was all yellow.
+
+Presently he was joined by Mrs. Sunshine. She was not such a bright
+yellow as was Sunshine, having an olive-green tint on her back. But
+underneath she was almost clear yellow without the reddish-brown
+streaks. She too was glad to see Peter but couldn't stop to gossip,
+for already, as she informed Sunshine, she had found just the place for
+their nest. Of course Peter begged to be told where it was. But the two
+little folks in yellow snapped their bright eyes at him and told him
+that that was their secret and they didn't propose to tell a living
+soul.
+
+Perhaps if Peter had not been so curious and eager to get acquainted
+with other members of the Warbler family he would have stayed and done
+a little spying. As it was, he promised himself to come back to look for
+that nest after it had been built; then he scurried back among the
+trees of the Old Orchard to look for other friends among the busy
+little Warblers who were making the Old Orchard such a lively place that
+morning.
+
+“There's one thing about it,” cried Peter. “Any one can tell Zee Zee the
+Redstart by his black and flame colored suit. There is no other like
+it. And any one can tell Sunshine the Yellow Warbler because there isn't
+anybody else who seems to be all yellow. My, what a lively, lovely lot
+these Warblers are!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. Three Cousins Quite Unlike.
+
+As Peter Rabbit passed one of the apple-trees in the Old Orchard, a
+thin, wiry voice hailed him. “It's a wonder you wouldn't at least say
+you're glad to see me back, Peter Rabbit,” said the voice.
+
+Peter, who had been hopping along rather fast, stopped abruptly to
+look up. Running along a limb just over his head, now on top and now
+underneath, was a little bird with a black and white striped coat and a
+white waistcoat. Just as Peter looked it flew down to near the base of
+the tree and began to run straight up the trunk, picking things from
+the bark here and there as it ran. Its way of going up that tree
+trunk reminded Peter of one of his winter friends, Seep Seep the Brown
+Creeper.
+
+“It strikes me that this is a mighty poor welcome for one who has just
+come all the way from South America,” said the little black and white
+bird with twinkling eyes.
+
+“Oh, Creeper, I didn't know you were here!” cried Peter. “You know I'm
+glad to see you. I'm just as glad as glad can be. You are such a quiet
+fellow I'm afraid I shouldn't have seen you at all if you hadn't spoken.
+You know it's always been hard work for me to believe that you are
+really and truly a Warbler.”
+
+“Why so?” demanded Creeper the Black and White Warbler, for that is
+the name by which he is commonly known. “Why so? Don't I look like a
+Warbler?”
+
+“Ye-es,” said Peter slowly. “You do look like one but you don't act like
+one.”
+
+“In what way don't I act like one I should like to know?” demanded
+Creeper.
+
+“Well,” replied Peter, “all the rest of the Warblers are the uneasiest
+folks I know of. They can't seem to keep still a minute. They are
+everlastingly flitting about this way and that way and the other way. I
+actually get tired watching them. But you are not a bit that way.
+Then the way you run up tree trunks and along the limbs isn't a bit
+Warbler-like. Why don't you flit and dart about as the others do?”
+
+Creeper's bright eyes sparkled.
+
+“I don't have to,” said he. “I'm going to let you into a little secret,
+Peter. The rest of them get their living from the leaves and twigs and
+in the air, but I've discovered an easier way. I've found out that there
+are lots of little worms and insects and eggs on the trunks and big
+limbs of the trees and that I can get the best kind of a living there
+without flitting about everlastingly. I don't have to share them with
+anybody but the Woodpeckers, Nuthatches, and Tommy Tit the Chickadee.”
+
+“That reminds me,” said Peter. “Those folks you have mentioned nest in
+holes in trees; do you?”
+
+“I should say not,” retorted Creeper. “I don't know of any Warbler who
+does. I build on the ground, if you want to know. I nest in the Green
+Forest. Sometimes I make my nest in a little hollow at the base of a
+tree; sometimes I put it under a stump or rock or tuck it in under the
+roots of a tree that has been blown over. But there, Peter Rabbit, I've
+talked enough. I'm glad you're glad that I'm back, and I'm glad I'm back
+too.”
+
+Creeper continued on up the trunk of the tree, picking here and picking
+there. Just then Peter caught sight of another friend whom he could
+always tell by the black mask he wore. It was Mummer the Yellow-throat.
+He had just darted into the thicket of bushes along the old stone wall.
+Peter promptly hurried over there to look for him.
+
+When Peter reached the place where he had caught a glimpse of Mummer, no
+one was to be seen. Peter sat down, uncertain which way to go. Suddenly
+Mummer popped out right in front of Peter, seemingly from nowhere at
+all. His throat and breast were bright yellow and his back wings and
+tail a soft olive-green. But the most remarkable thing about him was the
+mask of black right across his cheeks, eyes and forehead. At least it
+looked like a mask, although it really wasn't one.
+
+“Hello, Mummer!” cried Peter.
+
+“Hello yourself, Peter Rabbit!” retorted Mummer and then disappeared as
+suddenly as he had appeared.
+
+Peter blinked and looked in vain all about.
+
+“Looking for some one?” asked Mummer, suddenly popping into view where
+Peter least expected him.
+
+“For goodness' sake, can't you sit still a minute?” cried Peter. “How do
+you expect a fellow can talk to you when he can't keep his eyes on you
+more than two seconds at a time.”
+
+“Who asked you to talk to me?” responded Mummer, and popped out of
+sight. Two seconds later he was back again and his bright little eyes
+fairly shone with mischief. Then before Peter could say a word Mummer
+burst into a pleasant little song. He was so full of happiness that
+Peter couldn't be cross with him.
+
+“There's one thing I like about you, Mummer,” declared Peter, “and that
+is that I never get you mixed up with anybody else. I should know you
+just as far as I could see you because of that black mask across your
+face. Has Mrs. Yellow-throat arrived yet?”
+
+“Certainly,” replied another voice, and Mrs. Yellow-throat flitted
+across right in front of Peter. For just a second she sat still, long
+enough for him to have one good look at her. She was dressed very like
+Mummer save that she did not wear the black mask.
+
+Peter was just about to say something polite and pleasant when from just
+back of him there sounded a loud, very emphatic, “Chut! Chut!”
+ Peter whirled about to find another old friend. It was Chut-Chut the
+Yellow-breasted Chat, the largest of the Warbler family. He was so
+much bigger than Mummer that it was hard to believe that they were own
+cousins. But Peter knew they were, and he also knew that he could never
+mistake Chut-Chut for any other member of the family because of his big
+size, which was that of some of the members of the Sparrow family. His
+back was a dark olive-green, but his throat and breast were a beautiful
+bright yellow. There was a broad white line above each eye and a little
+white line underneath. Below his breast he was all white.
+
+To have seen him you would have thought that he suspected Peter might do
+him some harm. He acted that way. If Peter hadn't known him so well he
+might have been offended. But Peter knew that there is no one among his
+feathered friends more cautious than Chut-Chut the Chat. He never takes
+anything for granted. He appears to be always on the watch for danger,
+even to the extent of suspecting his very best friends.
+
+When he had decided in his own mind that there was no danger, Chut-Chut
+came out for a little gossip. But like all the rest of the Warblers he
+couldn't keep still. Right in the middle of the story of his travels
+from far-away Mexico he flew to the top of a little tree, began to sing,
+then flew out into the air with his legs dangling and his tail wagging
+up and down in the funniest way, and there continued his song as he
+slowly dropped down into the thicket again. It was a beautiful song and
+Peter hastened to tell him so.
+
+Chut-Chut was pleased. He showed it by giving a little concert all by
+himself. It seemed to Peter that he never had heard such a variety of
+whistles and calls and songs as came from that yellow throat. When it
+was over Chut-Chut abruptly said good-by and disappeared. Peter could
+hear his sharp “Chut! Chut!” farther along in the thicket as he hunted
+for worms among the bushes.
+
+“I wonder,” said Peter, speaking out loud without thinking, “where he
+builds his nest. I wonder if he builds it on the ground, the way Creeper
+does.”
+
+“No,” declared Mummer, who all the time had been darting about close at
+hand. “He doesn't, but I do. Chut-Chut puts his nest near the ground,
+however, usually within two or three feet. He builds it in bushes or
+briars. Sometimes if I can find a good tangle of briars I build my nest
+in it several feet from the ground, but as a rule I would rather have
+it on the ground under a bush or in a clump of weeds. Have you seen my
+cousin Sprite the Parula Warbler, yet?”
+
+“Not yet,” said Peter, as he started for home.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. Peter Gets a Lame Neck.
+
+For several days it seemed to Peter Rabbit that everywhere he went he
+found members of the Warbler family. Being anxious to know all of them
+he did his best to remember how each one looked, but there were so many
+and some of them were dressed so nearly alike that after awhile Peter
+became so mixed that he gave it up as a bad job. Then, as suddenly as
+they had appeared, the Warblers disappeared. That is to say, most of
+them disappeared. You see they had only stopped for a visit, being on
+their way farther north.
+
+In his interest in the affairs of others of his feathered friends, Peter
+had quite forgotten the Warblers. Then one day when he was in the Green
+Forest where the spruce-trees grow, he stopped to rest. This particular
+part of the Green Forest was low and damp, and on many of the trees gray
+moss grew, hanging down from the branches and making the trees look much
+older than they really were. Peter was staring at a hanging branch of
+this moss without thinking anything about it when suddenly a little
+bird alighted on it and disappeared in it. At least, that is what Peter
+thought. But it was all so unexpected that he couldn't be sure his eyes
+hadn't fooled him.
+
+Of course, right away he became very much interested in that bunch of
+moss. He stared at it very hard. At first it looked no different from
+a dozen other bunches of moss, but presently he noticed that it was
+a little thicker than other bunches, as if somehow it had been woven
+together. He hopped off to one side so he could see better. It looked
+as if in one side of that bunch of moss was a little round hole. Peter
+blinked and looked very hard indeed to make sure. A minute later there
+was no doubt at all, for a little feathered head was poked out and a
+second later a dainty mite of a bird flew out and alighted very close to
+Peter. It was one of the smaller members of the Warbler family.
+
+“Sprite!” cried Peter joyously. “I missed you when your cousins passed
+through here, and I thought you had gone to the Far North with the rest
+of them.”
+
+“Well, I haven't, and what's more I'm not going to go on to the Far
+North. I'm going to stay right here,” declared Sprite the Parula
+Warbler, for that is who it was.
+
+As Peter looked at Sprite he couldn't help thinking that there wasn't
+a daintier member in the whole Warbler family. His coat was of a soft
+bluish color with a yellowish patch in the very center of his back.
+Across each wing were two bars of white. His throat was yellow. Just
+beneath it was a little band of bluish-black. His breast was yellow and
+his sides were grayish and brownish-chestnut.
+
+“Sprite, you're just beautiful,” declared Peter in frank admiration.
+“What was the reason I didn't see you up in the Old Orchard with your
+cousins?”
+
+“Because I wasn't there,” was Sprite's prompt reply as he flitted about,
+quite unable to sit still a minute. “I wasn't there because I like the
+Green Forest better, so I came straight here.”
+
+“What were you doing just now in that bunch of moss?” demanded Peter, a
+sudden suspicion of the truth hopping into his head.
+
+“Just looking it over,” replied Sprite, trying to look innocent.
+
+At that very instant Peter looked up just in time to see a tail
+disappearing in the little round hole in the side of the bunch of moss.
+He knew that that tail belonged to Mrs. Sprite, and just that glimpse
+told him all he wanted to know.
+
+“You've got a nest in there!” Peter exclaimed excitedly. “There's no use
+denying it, Sprite; you've got a nest in there! What a perfectly lovely
+place for a nest.”
+
+Sprite saw at once that it would be quite useless to try to deceive
+Peter. “Yes,” said he, “Mrs. Sprite and I have a nest in there. We've
+just finished it. I think myself it is rather nice. We always build in
+moss like this. All we have to do is to find a nice thick bunch and then
+weave it together at the bottom and line the inside with fine grasses.
+It looks so much like all the rest of the bunches of moss that it is
+seldom any one finds it. I wouldn't trade nests with anybody I know.”
+
+“Isn't it rather lonesome over here by yourselves?” asked Peter.
+
+“Not at all,” replied Sprite. “You see, we are not as much alone as you
+think. My cousin, Fidget the Myrtle Warbler, is nesting not very far
+away, and another cousin Weechi the Magnolia Warbler is also quite near.
+Both have begun housekeeping already.”
+
+Of course Peter was all excitement and interest at once. “Where are
+their homes?” he asked eagerly. “Tell me where they are and I'll go
+straight over and call.”
+
+“Peter,” said Sprite severely, “you ought to know better than to ask me
+to tell you anything of this kind. You have been around enough to
+know that there is no secret so precious as the secret of a home. You
+happened to find mine, and I guess I can trust you not to tell anybody
+where it is. If you can find the homes of Fidget and Weechi, all right,
+but I certainly don't intend to tell you where they are.”
+
+Peter knew that Sprite was quite right in refusing to tell the secrets
+of his cousins, but he couldn't think of going home without at least
+looking for those homes. He tried to look very innocent as he asked if
+they also were in hanging bunches of moss. But Sprite was too smart to
+be fooled and Peter learned nothing at all.
+
+For some time Peter hopped around this way and that way, thinking every
+bunch of moss he saw must surely contain a nest. But though he looked
+and looked and looked, not another little round hole did he find, and
+there were so many bunches of moss that finally his neck ached from
+tipping his head back so much. Now Peter hasn't much patience as he
+might have, so after a while he gave up the search and started on his
+way home. On higher ground, just above the low swampy place where grew
+the moss-covered trees, he came to a lot of young hemlock-trees. These
+had no moss on them. Having given up his search Peter was thinking of
+other things when there flitted across in front of him a black and gray
+bird with a yellow cap, yellow sides, and a yellow patch at the root of
+his tail. Those yellow patches were all Peter needed to see to recognize
+Fidget the Myrtle Warbler, one of the two friends he had been so long
+looking for down among the moss-covered trees.
+
+“Oh, Fidget!” cried Peter, hurrying after the restless little bird. “Oh,
+Fidget! I've been looking everywhere for you.”
+
+“Well, here I am,” retorted Fidget. “You didn't look everywhere or you
+would have found me before. What can I do for you?” All the time Fidget
+was hopping and flitting about, never still an instant.
+
+“You can tell me where your nest is,” replied Peter promptly.
+
+“I can, but I won't,” retorted Fidget. “Now honestly, Peter, do you
+think you have any business to ask such a question?”
+
+Peter hung his head and then replied quite honestly, “No I don't,
+Fidget. But you see Sprite told me that you had a nest not very far from
+his and I've looked at bunches of moss until I've got a crick in the
+back of my neck.”
+
+“Bunches of moss!” exclaimed Fidget. “What under the sun do you think I
+have to do with bunches of moss?”
+
+“Why--why--I just thought you probably had your nest in one, the same as
+your cousin Sprite.”
+
+Fidget laughed right out. “I'm afraid you would have a worse crick in
+the back of your neck than you've got now before ever you found my nest
+in a bunch of moss,” said he. “Moss may suit my cousin Sprite, but it
+doesn't suit me at all. Besides, I don't like those dark places where
+the moss grows on the trees. I build my nest of twigs and grass and
+weed-stalks and I line it with hair and rootlets and feathers. Sometimes
+I bind it together with spider silk, and if you really want to know, I
+like a little hemlock-tree to put it in. It isn't very far from here,
+but where it is I'm not going to tell you. Have you seen my cousin,
+Weechi?”
+
+“No,” replied Peter. “Is he anywhere around here?”
+
+“Right here,” replied another voice and Weechi the Magnolia Warbler
+dropped down on the ground for just a second right in front of Peter.
+
+The top of his head and the back of his neck were gray. Above his eye
+was a white stripe and his cheeks were black. His throat was clear
+yellow, just below which was a black band. From this black streaks ran
+down across his yellow breast. At the root of his tail he was yellow.
+His tail was mostly black on top and white underneath.
+
+His wings were black and gray with two white bars. He was a little
+smaller than Fidget the Myrtle Warbler and quite as restless.
+
+Peter fairly itched to ask Weechi where his nest was, but by this time
+he had learned a lesson, so wisely kept his tongue still.
+
+“What were you fellows talking about?” asked Weechi.
+
+“Nests,” replied Fidget. “I've just been telling Peter that while Cousin
+Sprite may like to build in that hanging moss down there, it wouldn't
+suit me at all.”
+
+“Nor me either,” declared Weechi promptly. “I prefer to build a real
+nest just as you do. By the way, Fidget, I stopped to look at your nest
+this morning. I find we build a good deal alike and we like the same
+sort of a place to put it. I suppose you know that I am a rather near
+neighbor of yours?”
+
+“Of course I know it,” replied Fidget. “In fact I watched you start your
+nest. Don't you think you have it rather near the ground?”
+
+“Not too near, Fidget; not too near. I am not as high-minded as some
+people. I like to be within two or three feet of the ground.”
+
+“I do myself,” replied Fidget.
+
+Fidget and Weechi became so interested in discussing nests and the
+proper way of building them they quite forgot Peter Rabbit. Peter sat
+around for a while listening, but being more interested in seeing those
+nests than hearing about them, he finally stole away to look for them.
+
+He looked and looked, but there were so many young hemlock-trees and
+they looked so much alike that finally Peter lost patience and gave it
+up as a bad job.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. A New Friend and an Old One.
+
+Peter Rabbit never will forget the first time he caught a glimpse of
+Glory the Cardinal, sometimes called Redbird. He had come up to the Old
+Orchard for his usual morning visit and just as he hopped over the old
+stone wall he heard a beautiful clear, loud whistle which drew his eyes
+to the top of an apple-tree. Peter stopped short with a little gasp
+of sheer astonishment and delight. Then he rubbed his eyes and looked
+again. He couldn't quite believe that he saw what he thought he saw. He
+hadn't supposed that any one, even among the feathered folks, could be
+quite so beautiful.
+
+The stranger was dressed all in red, excepting a little black around the
+base of his bill. Even his bill was red. He wore a beautiful red crest
+which made him still more distinguished looking, and how he could sing!
+Peter had noticed that quite often the most beautifully dressed birds
+have the poorest songs. But this stranger's song was as beautiful as his
+coat, and that was one of the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful,
+that Peter ever had seen. Of course he lost no time in hunting up Jenny
+Wren. “Who is it, Jenny? Who is that beautiful stranger with such a
+lovely song?” cried Peter, as soon as he caught sight of Jenny.
+
+“It's Glory the Cardinal,” replied Jenny Wren promptly. “Isn't he the
+loveliest thing you've ever seen? I do hope he is going to stay here. As
+I said before, I don't often envy any one's fine clothes, but when I see
+Glory I'm sometimes tempted to be envious. If I were Mrs. Cardinal I'm
+afraid I should be jealous. There she is in the very same tree with him.
+Did you ever see such a difference?”
+
+Peter looked eagerly. Instead of the glorious red of Glory, Mrs.
+Cardinal wore a very dull dress. Her back was a brownish-gray. Her
+throat was a grayish-black. Her breast was a dull buff with a faint
+tinge of red. Her wings and tail were tinged with dull red. Altogether
+she was very soberly dressed, but a trim, neat looking little person.
+But if she wasn't handsomely dressed she could sing. In fact she was
+almost as good a singer as her handsome husband.
+
+“I've noticed,” said Peter, “that people with fine clothes spend most of
+their time thinking about them and are of very little use when it comes
+to real work in life.”
+
+“Well, you needn't think that of Glory,” declared Jenny in her vigorous
+way. “He's just as fine as he is handsome. He's a model husband. If they
+make their home around here you'll find him doing his full share in the
+care of their babies. Sometimes they raise two families. When they do
+that, Glory takes charge of the first lot of youngsters as soon as they
+are able to leave the nest so that Mrs. Cardinal has nothing to worry
+about while she is sitting on the second lot of eggs. He fusses over
+them as if they were the only children in the world. Everybody loves
+Glory. Excuse me, Peter, I'm going over to find out if they are really
+going to stay.”
+
+When Jenny returned she was so excited she couldn't keep still a minute.
+“They like here, Peter!” she cried. “They like here so much that if they
+can find a place to suit them for a nest they're going to stay. I told
+them that it is the very best place in the world. They like an evergreen
+tree to build in, and I think they've got their eyes on those evergreens
+up near Farmer Brown's house. My, they will add a lot to the quality of
+this neighborhood.”
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal whistled and sang as if their hearts were bursting
+with joy, and Peter sat around listening as if he had nothing else
+in the world to do. Probably he would have sat there the rest of the
+morning had he not caught sight of an old friend of whom he is very
+fond, Kitty the Catbird. In contrast with Glory, Kitty seemed a regular
+little Quaker, for he was dressed almost wholly in gray, a rather dark,
+slaty-gray. The top of his head and tail were black, and right at the
+base of his tail was a patch of chestnut color. He was a little smaller
+than Welcome Robin. There was no danger of mistaking him for anybody
+else, for there is no one dressed at all like him.
+
+Peter forgot all about Glory in his pleasure at discovering the returned
+Kitty and hurried over to welcome him. Kitty had disappeared among the
+bushes along the old stone wall, but Peter had no trouble in finding
+him by the queer cries he was uttering, which were very like the meow
+of Black Pussy the Cat. They were very harsh and unpleasant and Peter
+understood perfectly why their maker is called the Catbird. He did
+not hurry in among the bushes at once but waited expectantly. In a few
+minutes the harsh cries ceased and then there came from the very same
+place a song which seemed to be made up of parts of the songs of all the
+other birds of the Old Orchard. It was not loud, but it was charming. It
+contained the clear whistle of Glory, and there was even the tinkle of
+Little Friend the Song Sparrow. The notes of other friends were in that
+song, and with them were notes of southern birds whose songs Kitty had
+learned while spending the winter in the South. Then there were notes
+all his own.
+
+Peter listened until the song ended, then scampered in among the bushes.
+At once those harsh cries broke out again. You would have thought that
+Kitty was scolding Peter for coming to see him instead of being glad.
+But that was just Kitty's way. He is simply brimming over with fun and
+mischief, and delights to pretend.
+
+When Peter found him, he was sitting with all his feathers puffed out
+until he looked almost like a ball with a head and tail. He looked
+positively sleepy. Then as he caught sight of Peter he drew those
+feathers down tight, cocked his tail up after the manner of Jenny Wren,
+and was as slim and trim looking as any bird of Peter's acquaintance.
+He didn't look at all like the same bird of the moment before. Then he
+dropped his tail as if he hadn't strength enough to hold it up at all.
+It hung straight down. He dropped his wings and all in a second made
+himself look fairly disreputable. But all the time his eyes were
+twinkling and snapping, and Peter knew that these changes in appearance
+were made out of pure fun and mischief.
+
+“I've been wondering if you were coming hack,” cried Peter. “I don't
+know of any one of my feathered friends I would miss so much as you.”
+
+“Thank you,” responded Kitty. “It's very nice of you to say that, Peter.
+If you are glad to see me I am still more glad to get back.”
+
+“Did you pass a pleasant winter down South?” asked Peter.
+
+“Fairly so. Fairly so,” replied Kitty. “By the way, Peter, I picked up
+some new songs down there. Would you like to hear them?”
+
+“Of course,” replied Peter, “but I don't think you need any new songs.
+I've never seen such a fellow for picking up other people's songs
+excepting Mocker the Mockingbird.”
+
+At the mention of Mocker a little cloud crossed Kitty's face for just an
+instant. “There's a fellow I really envy,” said he. “I'm pretty good at
+imitating others, but Mocker is better. I'm hoping that, if I practice
+enough, some day I can be as good. I saw a lot of him in the South and
+he certainly is clever.”
+
+“Huh! You don't need to envy him,” retorted Peter. “You are some
+imitator yourself. How about those new notes you got when you were in
+the South?”
+
+Kitty's face cleared, his throat swelled and he began to sing. It was a
+regular medley. It didn't seem as if so many notes could come from one
+throat. When it ended Peter had a question all ready.
+
+“Are you going to build somewhere near here?” he asked.
+
+“I certainly am,” replied Kitty. “Mrs. Catbird was delayed a day or two.
+I hope she'll get here to-day and then we'll get busy at once. I think
+we shall build in these bushes here somewhere. I'm glad Farmer Brown has
+sense enough to let them grow. They are just the kind of a place I like
+for a nest. They are near enough to Farmer Brown's garden, and the Old
+Orchard is right here. That's just the kind of a combination that suits
+me.”
+
+Peter looked somewhat uncertain. “Why do you want to be near Farmer
+Brown's garden?” he asked.
+
+“Because that is where I will get a good part of my living,” Kitty
+responded promptly. “He ought to be glad to have me about. Once in a
+while I take a little fruit, but I pay for it ten times over by the
+number of bugs and worms I get in his garden and the Old Orchard. I
+pride myself on being useful. There's nothing like being useful in this
+world, Peter.”
+
+Peter nodded as if he quite agreed. Though, as you know and I know,
+Peter himself does very little except fill his own big stomach.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. Peter Sees Rosebreast and Finds Redcoat.
+
+“Who's that?” Peter Rabbit pricked up his long ears and stared up at the
+tops of the trees of the Old Orchard.
+
+Instantly Jenny Wren popped her head out of her doorway. She cocked her
+head on one side to listen, then looked down at Peter, and her sharp
+little eyes snapped.
+
+“I don't hear any strange voice,” said she. “The way you are staring,
+Peter Rabbit, one would think that you had really heard something new
+and worth while.”
+
+Just then there were two or three rather sharp, squeaky notes from the
+top of one of the trees. “There!” cried Peter. “There! Didn't you hear
+that, Jenny Wren?”
+
+“For goodness' sake, Peter Rabbit, you don't mean to say you don't
+know whose voice that is,” she cried. “That's Rosebreast. He and Mrs.
+Rosebreast have been here for quite a little while. I didn't suppose
+there was any one who didn't know those sharp, squeaky voices. They
+rather get on my nerves. What anybody wants to squeak like that for when
+they can sing as Rosebreast can, is more than I can understand.”
+
+At that very instant Mr. Wren began to scold as only he and Jenny can.
+Peter looked up at Jenny and winked slyly. “And what anybody wants to
+scold like that for when they can sing as Mr. Wren can, is too much for
+me,” retorted Peter. “But you haven't told me who Rosebreast is.”
+
+“The Grosbeak, of course, stupid,” sputtered Jenny. “If you don't know
+Rosebreast the Grosbeak, Peter Rabbit, you certainly must have been
+blind and deaf ever since you were born. Listen to that! Just listen to
+that song!”
+
+Peter listened. There were many songs, for it was a very beautiful
+morning and all the singers of the Old Orchard were pouring out the joy
+that was within them. One song was a little louder and clearer than the
+others because it came from a tree very close at hand, the very tree
+from which those squeaky notes had come just a few minutes before.
+Peter suspected that that must be the song Jenny Wren meant. He looked
+puzzled. He was puzzled. “Do you mean Welcome Robin's song?” he asked
+rather sheepishly, for he had a feeling that he would be the victim of
+Jenny Wren's sharp tongue.
+
+“No, I don't mean Welcome Robin's song,” snapped Jenny. “What good are
+a pair of long ears if they can't tell one song from another? That song
+may sound something like Welcome Robin's, but if your ears were good
+for anything at all you'd know right away that that isn't Welcome Robin
+singing. That's a better song than Welcome Robin's. Welcome Robin's song
+is one of good cheer, but this one is of pure happiness. I wouldn't have
+a pair of ears like yours for anything in the world, Peter Rabbit.”
+
+Peter laughed right out as he tried to picture to himself Jenny Wren
+with a pair of long ears like his. “What are you laughing at?” demanded
+Jenny crossly. “Don't you dare laugh at me! If there is any one thing I
+can't stand it is being laughed at.”
+
+“I wasn't laughing at you,” replied Peter very meekly. “I was just
+laughing, at the thought of how funny you would look with a pair of long
+ears like mine. Now you speak of it, Jenny, that song IS quite different
+from Welcome Robin's.”
+
+“Of course it is,” retorted Jenny. “That is Rosebreast singing up there,
+and there he is right in the top of that tree. Isn't he handsome?”
+
+Peter looked up to see a bird a little smaller than Welcome Robin. His
+head, throat and back were black. His wings were black with patches of
+white on them. But it was his breast that made Peter catch his breath
+with a little gasp of admiration, for that breast was a beautiful
+rose-red. The rest of him underneath was white. It was Rosebreast the
+Grosbeak.
+
+“Isn't he lovely!”' cried Peter, and added in the next breath, “Who is
+that with him?”
+
+“Mrs. Grosbeak, of course. Who else would it be?” sputtered Jenny rather
+crossly, for she was still a little put out because she had been laughed
+at.
+
+“I would never have guessed it,” said Peter. “She doesn't look the least
+bit like him.”
+
+This was quite true. There was no beautiful rose color about Mrs.
+Grosbeak. She was dressed chiefly in brown and grayish colors with a
+little buff here and there and with dark streaks on her breast. Over
+each eye was a whitish line. Altogether she looked more as if she
+might be a big member of the Sparrow family than the wife of handsome
+Rosebreast. While Rosebreast sang, Mrs. Grosbeak was very busily picking
+buds and blossoms from the tree.
+
+“What is she doing that for?” inquired Peter.
+
+“For the same reason that you bite off sweet clover blossoms and
+leaves,” replied Jenny Wren tartly.
+
+“Do you mean to say that they live on buds and blossoms?” cried Peter.
+“I never heard of such a thing.”
+
+“Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut! You can ask more silly questions than anybody
+of my acquaintance,” retorted Jenny Wren. “Of course they don't live on
+buds and blossoms. If they did they would soon starve to death, for buds
+and blossoms don't last long. They eat a few just for variety, but they
+live mostly on bugs and insects. You ask Farmer Brown's boy who helps
+him most in his potato patch, and he'll tell you it's the Grosbeaks.
+They certainly do love potato bugs. They eat some fruit, but on the
+whole they are about as useful around a garden as any one I know. Now
+run along, Peter Rabbit, and don't bother me any more.”
+
+Seeing Farmer Brown's boy coming through the Old Orchard Peter decided
+that it was high time for him to depart. So he scampered for the Green
+Forest, lipperty-lipperty-lip. Just within the edge of the Green Forest
+he caught sight of something which for the time being put all thought of
+Farmer Brown's boy out of his head. Fluttering on the ground was a bird
+than whom not even Glory the Cardinal was more beautiful. It was about
+the size of Redwing the Blackbird. Wings and tail were pure black and
+all the rest was a beautiful scarlet. It was Redcoat the Tanager. At
+first Peter had eyes only for the wonderful beauty of Redcoat. Never
+before had he seen Redcoat so close at hand. Then quite suddenly it came
+over Peter that something was wrong with Redcoat, and he hurried forward
+to see what the trouble might be.
+
+Redcoat heard the rustle of Peter's feet among the dry leaves and at
+once began to flap and flutter in an effort to fly away, but he could
+not get off the ground. “What is it, Redcoat? Has something happened to
+you? It is just Peter Rabbit. You don't have anything to fear from me,”
+ cried Peter.
+
+The look of terror which had been in the eyes of Redcoat died out, and
+he stopped fluttering and simply lay panting.
+
+“Oh, Peter,” he gasped, “you don't know how glad I am that it is only
+you. I've had a terrible accident, and I don't know what I am to do. I
+can't fly, and if I have to stay on the ground some enemy will be sure
+to get me. What shall I do, Peter? What shall I do?”
+
+Right away Peter was full of sympathy. “What kind of an accident was it,
+Redcoat, and how did it happen?” he asked.
+
+“Broadwing the Hawk tried to catch me,” sobbed Redcoat. “In dodging him
+among the trees I was heedless for a moment and did not see just where I
+was going. I struck a sharp-pointed dead twig and drove it right through
+my right wing.”
+
+Redcoat held up his right wing and sure enough there was a little
+stick projecting from both sides close up to the shoulder. The wing was
+bleeding a little.
+
+“Oh, dear, whatever shall I do, Peter Rabbit? Whatever shall I do?”
+ sobbed Redcoat.
+
+“Does it pain you dreadfully?” asked Peter.
+
+Redcoat nodded. “But I don't mind the pain,” he hastened to say. “It is
+the thought of what MAY happen to me.”
+
+Meanwhile Mrs. Tanager was flying about in the tree tops near at
+hand and calling anxiously. She was dressed almost wholly in light
+olive-green and greenish-yellow. She looked no more like beautiful
+Redcoat than did Mrs. Grosbeak like Rosebreast.
+
+“Can't you fly up just a little way so as to get off the ground?” she
+cried anxiously. “Isn't it dreadful, Peter Rabbit, to have such an
+accident? We've just got our nest half built, and I don't know what I
+shall do if anything happens to Redcoat. Oh, dear, here comes somebody!
+Hide, Redcoat! Hide!” Mrs. Tanager flew off a short distance to one side
+and began to cry as if in the greatest distress. Peter knew instantly
+that she was crying to get the attention of whoever was coming.
+
+Poor Redcoat, with the old look of terror in his eyes, fluttered along,
+trying to find something under which to hide. But there was nothing
+under which he could crawl, and there was no hiding that wonderful red
+coat. Peter heard the sound of heavy footsteps, and looking back, saw
+that Farmer Brown's boy was coming. “Don't be afraid, Redcoat,” he
+whispered. “It's Farmer Brown's boy and I'm sure he won't hurt you.
+Perhaps he can help you.” Then Peter scampered off for a short distance
+and sat up to watch what would happen.
+
+Of coarse Farmer Brown's boy saw Redcoat. No one with any eyes at all
+could have helped seeing him, because of that wonderful scarlet coat. He
+saw, too, by the way Redcoat was acting, that he was in great trouble.
+As Farmer Brown's boy drew near and Redcoat saw that he was discovered,
+he tried his hardest to flutter away. Farmer Brown's boy understood
+instantly that something was wrong with one wing, and running forward,
+he caught Redcoat.
+
+“You poor little thing. You poor, beautiful little creature,” said
+Farmer Brown's boy softly as he saw the cruel twig sticking through
+Redcoats' shoulder. “We'll have to get that out right away,” continued
+Farmer Brown's boy, stroking Redcoat ever so gently.
+
+Somehow at that gentle touch Redcoat lost much of his fear, and a little
+hope sprang in his heart. He saw, too, this was no enemy, but a friend.
+Farmer Brown's boy took out his knife and carefully cut off the twig on
+the upper side of the wing. Then, doing his best to be careful and to
+hurt as little as possible, he worked the other part of the twig out
+from the under side. Carefully he examined the wing to see if any bones
+were broken. None were, and after holding Redcoat a few minutes he
+carefully set him up in a tree and withdrew a short distance. Redcoat
+hopped from branch to branch until he was halfway up the tree. Then
+he sat there for some time as if fearful of trying that injured wing.
+Meanwhile Mrs. Tanager came and fussed about him and talked to him and
+coaxed him and made as much of him as if he were a baby.
+
+Peter remained right where he was until at last he saw Redcoat spread
+his black wings and fly to another tree. From tree to tree he flew,
+resting a bit in each until he and Mrs. Tanager disappeared in the Green
+Forest.
+
+“I knew Farmer Brown's boy would help him, and I'm so glad he found
+him,” cried Peter happily and started for the dear Old Briar-patch.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. The Constant Singers.
+
+Over in a maple-tree on the edge of Farmer Brown's door yard lived Mr.
+and Mrs. Redeye the Vireos. Peter Rabbit knew that they had a nest there
+because Jenny Wren had told him so. He would have guessed it anyway,
+because Redeye spent so much time in that tree during the nesting
+season. No matter what hour of the day Peter visited the Old Orchard he
+heard Redeye singing over in the maple-tree. Peter used to think that if
+song is an expression of happiness, Redeye must be the happiest of all
+birds.
+
+He was a little fellow about the size of one of the larger Warblers and
+quite as modestly dressed as any of Peter's acquaintances. The crown
+of his head was gray with a little blackish border on either side. Over
+each eye was a white line. Underneath he was white. For the rest he was
+dressed in light olive-green. The first time he came down near enough
+for Peter to see him well Peter understood at once why he is called
+Redeye. His eyes were red. Yes, sir, his eyes were red and this fact
+alone was enough to distinguish him from any other members of his
+family.
+
+But it wasn't often that Redeye came down so near the ground that Peter
+could see his eyes. He preferred to spend most of his time in the tree
+tops, and Peter only got glimpses of him now and then. But if he didn't
+see him often it was less often that he failed to hear him. “I don't
+see when Redeye finds time to eat,” declared Peter as he listened to the
+seemingly unending song in the maple-tree.
+
+“Redeye believes in singing while he works,” said Jenny Wren. “For my
+part I should think he'd wear his throat out. When other birds sing they
+don't do anything else, but Redeye sings all the time he is hunting
+his meals and only stops long enough to swallow a worm or a bug when he
+finds it. Just as soon as it is down he begins to sing again while he
+hunts for another. I must say for the Redeyes that they are mighty good
+nest builders. Have you seen their nest over in that maple-tree, Peter?”
+
+Peter shook his head.
+
+“I don't dare go over there except very early in the morning before
+Farmer Brown's folks are awake,” said he, “so I haven't had much chance
+to look for it.”
+
+“You probably couldn't see it, anyway,” declared Jenny Wren. “They have
+placed it rather high up from the ground and those leaves are so thick
+that they hide it. It's a regular little basket fastened in a fork near
+the end of a branch and it is woven almost as nicely as is the nest of
+Goldy the Oriole. How anybody has the patience to weave a nest like that
+is beyond me.”
+
+“What's it made of?” asked Peter.
+
+“Strips of bark, plant down, spider's web, grass, and pieces of paper!”
+ replied Jenny. “That's a funny thing about Redeye; he dearly loves a
+piece of paper in his nest. What for, I can't imagine. He's as fussy
+about having a scrap of paper as Cresty the Flycatcher is about having a
+piece of Snakeskin. I had just a peep into that nest a few days ago and
+unless I am greatly mistaken Sally Sly the Cowbird has managed to impose
+on the Redeyes. I am certain I saw one of her eggs in that nest.”
+
+A few mornings after this talk with Jenny Wren about Redeye the Vireo
+Peter once more visited the Old Orchard. No sooner did he come in sight
+than Jenny Wren's tongue began to fly. “What did I tell you, Peter
+Rabbit? What did I tell you? I knew it was so, and it is!” cried Jenny.
+
+“What is so?” asked Peter rather testily, for he hadn't the least idea
+what Jenny Wren was talking about.
+
+“Sally Sly DID lay an egg in Redeye's nest, and now it has hatched and
+I don't know whatever is to become of Redeye's own children. It's
+perfectly scandalous! That's what it is, perfectly scandalous!” cried
+Jenny, and hopped about and jerked her tail and worked herself into a
+small brown fury.
+
+“The Redeyes are working themselves to feathers and bone feeding that
+ugly young Cowbird while their own babies aren't getting half enough to
+eat,” continued Jenny. “One of them has died already. He was kicked out
+of the nest by that young brute.”
+
+“How dreadful!” cried Peter. “If he does things like that I should think
+the Redeyes would throw HIM out of the nest.”
+
+“They're too soft-hearted,” declared Jenny. “I can tell you I wouldn't
+be so soft-hearted if I were in their place. No, sir-ee, I wouldn't! But
+they say it isn't his fault that he's there, and that he's nothing but a
+helpless baby, and so they just take care of him.”
+
+“Then why don't they feed their own babies first and give him what's
+left?” demanded Peter.
+
+“Because he's twice as big as any of their own babies and so strong and
+greedy that he simply snatches the food out of the very mouths of the
+others. Because he gets most of the food, he's growing twice as fast as
+they are. I wouldn't be surprised if he kicks all the rest of them out
+before he gets through. Mr. and Mrs. Redeye are dreadfully distressed
+about it, but they will feed him because they say it isn't his fault.
+It's a dreadful affair and the talk of the whole Orchard. I suppose his
+mother is off gadding somewhere, having a good time and not caring
+a flip of her tail feathers what becomes of him. I believe in being
+goodhearted, but there is such a thing as overdoing the matter. Thank
+goodness I'm not so weak-minded that I can be imposed on in any such way
+as that.”
+
+“Speaking of the Vireos, Redeye seems to be the only member of his
+family around here,” remarked Peter.
+
+“Listen!” commanded Jenny Wren. “Don't you hear that warbling song 'way
+over in the big elm in front of Farmer Brown's house where Goldy the
+oriole has his nest?”
+
+Peter listened. At first he didn't hear it, and as usual Jenny Wren made
+fun of him for having such big ears and not being able to make better
+use of them. Presently he did hear it. The voice was not unlike that of
+Redeye, but the song was smoother, more continuous and sweeter. Peter's
+face lighted up. “I hear it,” he cried.
+
+“That's Redeye's cousin, the Warbling Vireo,” said Jenny. “He's a better
+singer than Redeye and just as fond of hearing his own voice. He sings
+from the time jolly Mr. Sun gets up in the morning until he goes to bed
+at night. He sings when it is so hot that the rest of us are glad to
+keep still for comfort's sake. I don't know of anybody more fond of the
+tree tops than he is. He doesn't seem to care anything about the Old
+Orchard, but stays over in those big trees along the road. He's got
+a nest over in that big elm and it is as high up as that of Goldy the
+Oriole; I haven't seen it myself, but Goldy told me about it. Why any
+one so small should want to live so high up in the world I don't know,
+any more than I know why any one wants to live anywhere but in the Old
+Orchard.”
+
+“Somehow I don't remember just what Warble looks like,” Peter confessed.
+
+“He looks a lot like his cousin, Redeye,” replied Jenny. “His coat is a
+little duller olive-green and underneath he is a little bit yellowish
+instead of being white. Of course he doesn't have red eyes, and he is
+a little smaller than Redeye. The whole family looks pretty much alike
+anyway.”
+
+“You said something then, Jenny Wren,” declared Peter. “They get me all
+mixed up. If only some of them had some bright colors it would be easier
+to tell them apart.”
+
+“One has,” replied Jenny Wren. “He has a bright yellow throat and breast
+and is called the Yellow-throated Vireo. There isn't the least chance of
+mistaking him.”
+
+“Is he a singer, too?” asked Peter.
+
+“Of course,” replied Jenny. “Every one of that blessed family loves the
+sound of his own voice. It's a family trait. Sometimes it just makes my
+throat sore to listen to them all day long. A good thing is good, but
+more than enough of a good thing is too much. That applies to gossiping
+just as well as to singing and I've wasted more time on you than I've
+any business to. Now hop along, Peter, and don't bother me any more
+to-day.”
+
+Peter hopped.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. Jenny Wren's Cousins.
+
+Peter Rabbit never will forget his surprise when Jenny Wren asked him
+one spring morning if he had seen anything of her big cousin. Peter
+hesitated. As a matter of fact, he couldn't think of any big cousin
+of Jenny Wren. All the cousins he knew anything about were very nearly
+Jenny's own size.
+
+Now Jenny Wren is one of the most impatient small persons in the world.
+“Well, well, well, Peter, have you lost your tongue?” she chattered.
+“Can't you answer a simple question without talking all day about it?
+Have you seen anything of my big cousin? It is high time for him to be
+here.”
+
+“You needn't be so cross about it if I am slow,” replied Peter. “I'm
+just trying to think who your big cousin is. I guess, to be quite
+honest, I don't know him.”
+
+“Don't know him! Don't know him!” Sputtered Jenny. “Of course you know
+him. You can't help but know him. I mean Brownie the Thrasher.”
+
+In his surprise Peter fairly jumped right off the ground. “What's that?”
+ he exclaimed. “Since when was Brownie the Thrasher related to the Wren
+family?”
+
+“Ever since there have been any Wrens and Thrashers,” retorted Jenny.
+“Brownie belongs to one branch of the family and I belong to another,
+and that makes him my second cousin. It certainly is surprising how
+little some folks know.”
+
+“But I have always supposed he belonged to the Thrush family,” protested
+Peter. “He certainly looks like a Thrush.”
+
+“Looking like one doesn't make him one,” snapped Jenny. “By this time
+you ought to leave learned that you never can judge anybody just by
+looks. It always makes me provoked to hear Brownie called the Brown
+Thrush. There isn't a drop of Thrush blood in him. But you haven't
+answered my question yet, Peter Rabbit. I want to know if he has got
+here yet.”
+
+“Yes,” said Peter. “I saw him only yesterday on the edge of the Old
+Pasture. He was fussing around in the bushes and on the ground and
+jerking that long tail of his up and down and sidewise as if he couldn't
+decide what to do with it. I've never seen anybody twitch their tail
+around the way he does.”
+
+Jenny Wren giggled. “That's just like him,” said she. “It is because he
+thrashes his tail around so much that he is called a Thrasher. I suppose
+he was wearing his new spring suit.”
+
+“I don't know whether it was a new suit or not, but it was mighty good
+looking,” replied Peter. “I just love that beautiful reddish-brown of
+his back, wings and tail, and it certainly does set off his white and
+buff waistcoat with those dark streaks and spots. You must admit, Jenny
+Wren, that any one seeing him dressed so much like the Thrushes is to be
+excused for thinking him a Thrush.”
+
+“I suppose so,” admitted Jenny rather grudgingly. “But none of the
+Thrushes have such a bright brown coat. Brownie is handsome, if I do say
+so. Did you notice what a long bill he has?”
+
+Peter nodded. “And I noticed that he had two white bars on each wing,”
+ said he.
+
+“I'm glad you're so observing,” replied Jenny dryly. “Did you hear him
+sing?”
+
+“Did I hear him sing!” cried Peter, his eyes shining at the memory. “He
+sang especially for me. He flew up to the top of a tree, tipped his head
+back and sang as few birds I know of can sing. He has a wonderful voice,
+has Brownie. I don't know of anybody I enjoy listening to more. And when
+he's singing he acts as if he enjoyed it himself and knows what a good
+singer he is. I noticed that long tail of his hung straight down the
+same way Mr. Wren's does when he sings.”
+
+“Of course it did,” replied Jenny promptly. “That's a family trait. The
+tails of both my other big cousins do the same thing.”
+
+“Wha-wha-what's that? Have you got more big cousins?” cried Peter,
+staring up at Jenny as if she were some strange person he never had seen
+before.
+
+“Certainly,” retorted Jenny. “Mocker the Mockingbird and Kitty the
+Catbird belong to Brownie's family, and that makes them second cousins
+to me.”
+
+Such a funny expression as there was on Peter's face. He felt that Jenny
+Wren was telling the truth, but it was surprising news to him and so
+hard to believe that for a few minutes he couldn't find his tongue to
+ask another question. Finally he ventured to ask very timidly, “Does
+Brownie imitate the songs of other birds the way Mocker and Kitty do?”
+
+Jenny Wren shook her head very decidedly. “No,” said she. “He's
+perfectly satisfied with his own song.” Before she could add anything
+further the clear whistle of Glory the Cardinal sounded from a tree
+just a little way off. Instantly Peter forgot all about Jenny Wren's
+relatives and scampered over to that tree. You see Glory is so beautiful
+that Peter never loses a chance to see him.
+
+As Peter sat staring up into the tree, trying to get a glimpse of
+Glory's beautiful red coat, the clear, sweet whistle sounded once more.
+It drew Peter's eyes to one of the upper branches, but instead of the
+beautiful, brilliant coat of Glory the Cardinal he saw a bird about the
+size of Welcome Robin dressed in sober ashy-gray with two white bars
+on his wings, and white feathers on the outer edges of his tail. He was
+very trim and neat and his tail hung straight down after the manner of
+Brownie's when he was singing. It was a long tail, but not as long as
+Brownie's. Even as Peter blinked and stared in surprise the stranger
+opened his mouth and from it came Glory's own beautiful whistle. Then
+the stranger looked down at Peter, and his eyes twinkled with mischief.
+
+“Fooled you that time, didn't I, Peter?” he chuckled. “You thought you
+were going to see Glory the Cardinal, didn't you?”
+
+Then without waiting for Peter to reply, this sober-looking stranger
+gave such a concert as no one else in the world could give. From that
+wonderful throat poured out song after song and note after note of
+Peter's familiar friends of the Old Orchard, and the performance wound
+up with a lovely song which was all the stranger's own. Peter didn't
+have to be told who the stranger was. It was Mocker the Mockingbird.
+
+“Oh!” gasped Peter. “Oh, Mocker, how under the sun do you do it? I was
+sure that it was Glory whom I heard whistling. Never again will I be
+able to believe my own ears.”
+
+Mocker chuckled. “You're not the only one I've fooled, Peter,” said he.
+“I flatter myself that I can fool almost anybody if I set out to. It's
+lots of fun. I may not be much to look at, but when it comes to singing
+there's no one I envy.
+
+“I think you are very nice looking indeed,” replied Peter politely.
+“I've just been finding out this morning that you can't tell much about
+folks just by their looks.”
+
+“And now you've learned that you can't always recognize folks by their
+voices, haven't you?” chuckled Mocker.
+
+“Yes,” replied Peter. “Hereafter I shall never be sure about any
+feathered folks unless I can both see and hear them. Won't you sing for
+me again, Mocker?”
+
+Mocker did. He sang and sang, for he clearly loves to sing. When he
+finished Peter had another question ready. “Somebody told me once that
+down in the South you are the best loved of all the birds. Is that so?”
+
+“That's not for me to say,” replied Mocker modestly. “But I can tell you
+this, Peter, they do think a lot of me down there. There are many birds
+down there who are very beautifully dressed, birds who don't come up
+here at all. But not one of them is loved as I am, and it is all on
+account of my voice. I would rather have a beautiful voice than a fine
+coat.”
+
+Peter nodded as if he quite agreed, which, when you think of it, is
+rather funny, for Peter has neither a fine coat nor a fine voice. A
+glint of mischief sparkled in Mocker's eyes. “There's Mrs. Goldy the
+Oriole over there,” said he. “Watch me fool her.”
+
+He began to call in exact imitation of Goldy's voice when he is anxious
+about something. At once Mrs. Goldy came hurrying over to find out what
+the trouble was. When she discovered Mocker she lost her temper
+and scolded him roundly; then she flew away a perfect picture of
+indignation. Mocker and Peter laughed, for they thought it a good joke.
+
+Suddenly Peter remembered what Jenny Wren had told him. “Was Jenny Wren
+telling you the truth when she said that you are a second cousin of
+hers?” he asked.
+
+Mocker nodded. “Yes,” said he, “we are relatives. We each belong to
+a branch of the same family.” Then he burst into Mr. Wren's own song,
+after which he excused himself and went to look for Mrs. Mocker. For, as
+he explained, it was time for them to be thinking of a nest.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI. Voices of the Dusk.
+
+Jolly, round, red Mr. Sun was just going to bed behind the Purple Hills
+and the Black Shadows had begun to creep all through the Green Forest
+and out across the Green Meadows. It was the hour of the day Peter
+Rabbit loves best. He sat on the edge of the Green Forest watching for
+the first little star to twinkle high up in the sky. Peter felt at peace
+with all the Great World, for it was the hour of peace, the hour of rest
+for those who had been busy all through the shining day.
+
+Most of Peter's feathered friends had settled themselves for the coming
+night, the worries and cares of the day over and forgotten. All the
+Great World seemed hushed. In the distance Sweetvoice the Vesper Sparrow
+was pouring out his evening song, for it was the hour when he dearly
+loves to sing. Far back in the Green Forest Whip-poor-will was calling
+as if his very life depended on the number of times he could say, “Whip
+poor Will,” without taking a breath. From overhead came now and then the
+sharp, rather harsh cry of Boomer the Nighthawk, as he hunted his supper
+in the air.
+
+For a time it seemed as if these were the only feathered friends still
+awake, and Peter couldn't help thinking that those who went so early to
+bed missed the most beautiful hour of the whole day. Then, from a tree
+just back of him, there poured forth a song so clear, so sweet, so
+wonderfully suited to that peaceful hour, that Peter held his breath
+until it was finished. He knew that singer and loved him. It was Melody
+the Wood Thrush.
+
+When the song ended Peter hopped over to the tree from which it had
+come. It was still light enough for him to see the sweet singer. He sat
+on a branch near the top, his head thrown back and his soft, full throat
+throbbing with the flute-like notes he was pouring forth. He was
+a little smaller than Welcome Robin. His coat was a beautiful
+reddish-brown, not quite so bright as that of Brownie the Thrasher.
+Beneath he was white with large, black spots thickly dotting his
+breast and sides. He was singing as if he were trying to put into those
+beautiful notes all the joy of life. Listening to it Peter felt steal
+over him a wonderful feeling of peace and pure happiness. Not for the
+world would he have interrupted it.
+
+The Black Shadows crept far across the Green Meadows and it became so
+dusky in the Green Forest that Peter could barely make out the sweet
+singer above his head. Still Melody sang on and the hush of eventide
+grew deeper, as if all the Great World were holding its breath to
+listen. It was not until several little stars had begun to twinkle high
+up in the sky that Melody stopped singing and sought the safety of his
+hidden perch for the night. Peter felt sure that somewhere near was a
+nest and that one thing which had made that song so beautiful was the
+love Melody lad been trying to express to the little mate sitting on
+the eggs that nest must contain. “I'll just run over here early in the
+morning,” thought Peter.
+
+Now Peter is a great hand to stay out all night, and that is just what
+he did that night. Just before it was time for jolly, round, red Mr. Sun
+to kick off his rosy blankets and begin his daily climb up in the blue,
+blue sky, Peter started for home in the dear Old Briar-patch. Everywhere
+in the Green Forest, in the Old Orchard, on the Green Meadows, his
+feathered friends were awakening. He had quite forgotten his intention
+to visit Melody and was reminded of it only when again he heard those
+beautiful flute-like notes. At once he scampered over to where he had
+spent such a peaceful hour the evening before. Melody saw him at once
+and dropped down on the ground for a little gossip while he scratched
+among the leaves in search of his breakfast.
+
+“I just love to hear you sing, Melody,” cried Peter rather breathlessly.
+“I don't know of any other song that makes me feel quite as yours does,
+so sort of perfectly contented and free of care and worry.”
+
+“Thank you,” replied Melody. “I'm glad you like to hear me sing for
+there is nothing I like to do better. It is the one way in which I can
+express my feelings. I love all the Great World and I just have to tell
+it so. I do not mean to boast when I say that all the Thrush family have
+good voices.”
+
+“But you have the best of all,” cried Peter.
+
+Melody shook his brown head. “I wouldn't say that,” said he modestly.
+“I think the song of my cousin Hermit, is even more beautiful than
+mine. And then there is my other cousin, Veery. His song is wonderful, I
+think.”
+
+But just then Peter's curiosity was greater than his interest in songs.
+“Have you built your nest yet?” he asked.
+
+Melody nodded. “It is in a little tree not far from here,” said he, “and
+Mrs. Wood Thrush is sitting on five eggs this blessed minute. Isn't that
+perfectly lovely?”
+
+It was Peter's turn to nod. “What is your nest built of?” he inquired.
+
+“Rootlets and tiny twigs and weed stalks and leaves and mud,” replied
+Melody.
+
+“Mud!” exclaimed Peter. “Why, that's what Welcome Robin uses in his
+nest.”
+
+“Well, Welcome Robin is my own cousin, so I don't know as there's
+anything so surprising in that,” retorted Melody.
+
+“Oh,” said Peter. “I had forgotten that he is a member of the Thrush
+family.”
+
+“Well, he is, even if he is dressed quite differently from the rest of
+us,” replied Melody.
+
+“You mentioned your cousin, Hermit. I don't believe I know him,” said
+Peter.
+
+“Then it's high time you got acquainted with him,” replied Melody
+promptly. “He is rather fond of being by himself and that is why he is
+called the Hermit Thrush. He is smaller than I and his coat is not such
+a bright brown. His tail is brighter than his coat. He has a waistcoat
+spotted very much like mine. Some folks consider him the most beautiful
+singer of the Thrush family. I'm glad you like my song, but you must
+hear Hermit sing. I really think there is no song so beautiful in all
+the Green Forest.”
+
+“Does he build a nest like yours?” asked Peter.
+
+“No,” replied Melody. “He builds his nest on the ground, and he doesn't
+use any mud. Now if you'll excuse me, Peter, I must get my breakfast and
+give Mrs. Wood Thrush a chance to get hers.”
+
+So Peter continued on his way to the dear Old Briar-patch and there
+he spent the day. As evening approached he decided to go back to hear
+Melody sing again. Just as he drew near the Green Forest he heard from
+the direction of the Laughing Brook a song that caused him to change his
+mind and sent him hurrying in that direction. It was a very different
+song from that of Melody the Wood Thrush, yet, if he had never heard
+it before, Peter would have known that such a song could come from no
+throat except that of a member of the Thrush family. As he drew near
+the Laughing Brook the beautiful notes seemed to ring through the Green
+Forest like a bell. As Melody's song had filled Peter with a feeling of
+peace, so this song stirred in him a feeling of the wonderful mystery of
+life. There was in it the very spirit of the Green Forest.
+
+It didn't take Peter long to find the singer. It was Veery, who has been
+named Wilson's Thrush; and by some folks is known as the Tawny Thrush.
+
+At the sound of the patter of Peter's feet the song stopped abruptly and
+he was greeted with a whistled “Wheeu! wheeu!” Then, seeing that it was
+no one of whom he need be afraid, Veery came out from under some ferns
+to greet Peter. He was smaller than Melody the Wood Thrush, being about
+one-fourth smaller than Welcome Robin. He wore a brown coat but it was
+not as bright as that of his cousin, Melody. His breast was somewhat
+faintly spotted with brown, and below he was white. His sides were
+grayish-white and not spotted like the sides of Melody.
+
+“I heard you singing and I just had to come over to see you,” cried
+Peter.
+
+“I hope you like my song,” said Veery. “I love to sing just at this hour
+and I love to think that other people like to hear me.”
+
+“They do,” declared Peter most emphatically. “I can't imagine how
+anybody could fail to like to hear you. I came 'way over here just to
+sit a while and listen. Won't you sing some more for me, Veery?”
+
+“I certainly will, Peter,” replied Veery. “I wouldn't feel that I was
+going to bed right if I didn't sing until dark. There is no part of the
+day I love better than the evening, and the only way I can express my
+happiness and my love of the Green Forest and the joy of just being back
+here at home is by singing.”
+
+Veery slipped out of sight, and almost at once his bell-like notes began
+to ring through the Green Forest. Peter sat right where he was, content
+to just listen and feel within himself the joy of being alive and
+happy in the beautiful spring season which Veery was expressing so
+wonderfully. The Black Shadows grew blacker. One by one the little stars
+came out and twinkled down through the tree tops. Finally from deep in
+the Green Forest sounded the hunting call of Hooty the Owl. Veery's song
+stopped. “Good night, Peter,” he called softly.
+
+“Good night, Veery,” replied Peter and hopped back towards the Green
+Meadows for a feast of sweet clover.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII. Peter Saves a Friend and Learns Something.
+
+Peter Rabbit sat in a thicket of young trees on the edge of the Green
+Forest. It was warm and Peter was feeling lazy. He had nothing in
+particular to do, and as he knew of no cooler place he had squatted
+there to doze a bit and dream a bit. So far as he knew, Peter was all
+alone. He hadn't seen anybody when he entered that little thicket,
+and though he had listened he hadn't heard a sound to indicate that he
+didn't have that thicket quite to himself. It was very quiet there, and
+though when he first entered he hadn't the least intention in the world
+of going to sleep, it wasn't long before he was dozing.
+
+Now Peter is a light sleeper, as all little people who never know when
+they may have to run for their lives must be. By and by he awoke with
+a start, and he was very wide awake indeed. Something had wakened him,
+though just what it was he couldn't say. His long ears stood straight up
+as he listened with all his might for some little sound which might mean
+danger. His wobbly little nose wobbled very fast indeed as it tested
+the air for the scent of a possible enemy. Very alert was Peter as he
+waited.
+
+For a few minutes he heard nothing and saw nothing. Then, near the outer
+edge of the thicket, he heard a great rustling of dry leaves. It must
+have been this that had wakened him. For just an instant Peter was
+startled, but only for an instant. His long ears told him at once that
+that noise was made by some one scratching among the leaves, and he knew
+that no one who did not wear feathers could scratch like that.
+
+“Now who can that be?” thought Peter, and stole forward very softly
+towards the place from which the sound came. Presently, as he peeped
+between the stems of the young trees, he saw the brown leaves which
+carpeted the ground fly this way and that, and in the midst of them
+was an exceedingly busy person, a little smaller than Welcome Robin,
+scratching away for dear life. Every now and then he picked up
+something.
+
+His head, throat, back and breast were black. Beneath he was white. His
+sides were reddish-brown. His tail was black and white, and the longer
+feathers of his wings were edged with white. It was Chewink the Towhee,
+sometimes called Ground Robin.
+
+Peter chuckled, but it was a noiseless chuckle. He kept perfectly still,
+for it was fun to watch some one who hadn't the least idea that he was
+being watched. It was quite clear that Chewink was hungry and that under
+those dry leaves he was finding a good meal. His feet were made for
+scratching and he certainly knew how to use them. For some time Peter
+sat there watching. He had just about made up his mind that he would
+make his presence known and have a bit of morning gossip when, happening
+to look out beyond the edge of the little thicket, he saw something red.
+It was something alive, for it was moving very slowly and cautiously
+towards the place where Chewink was so busy and forgetful of everything
+but his breakfast. Peter knew that there was only one person with a coat
+of that color. It was Reddy Fox, and quite plainly Reddy was hoping to
+catch Chewink.
+
+For a second or two Peter was quite undecided what to do. He couldn't
+warn Chewink without making his own presence known to Reddy Fox. Of
+course he could sit perfectly still and let Chewink be caught, but that
+was such a dreadful thought that Peter didn't consider it for more than
+a second or two. He suddenly thumped the ground with his feet. It
+was his danger signal which all his friends know. Then he turned and
+scampered lipperty-lipperty-lip to a thick bramble-tangle not far behind
+him.
+
+At the sound of that thump Chewink instantly flew up in a little tree.
+Then he saw Reddy Fox and began to scold. As for Reddy, he looked over
+towards the bramble-tangle and snarled. “I'll get you one of these days,
+Peter Rabbit,” said he. “I'll get you one of these days and pay you
+up for cheating me out of a breakfast.” Without so much as a glance at
+Chewink, Reddy turned and trotted off, trying his best to look dignified
+and as if he had never entertained such a thought as trying to catch
+Chewink.
+
+From his perch Chewink watched until he was sure that Reddy Fox had
+gone away for good. Then he called softly, “Towhee! Towhee! Chewink!
+Chewink! All is safe now, Peter Rabbit. Come out and talk with me and
+let me tell you how grateful to you I am for saving my life.”
+
+Chewink flew down to the ground and Peter crept out of the
+bramble-tangle. “It wasn't anything,” declared Peter. “I saw Reddy and I
+knew you didn't, so of course I gave the alarm. You would have done
+the same thing for me. Do you know, Chewink, I've wondered a great deal
+about you.”
+
+“What have you wondered about me?” asked Chewink.
+
+“I've wondered what family you belong to,” replied Peter.
+
+Chewink chuckled. “I belong to a big family,” said he. “I belong to
+the biggest family among the birds. It is the Finch and Sparrow family.
+There are a lot of us and a good many of us don't look much alike, but
+still we belong to the same family. I suppose you know that Rosebreast
+the Grosbeak and Glory the Cardinal are members of my family.”
+
+“I didn't know it,” replied Peter, “but if you say it is so I suppose it
+must be so. It is easier to believe than it is to believe that you are
+related to the Sparrows.”
+
+“Nevertheless I am,” retorted Chewink.
+
+“What were you scratching for when I first saw you?” asked Peter.
+
+“Oh, worms and bugs that hide under the leaves,” replied Chewink
+carelessly. “You have no idea how many of them hide under dead leaves.”
+
+“Do you eat anything else?” asked Peter.
+
+“Berries and wild fruits in season,” replied Chewink. “I'm very fond of
+them. They make a variety in the bill of fare.”
+
+“I've noticed that I seldom see you up in the tree tops,” remarked
+Peter.
+
+“I like the ground better,” replied Chewink. “I spend more of my time on
+the ground than anywhere else.”
+
+“I suppose that means that you nest on the ground,” ventured Peter.
+
+Chewink nodded. “Of course,” said he. “As a matter of fact, I've got a
+nest in this very thicket. Mrs. Towhee is on it right now, and I suspect
+she's worrying and anxious to know what happened over here when you
+warned me about Reddy Fox. I think I must go over and set her mind at
+rest.”
+
+Peter was just about to ask if he might go along and see that nest when
+a new voice broke in.
+
+“What are you fellows talking about?” it demanded, and there flitted
+just in front of Peter a little bird the size of a Sparrow but lovelier
+than any Sparrow of Peter's acquaintance. At first glance he seemed
+to be all blue, and such a lovely bright blue. But as he paused for an
+instant Peter saw that his wings and tail were mostly black and that
+the lovely blue was brightest on his head and back. It was Indigo the
+Bunting.
+
+“We were talking about our family,” replied Chewink. “I was telling
+Peter that we belong to the largest family among the birds.”
+
+“But you didn't say anything about Indigo,” interrupted Peter. “Do you
+mean to say that he belongs to the same family?”
+
+“I surely do,” replied Indigo. “I'm rather closely related to the
+Sparrow branch. Don't I look like a Sparrow?”
+
+Peter looked at Indigo closely. “In size and shape you do,” he
+confessed, “but just the same I should never in the world have thought
+of connecting you with the Sparrows.”
+
+“How about me?” asked another voice, and a little brown bird flew
+up beside Indigo, twitching her tail nervously. She looked very
+Sparrow-like indeed, so much so, that if Peter had not seen her with her
+handsome mate, for she was Mrs. Indigo, he certainly would have taken
+her for a Sparrow.
+
+Only on her wings and tail was there any of the blue which made Indigo's
+coat so beautiful, and this was only a faint tinge.
+
+“I'll have to confess that so far as you are concerned it isn't hard
+to think of you as related to the Sparrows,” declared Peter. “Don't you
+sometimes wish you were as handsomely dressed as Indigo?”
+
+Mrs. Indigo shook her head in a most decided way. “Never!” she declared.
+“I have worries enough raising a family as it is, but if I had a coat
+like his I wouldn't have a moment of peace. You have no idea how I worry
+about him sometimes. You ought to be thankful, Peter Rabbit, that you
+haven't a coat like his. It attracts altogether too much attention.”
+
+Peter tried to picture himself in a bright blue coat and laughed right
+out at the mere thought, and the others joined with him. Then Indigo
+flew up to the top of a tall tree not far away and began to sing. It
+was a lively song and Peter enjoyed it thoroughly. Mrs. Indigo took this
+opportunity to slip away unobserved, and when Peter looked around for
+Chewink, he too had disappeared. He had gone to tell Mrs. Chewink that
+he was quite safe and that she had nothing to worry about.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII. A Royal Dresser and a Late Nester.
+
+Jenny and Mr. Wren were busy. If there were any busier little folks
+anywhere Peter Rabbit couldn't imagine who they could be. You see,
+everyone of those seven eggs in the Wren nest had hatched, and seven
+mouths are a lot to feed, especially when every morsel of food must be
+hunted for and carried from a distance. There was little time for gossip
+now. Just as soon as it was light enough to see Jenny and Mr. Wren began
+feeding those always hungry babies, and they kept at it with hardly
+time for an occasional mouthful themselves, until the Black Shadows came
+creeping out from the Purple Hills. Wren babies, like all other bird
+babies, grow very fast, and that means that each one of them must have a
+great deal of food every day. Each one of them often ate its own weight
+in food in a day and all their food had to be hunted for and when found
+carried back and put into the gaping little mouths. Hardly would
+Jenny Wren disappear in the little round doorway of her home with a
+caterpillar in her bill than she would hop out again, and Mr. Wren would
+take her place with a spider or a fly and then hurry away for something
+more.
+
+Peter tried to keep count of the number of times they came and went but
+soon gave it up as a bad job. He began to wonder where all the worms and
+bugs and spiders came from, and gradually he came to have a great deal
+of respect for eyes sharp enough to find them so quickly. Needless to
+say Jenny was shorter-tempered than ever. She had no time to gossip and
+said so most emphatically. So at last Peter gave up the idea of trying
+to find out from her certain things he wanted to know, and hopped off
+to look for some one who was less busy. He had gone but a short distance
+when his attention was caught by a song so sweet and so full of little
+trills that he first stopped to listen, then went to look for the
+singer.
+
+It didn't take long to find him, for he was sitting on the very tiptop
+of a fir-tree in Farmer Brown's yard. Peter didn't dare go over there,
+for already it was broad daylight, and he had about made up his mind
+that he would have to content himself with just listening to that sweet
+singer when the latter flew over in the Old Orchard and alighted just
+over Peter's head. “Hello, Peter!” he cried.
+
+“Hello, Linnet!” cried Peter. “I was wondering who it could be who was
+singing like that. I ought to have known, but you see it's so long since
+I've heard you sing that I couldn't just remember your song. I'm so glad
+you came over here for I'm just dying to talk to somebody.”
+
+Linnet the Purple Finch, for this is who it was, laughed right out. “I
+see you're still the same old Peter,” said he. “I suppose you're just
+as full of curiosity as ever and just as full of questions. Well, here I
+am, so what shall we talk about?”
+
+“You,” replied Peter bluntly. “Lately I've found out so many surprising
+things about my feathered friends that I want to know more. I'm trying
+to get it straight in my head who is related to who, and I've found out
+some things which have begun to make me feel that I know very little
+about my feathered neighbors. It's getting so that I don't dare to even
+guess who a person's relatives are. If you please, Linnet, what family
+do you belong to?”
+
+Linnet flew down a little nearer to Peter. “Look me over, Peter,” said
+he with twinkling eyes. “Look me over and see if you can't tell for
+yourself.”
+
+Peter stared solemnly at Linnet. He saw a bird of Sparrow size most of
+whose body was a rose-red, brightest on the head, darkest on the back,
+and palest on the breast. Underneath he was whitish.
+
+His wings and tail were brownish, the outer parts of the feathers edged
+with rose-red. His bill was short and stout.
+
+Before Peter could reply, Mrs. Linnet appeared. There wasn't so much as
+a touch of that beautiful rose-red about her. Her grayish-brown back
+was streaked with black, and her white breast and sides were spotted and
+streaked with brown. If Peter hadn't seen her with Linnet he certainly
+would have taken her for a Sparrow. She looked so much like one that he
+ventured to say, “I guess you belong to the Sparrow family.”
+
+“That's pretty close, Peter. That's pretty close,” declared Linnet. “We
+belong to the Finch branch of the family, which makes the sparrows own
+cousins to us. Folks may get Mrs. Linnet mixed with some of our Sparrow
+cousins, but they never can mistake me. There isn't anybody else my size
+with a rose-red coat like mine. If you can't remember my song, which you
+ought to, because there is no other song quite like it, you can always
+tell me by the color of my coat. Hello! Here comes Cousin Chicoree. Did
+you ever see a happier fellow than he is? I'll venture to say that he
+has been having such a good time that he hasn't even yet thought of
+building a nest, and here half the people of the Old Orchard have grown
+families. I've a nest and eggs myself, but that madcap is just roaming
+about having a good time. Isn't that so, Chicoree?”
+
+“Isn't what so?” demanded Chicoree the Goldfinch, perching very near to
+where Linnet was sitting.
+
+“Isn't it true that you haven't even begun thinking about a nest?”
+ demanded Linnet. Chicoree flew down in the grass almost under Peter's
+nose and began to pull apart a dandelion which had gone to seed. He
+snipped the seeds from the soft down to which they were attached and
+didn't say a word till he was quite through. Then he flew up in the
+tree near Linnet, and while he dressed his feathers, answered Linnet's
+question.
+
+“It's quite true, but what of it?” said he. “There's time enough to
+think about nest-building and household cares later. Mrs. Goldfinch and
+I will begin to think about them about the first of July. Meanwhile we
+are making the most of this beautiful season to roam about and have a
+good time. For one thing we like thistledown to line our nest, and there
+isn't any thistledown yet. Then, there is no sense in raising a family
+until there is plenty of the right kind of food, and you know we
+Goldfinches live mostly on seeds. I'll venture to say that we are the
+greatest seed-eaters anywhere around. Of course when the babies are
+small they have to have soft food, but one can find plenty of worms and
+bugs any time during the summer. Just as soon as the children are big
+enough to hunt their own food they need seeds, so there is no sense in
+trying to raise a family until there are plenty of seeds for them when
+needed. Meanwhile we are having a good time. How do you like my summer
+suit, Peter?”
+
+“It's beautiful,” cried Peter. “I wouldn't know you for the same bird I
+see so often in the late fall and sometimes in the winter. I don't know
+of anybody who makes a more complete change. That black cap certainly is
+very smart and becoming.”
+
+Chicoree cocked his head on one side, the better to show off that black
+cap. The rest of his head and his whole body were bright yellow. His
+wings were black with two white bars on each. His tail also was black,
+with some white on it. In size he was a little smaller than Linnet and
+altogether one of the smartest appearing of all the little people who
+wear feathers. It was a joy just to look at him. If Peter had known
+anything about Canaries, which of course he didn't, because Canaries
+are always kept in cages, he would have understood why Chicoree the
+Goldfinch is often called the Wild Canary.
+
+Mrs. Goldfinch now joined her handsome mate and it was plain to see that
+she admired him quite as much as did Peter. Her wings and tail were much
+like his but were more brownish than black. She wore no cap it all and
+her back and head were a grayish-brown with an olive tinge. Underneath
+she was lighter, with a tinge of yellow. All together she was a very
+modestly dressed small person. As Peter recalled Chicoree's winter suit,
+it was very much like that now worn by Mrs. Goldfinch, save that his
+wings and tail were as they now appeared.
+
+All the time Chicoree kept up a continual happy twittering, breaking out
+every few moments into song. It was clear that he was fairly bubbling
+over with joy.
+
+“I suppose,” said Peter, “it sounds foolish of me to ask if you are a
+member of the same family as Linnet.”
+
+“Very foolish, Peter. Very foolish,” laughed Chicoree. “Isn't my name
+Goldfinch, and isn't his name Purple Finch? We belong to the same family
+and a mighty fine family it is. Now I must go over to the Old Pasture to
+see how the thistles are coming on.”
+
+Away he flew calling, “Chic-o-ree, per-chic-o-ree, chic-o-ree!” Mrs.
+Goldfinch followed. As they flew, they rose and fell in the air in very
+much the same way that Yellow Wing the Flicker does.
+
+“I'd know them just by that, even if Chicoree didn't keep calling his
+own name,” thought Peter. “It's funny how they often stay around all
+winter yet are among the last of all the birds to set up housekeeping.
+As I once said to Jenny Wren, birds certainly are funny creatures.”
+
+“Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut! It's no such thing, Peter Rabbit. It's no such
+thing,” scolded Jenny Wren as she flew last Peter on her way to hunt for
+another worm for her hungry babies.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER, XXXIV. Mourner the Dove and Cuckoo.
+
+A long lane leads from Farmer Brown's barnyard down to his cornfield on
+the Green Meadows. It happened that very early one morning Peter Rabbit
+took it into his funny little head to run down that long lane to see
+what he might see. Now at a certain place beside that long lane was a
+gravelly bank into which Farmer Brown had dug for gravel to put on the
+roadway up near his house. As Peter was scampering past this place
+where Farmer Brown had dug he caught sight of some one very busy in that
+gravel pit. Peter stopped short, then sat up to stare.
+
+It was Mourner the Dove whom Peter saw, an old friend of whom Peter is
+very fond. His body was a little bigger than that of Welcome Robin,
+but his long slender neck, and longer tail and wings made him appear
+considerably larger. In shape he reminded Peter at once of the
+Pigeons up at Farmer Brown's. His back was grayish-brown, varying to
+bluish-gray. The crown and upper parts of his head were bluish-gray.
+His breast was reddish-buff, shading down into a soft buff. His bill was
+black and his feet red. The two middle feathers of his tail were longest
+and of the color of his back. The other feathers were slaty-gray with
+little black bands and tipped with white. On his wings were a few
+scattered black spots. Just under each ear was a black spot. But it
+was the sides of his slender neck which were the most beautiful part of
+Mourner. When untouched by the Jolly Little Sunbeams the neck feathers
+appeared to be in color very like his breast, but the moment they
+were touched by the Jolly Little Sunbeams they seemed to be constantly
+changing, which, as you know, is called iridescence. Altogether Mourner
+was lovely in a quiet way.
+
+But it was not his appearance which made Peter stare; it was what he was
+doing. He was walking about and every now and then picking up something
+quite as if he were getting his breakfast in that gravel pit, and Peter
+couldn't imagine anything good to eat down there. He knew that there
+were not even worms there. Besides, Mourner is not fond of worms; he
+lives almost altogether on seeds and grains of many kinds. So Peter was
+puzzled. But as you know he isn't the kind to puzzle long over anything
+when he can use his tongue.
+
+“Hello, Mourner!” he cried. “What under the sun are you doing in there?
+Are you getting your breakfast?”
+
+“Hardly, Peter; hardly,” cooed Mourner in the softest of voices.
+“I've had my breakfast and now I'm picking up a little gravel for my
+digestion.” He picked up a tiny pebble and swallowed it.
+
+“Well, of all things!” cried Peter. “You must be crazy. The idea of
+thinking that gravel is going to help your digestion. I should say the
+chances are that it will work just the other way.”
+
+Mourner laughed. It was the softest of little cooing laughs, very
+pleasant to hear. “I see that as usual you are judging others by
+yourself,” said he. “You ought to know by this time that you can do
+nothing more foolish. I haven't the least doubt that a breakfast of
+gravel would give you the worst kind of a stomach-ache. But you are you
+and I am I, and there is all the difference in the world. You know I eat
+grain and hard seeds. Not having any teeth I have to swallow them whole.
+One part of my stomach is called a gizzard and its duty is to grind and
+crush my food so that it may be digested. Tiny pebbles and gravel help
+grind the food and so aid digestion. I think I've got enough now for
+this morning, and it is time for a dust bath. There is a dusty spot over
+in the lane where I take a dust bath every day.”
+
+“If you don't mind,” said Peter, “I'll go with you.”
+
+Mourner said he didn't mind, so Peter followed him over to the dusty
+place in the long lane. There Mourner was joined by Mrs. Dove, who was
+dressed very much like him save that she did not have so beautiful a
+neck. While they thoroughly dusted themselves they chatted with Peter.
+
+“I see you on the ground so much that I've often wondered if you build
+your nest on the ground,” said Peter.
+
+“No,” replied Mourner. “Mrs. Dove builds in a tree, but usually not very
+far above the ground. Now if you'll excuse us we must get back home.
+Mrs. Dove has two eggs to sit on and while she is siting I like to be
+close at hand to keep her company and make love to her.”
+
+The Doves shook the loose dust from their feathers and flew away. Peter
+watched to see where they went, but lost sight of them behind some
+trees, so decided to run up to the Old Orchard. There he found Jenny and
+Mr. Wren as busy as ever feeding that growing family of theirs. Jenny
+wouldn't stop an instant to gossip. Peter was so brimful of what he had
+found out about Mr. and Mrs. Dove that he just had to tell some one.
+He heard Kitty the Catbird meowing among the bushes along the old stone
+wall, so hurried over to look for him. As soon as he found him Peter
+began to tell what he had learned about Mourner the Dove.
+
+“That's no news, Peter,” interrupted Kitty. “I know all about Mourner
+and his wife. They are very nice people, though I must say Mrs. Dove is
+one of the poorest housekeepers I know of. I take it you never have seen
+her nest.”
+
+Peter shook his head. “No,” said he, “I haven't. What is it like?”
+
+Kitty the Catbird laughed. “It's about the poorest apology for a nest I
+know of,” said he. “It is made of little sticks and mighty few of them.
+How they hold together is more than I can understand. I guess it is a
+good thing that Mrs. Dove doesn't lay more than two eggs, and it's a
+wonder to me that those two stay in the nest. Listen! There's
+Mourner's voice now. For one who is so happy he certainly does have the
+mournfullest sounding voice. To hear him you'd think he was sorrowful
+instead of happy. It always makes me feel sad to hear him.”
+
+“That's true,” replied Peter, “but I like to hear him just the same.
+Hello! Who's that?”
+
+From one of the trees in the Old Orchard sounded a long, clear,
+“Kow-kow-kow-kow-kow-kow!” It was quite unlike any voice Peter had heard
+that spring.
+
+“That's Cuckoo,” said Kitty. “Do you mean to say you don't know Cuckoo?”
+
+“Of course I know him,” retorted Peter. “I had forgotten the sound of
+his voice, that's all. Tell me, Kitty, is it true that Mrs. Cuckoo is
+no better than Sally Sly the Cowbird and goes about laying her eggs in
+the nests of other birds? I've heard that said of her.”
+
+“There isn't a word of truth in it,” declared Kitty emphatically. “She
+builds a nest, such as it is, which isn't much, and she looks after her
+own children. The Cuckoos have been given a bad name because of some
+good-for-nothing cousins of theirs who live across the ocean where Bully
+the English Sparrow belongs, and who, if all reports are true, really
+are no better than Sally Sly the Cowbird. It's funny how a bad name
+sticks. The Cuckoos have been accused of stealing the eggs of us other
+birds, but I've never known them to do it and I've lived neighbor to
+them for a long time, I guess they get their bad name because of their
+habit of slipping about silently and keeping out of sight as much as
+possible, as if they were guilty of doing something wrong and trying to
+keep from being seen. As a matter of fact, they are mighty useful birds.
+Farmer Brown ought to be tickled to death that Mr. and Mrs. Cuckoo have
+come back to the Old Orchard this year.”
+
+“Why?” demanded Peter.
+
+“Do you see that cobwebby nest with all those hairy caterpillars on it
+and around it up in that tree?” asked Kitty.
+
+Peter replied that he did and that he had seen a great many nests just
+like it, and had noticed how the caterpillars ate all the leaves near
+them.
+
+“I'll venture to say that you won't see very many leaves eaten around
+that nest,” replied Kitty. “Those are called tent-caterpillars, and they
+do an awful lot of damage. I can't bear them myself because they are so
+hairy, and very few birds will touch them. But Cuckoo likes them. There
+he comes now; just watch him.”
+
+A long, slim Dove-like looking bird alighted close to the caterpillar's
+nest. Above he was brownish-gray with just a little greenish tinge.
+Beneath he was white. His wings were reddish-brown. His tail was a
+little longer than that of Mourner the Dove. The outer feathers were
+black tipped with white, while the middle feathers were the color of
+his back. The upper half of his bill was black, but the under half was
+yellow, and from this he is called the Yellow-billed Cuckoo. He has a
+cousin very much like himself in appearance, save that his bill is all
+black and he is listed the Black-billed Cuckoo.
+
+Cuckoo made no sound but began to pick off the hairy caterpillars and
+swallow them. When he had eaten all those in sight he made holes in the
+silken web of the nest and picked out the caterpillars that were inside.
+Finally, having eaten his fill, he flew off as silently as he had come
+and disappeared among the bushes farther along the old stone wall. A
+moment later they heard his voice, “Kow-kow-how-kow-kow-kow-kow-kow!”
+
+“I suppose some folks would think that it is going to rain,” remarked
+Kitty the Catbird. “They have the silly notion that Cuckoo only calls
+just before rain, and so they call him the Rain Crow. But that isn't
+so at all. Well, Peter, I guess I've gossiped enough for one morning. I
+must go see how Mrs. Catbird is getting along.”
+
+Kitty disappeared and Peter, having no one to talk to, decided that the
+best thing he could do would be to go home to the dear Old Briar-patch.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV. A Butcher and a Hummer.
+
+Not far from the Old Orchard grew a thorn-tree which Peter Rabbit often
+passed. He never had paid particular attention to it. One morning
+he stopped to rest under it. Happening to look up, he saw a most
+astonishing thing. Fastened on the sharp thorns of one of the branches
+were three big grasshoppers, a big moth, two big caterpillars, a lizard,
+a small mouse and a young English Sparrow. Do you wonder that Peter
+thought he must be dreaming? He couldn't imagine how those creatures
+could have become fastened on those long sharp thorns. Somehow it gave
+him an uncomfortable feeling and he hurried on to the Old Orchard,
+bubbling over with desire to tell some one of the strange and dreadful
+thing he had seen in the thorn-tree.
+
+As he entered the Old Orchard in the far corner he saw Johnny Chuck
+sitting on his doorstep and hurried over to tell him the strange news.
+Johnny listened until Peter was through, then told him quite frankly
+that never had he heard of such a thing, and that he thought Peter must
+have been dreaming and didn't know it.
+
+“You're wrong, Johnny Chuck. Peter hasn't been dreaming at all,” said
+Skimmer the Swallow, who, you remember, lived in a hole in a tree just
+above the entrance to Johnny Chuck's house. He had been sitting where he
+could hear all that Peter had said.
+
+“Well, if you know so much about it, please explain,” said Johnny Chuck
+rather crossly.
+
+“It's simple enough,” replied Skimmer. “Peter just happened to find the
+storehouse of Butcher the Loggerhead Shrike. It isn't a very pleasant
+sight, I must admit, but one must give Butcher credit for being smart
+enough to lay up a store of food when it is plentiful.”
+
+“And who is Butcher the Shrike?” demanded Peter. “He's a new one to me.
+
+“He's new to this location,” replied Skimmer, “and you probably haven't
+noticed him. I've seen him in the South often. There he is now, on the
+tiptop of that tree over yonder.”
+
+Peter and Johnny looked eagerly. They saw a bird who at first glance
+appeared not unlike Mocker the Mockingbird. He was dressed wholly in
+black, gray and white. When he turned his head they noticed a black
+stripe across the side of his face and that the tip of his bill was
+hooked. These are enough to make them forget that otherwise he was like
+Mocker. While they were watching him he flew down into the grass and
+picked up a grasshopper. Then he flew with a steady, even flight, only
+a little above the ground, for some distance, suddenly shooting up and
+returning to the perch where they had first seen him. There he ate the
+grasshopper and resumed his watch for something else to catch.
+
+“He certainly has wonderful eyes,” said Skimmer admiringly. “He mast
+have seen that grasshopper way over there in the grass before he started
+after it, for he flew straight there. He doesn't waste time and energy
+hunting aimlessly. He sits on a high perch and watches until he sees
+something he wants. Many times I've seen him sitting on top of a
+telegraph pole. I understand that Bully the English Sparrow has become
+terribly nervous since the arrival of Butcher. He is particularly fond
+of English Sparrows. I presume it was one of Bully's children you saw
+in the thorn-tree, Peter. For my part I hope he'll frighten Bully into
+leaving the Old Orchard. It would be a good thing for the rest of us.”
+
+“But I don't understand yet why he fastens his victims on those long
+thorns,” said Peter.
+
+“For two reasons,” replied Skimmer. “When he catches more grasshoppers
+and other insects than he can eat, he sticks them on those thorns so
+that later he may be sure of a good meal if it happens there are no more
+to be caught when he is hungry. Mice, Sparrows, and things too big
+for him to swallow he sticks on the thorns so that he can pull them to
+pieces easier. You see his feet and claws are not big and stout enough
+to hold his victims while he tears them to pieces with his hooked bill.
+Sometimes, instead of sticking them on thorns, he sticks them on the
+barbed wire of a fence and sometimes he wedges them into the fork of two
+branches.”
+
+“Does he kill many birds?” asked Peter.
+
+“Not many,” replied Skimmer, “and most of those he does kill are English
+Sparrows. The rest of us have learned to keep out of his way. He feeds
+mostly on insects, worms and caterpillars, but he is very fond of mice
+and he catches a good many. He is a good deal like Killy the Sparrow
+Hawk in this respect. He has a cousin, the Great Northern Shrike, who
+sometimes comes down in the winter, and is very much like him. Hello!
+Now what's happened?”
+
+A great commotion had broken out not far away in the Old Orchard.
+Instantly Skimmer flew over to see what it was all about and Peter
+followed. He got there just in time to see Chatterer the Red Squirrel
+dodging around the trunk of a tree, first on one side, then on the
+other, to avoid the sharp bills of the angry feathered folk who had
+discovered him trying to rob a nest of its young.
+
+Peter chuckled. “Chatterer is getting just what is due him, I guess,” he
+muttered. “It reminds me of the time I got into a Yellow Jacket's nest.
+My, but those birds are mad!”
+
+Chatterer continued to dodge from side to side of the tree while the
+birds darted down at him, all screaming at the top of their voices.
+Finally Chatterer saw his chance to run for the old stone wall. Only one
+bird was quick enough to catch up with him and that one was such a tiny
+fellow that he seemed hardly bigger than a big insect. It was Hammer the
+Hummingbird. He followed Chatterer clear to the old stone wall. A moment
+later Peter heard a humming noise just over his head and looked up to
+see Hummer himself alight on a twig, where he squeaked excitedly for a
+few minutes, for his voice is nothing but a little squeak.
+
+Often Peter had seen Hummer darting about from flower to flower and
+holding himself still in mid-air in front of each as he thrust his long
+bill into the heart of the blossom to get the tiny insects there and
+the sweet juices he is so fond of. But this was the first time Peter had
+ever seen him sitting still. He was such a mite of a thing that it
+was hard to realize that he was a bird. His back was a bright,
+shining green. His wings and tail were brownish with a purplish tinge.
+Underneath he was whitish, But it was his throat on which Peter fixed
+his eyes. It was a wonderful ruby-red that glistened and shone in the
+sun like a jewel.
+
+Hummer lifted one wing and with his long needle-like bill smoothed the
+feathers under it. Then he darted out into the air, his wings moving so
+fast that Peter couldn't see them at all. But if he couldn't see them he
+could hear them. You see they moved so fast that they made a sound very
+like the humming of Bumble the Bee. It is because of this that he is
+called the Hummingbird. A fey' minutes later he was back again and now
+he was joined by Mrs. Hummer. She was dressed very much like Hummer but
+did not have the beautiful ruby throat. She stopped only a minute or
+two, then darted over to what looked for all the world like a tiny cup
+of moss. It was their nest.
+
+Just then Jenny Wren came along, and being quite worn out with the work
+of feeding her seven babies, she was content to rest for a few moments
+and gossip. Peter told her what he had discovered.
+
+“I know all about that,” retorted Jenny. “You don't suppose I hunt these
+trees over for food without knowing where my neighbors are living, do
+you? I'd have you to understand, Peter, that that is the daintiest nest
+in the Old Orchard. It is made wholly of plant down and covered on the
+outside with bits of that gray moss-like stuff that grows on the bark of
+the trees and is called lichens. That is what makes that nest look like
+nothing more than a knot on the branch. Chatterer made a big mistake
+when he visited this tree. Hummer may be a tiny fellow but he isn't
+afraid of anybody under the sun. That bill of his is so sharp and he is
+so quick that few folks ever bother him more than once. Why, there isn't
+a single member of the Hawk family that Hummer won't attack. There isn't
+a cowardly feather on him.”
+
+“Does he go very far south for the winter?” asked Peter. “He is such a
+tiny fellow I don't see how he can stand a very long journey.”
+
+“Huh!” exclaimed Jenny Wren. “Distance doesn't bother Hummer any. You
+needn't worry about those wings of his. He goes clear down to South
+America. He has ever so many relatives down there. You ought to see his
+babies when they first hatch out. They are no bigger than bees. But they
+certainly do grow fast. Why, they are flying three weeks from the time
+they hatch. I'm glad I don't have to pump food down the throats of my
+youngsters the way Mrs. Hummingbird has to down hers.”
+
+Peter looked perplexed. “What do you mean by pumping food down their
+throats?” he demanded.
+
+“Just what I say,” retorted Jenny Wren. “Mrs. Hummer sticks her bill
+right down their throats and then pumps up the food she has already
+swallowed. I guess it is a good thing that the babies have short bills.”
+
+“Do they?” asked Peter, opening his eyes very wide with surprise.
+
+“Yes,” replied Jenny. “When they hatch out they have short bills, but it
+doesn't take them a great while to grow long.”
+
+“How many babies does Mrs. Hummer usually have?” asked Peter.
+
+“Just two,” replied Jenny. “Just two. That's all that nest will hold.
+But goodness gracious, Peter, I can't stop gossiping here any longer.
+You have no idea what a care seven babies are.”
+
+With a jerk of her tail off flew Jenny Wren, and Peter hurried back to
+tell Johnny Chuck all he had found out about Hummer the Hummingbird.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI. A Stranger and a Dandy.
+
+Butcher the Shrike was not the only newcomer in the Old Orchard. There
+was another stranger who, Peter Rabbit soon discovered, was looked on
+with some suspicion by all the other birds of the Old Orchard. The first
+time Peter saw him, he was walking about on the ground some distance
+off. He didn't hop but walked, and at that distance he looked all black.
+The way he carried himself and his movements as he walked made Peter
+think of Creaker the Grackle. In fact, Peter mistook him for Creaker.
+That was because he didn't really look at him. If he had he would have
+seen at once that the stranger was smaller than Creaker.
+
+Presently the stranger flew up in a tree and Peter saw that his tail was
+little more than half as long as that of Creaker. At once it came over
+Peter that this was a stranger to him, and of course his curiosity was
+aroused. He didn't have any doubt whatever that this was a member of the
+Blackbird family, but which one it could be he hadn't the least idea.
+“Jenny Wren will know,” thought Peter and scampered off to hunt her up.
+
+“Who is that new member of the Blackbird family who has come to live in
+the Old Orchard?” Peter asked as soon as he found Jenny Wren.
+
+“There isn't any new member of the Blackbird family living in the Old
+Orchard,” retorted Jenny Wren tartly.
+
+“There is too,” contradicted Peter. “I saw him with my own eyes. I can
+see him now. He's sitting in that tree over yonder this very minute.
+He's all black, so of course he must be a member of the Blackbird
+family.”
+
+“Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!” scolded Jenny Wren. “Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!
+That fellow isn't a member of the Blackbird family at all, and what's
+more, he isn't black. Go over there and take a good look at him; then
+come back and tell me if you still think he is black.”
+
+Jenny turned her back on Peter and went to hunting worms. There being
+nothing else to do, Peter hopped over where he could get a good look at
+the stranger. The sun was shining full on him, and he wasn't black at
+all. Jenny Wren was right. For the most part he was very dark green. At
+least, that is what Peter thought at first glance. Then, as the stranger
+moved, he seemed to be a rich purple in places. In short he changed
+color as he turned. His feathers were like those of Creaker the
+Grackle--iridescent. All over he was speckled with tiny light spots.
+Underneath he was dark brownish-gray. His wings and tail were of the
+same color, with little touches of buff. His rather large bill was
+yellow.
+
+Peter hurried back to Jenny Wren and it must be confessed he looked
+sheepish. “You were right, Jenny Wren; he isn't black at all,” confessed
+Peter. “Of course I was right. I usually am,” retorted Jenny. “He isn't
+black, he isn't even related to the Blackbird family, and he hasn't
+any business in the Old Orchard. In fact, if you ask me, he hasn't any
+business in this country anyway. He's a foreigner. That's what he is--a
+foreigner.”
+
+“But you haven't told me who he is,” protested Peter.
+
+“He is Speckles the Starling, and he isn't really an American at all,”
+ replied Jenny. “He comes from across the ocean the same as Bully the
+English Sparrow. Thank goodness he hasn't such a quarrelsome disposition
+as Bully. Just the same, the rest of us would be better satisfied if he
+were not here. He has taken possession of one of the old homes of Yellow
+Wing the Flicker, and that means one less house for birds who really
+belong here. If his family increases at the rate Bully's family does,
+I'm afraid some of us will soon be crowded out of the Old Orchard. Did
+you notice that yellow bill of his?”
+
+Peter nodded. “I certainly did,” said he. “I couldn't very well help
+noticing it.”
+
+“Well, there's a funny thing about that bill,” replied Jenny. “In winter
+it turns almost black. Most of us wear a different colored suit in
+winter, but our bills remain the same.”
+
+“Well, he seems to be pretty well fixed here, and I don't see but what
+the thing for the rest of you birds to do is to make the best of the
+matter,” said Peter. “What I want to know is whether or not he is of any
+use.”
+
+“I guess he must do some good,” admitted Jenny Wren rather grudgingly.
+“I've seen him picking up worms and grubs, but he likes grain, and I
+have a suspicion that if his family becomes very numerous, and I suspect
+it will, they will eat more of Farmer Brown's grain than they will pay
+for by the worms and bugs they destroy. Hello! There's Dandy the Waxwing
+and his friends.”
+
+A flock of modestly dressed yet rather distinguished looking feathered
+folks had alighted in a cherry-tree and promptly began to help
+themselves to Farmer Brown's cherries. They were about the size of
+Winsome Bluebird, but did not look in the least like him, for they were
+dressed almost wholly in beautiful, rich, soft grayish-brown. Across the
+end of each tail was a yellow band. On each, the forehead, chin and
+a line through each eye was velvety-black. Each wore a very stylish
+pointed cap, and on the wings of most of them were little spots of
+red which looked like sealing-wax, and from which they get the name of
+Waxwings. They were slim and trim and quite dandified, and in a quiet
+way were really beautiful.
+
+As Peter watched them he began to wonder if Farmer Brown would have
+any cherries left. Peter himself can do pretty well in the matter of
+stuffing his stomach, but even he marvelled at the way those birds put
+the cherries out of sight. It was quite clear to him why they are often
+called Cherrybirds.
+
+“If they stay long, Farmer Brown won't have any cherries left,” remarked
+Peter.
+
+“Don't worry,” replied Jenny Wren. “They won't stay long. I don't
+know anybody equal to them for roaming about. Here are most of us with
+families on our hands and Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird with a second family and
+Mr. and Mrs. Robin with a second set of eggs, while those gadabouts up
+there haven't even begun to think about housekeeping yet. They certainly
+do like those cherries, but I guess Farmer Brown can stand the loss of
+what they eat. He may have fewer cherries, but he'll have more apples
+because of them.”
+
+“Bow's that?” demanded Peter.
+
+“Oh,” replied Jenny Wren, “they were over here a while ago when those
+little green cankerworms threatened to eat up the whole orchard,
+and they stuffed themselves on those worms just the same as they are
+stuffing themselves on cherries now. They are very fond of small fruits
+but most of those they eat are the wild kind which are of no use at all
+to Farmer Brown or anybody else. Now just look at that performance, will
+you?”
+
+There were five of the Waxwings and they were now seated side by side
+on a branch of the cherry tree. One of them had a plump cherry which
+he passed to the next one. This one passed it on to the next, and so it
+went to the end of the row and halfway back before it was finally eaten.
+Peter laughed right out. “Never in my life have I seen such politeness,”
+ said he.
+
+“Huh!” exclaimed Jenny Wren. “I don't believe it was politeness at all.
+I guess if you got at the truth of the matter you would find that each
+one was stuffed so full that he thought he didn't have room for that
+cherry and so passed it along.”
+
+“Well, I think that was politeness just the same,” retorted Peter. “The
+first one might have dropped the cherry if he couldn't eat it instead of
+passing it along.” Just then the Waxwings flew away.
+
+It was the very middle of the summer before Peter Rabbit again saw Dandy
+the Waxwing. Quite by chance he discovered Dandy sitting on the tiptop
+of an evergreen tree, as if on guard. He was on guard, for in that tree
+was his nest, though Peter didn't know it at the time. In fact, it was
+so late in the summer that most of Peter's friends were through nesting
+and he had quite lost interest in nests. Presently Dandy flew down to
+a lower branch and there he was joined by Mrs. Waxwing. Then Peter was
+treated to one of the prettiest sights he ever had seen. They rubbed
+their bills together as if kissing. They smoothed each other's feathers
+and altogether were a perfect picture of two little lovebirds. Peter
+couldn't think of another couple who appeared quite so gentle and
+loving.
+
+Late in the fall Peter saw Mr. and Mrs. Waxwing and their family
+together. They were in a cedar tree and were picking off and eating the
+cedar berries as busily as the five Waxwings had picked Farmer Brown's
+cherries in the early summer. Peter didn't know it but because of their
+fondness for cedar berries the Waxwings were often called Cedarbirds or
+Cedar Waxwings.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII. Farewells and Welcomes.
+
+All through the long summer Peter Rabbit watched his feathered friends
+and learned things in regard to their ways he never had suspected. As
+he saw them keeping the trees of the Old Orchard free of insect pests
+working in Farmer Brown's garden, and picking up the countless seeds of
+weeds everywhere, he began to understand something of the wonderful
+part these feathered folks have in keeping the Great World beautiful and
+worth while living in.
+
+He had many a hearty laugh as he watched the bird babies learn to fly
+and to find their own food. All summer long they were going to school
+all about him, learning how to watch out for danger, to use their eyes
+and ears, and all the things a bird must know who would live to grow up.
+
+As autumn drew near Peter discovered that his friends were gathering
+in flocks, roaming here and there. It was one of the first signs
+that summer was nearly over, and it gave him just a little feeling of
+sadness. He heard few songs now, for the singing season was over. Also
+he discovered that many of the most beautifully dressed of his
+feathered friends had changed their finery for sober traveling suits in
+preparation for the long journey to the far South where they would spend
+the winter. In fact he actually failed to recognize some of them at
+first.
+
+September came, and as the days grew shorter, some of Peter's friends
+bade him good-by. They were starting on the long journey, planning to
+take it in easy stages for the most part. Each day saw some slip away.
+As Peter thought of the dangers of the long trip before them he wondered
+if he would ever see them again. But some there were who lingered even
+after Jack Frost's first visit. Welcome and Mrs. Robin, Winsome and Mrs.
+Bluebird. Little Friend the Song Sparrow and his wife were among these.
+By and by even they were forced to leave.
+
+Sad indeed and lonely would these days have been for Peter had it not
+been that with the departure of the friends he had spent so many happy
+hours with came the arrival of certain other friends from the Far North
+where they had made their summer homes. Some of these stopped for a few
+days in passing. Others came to stay, and Peter was kept busy looking
+for and welcoming them.
+
+A few old friends there were who would stay the year through. Sammy Jay
+was one. Downy and Hairy the Woodpeckers were others. And one there was
+whom Peter loves dearly. It was Tommy Tit the Chickadee.
+
+Now Tommy Tit had not gone north in the spring. In fact, he had made
+his home not very far from the Old Orchard. It just happened that Peter
+hadn't found that home, and had caught only one or two glimpses of Tommy
+Tit. Now, with household cares ended and his good-sized family properly
+started in life, Tommy Tit was no longer interested in the snug little
+home he had built in a hollow birch-stub, and he and Mrs. Chickadee
+spent their time flitting about hither, thither, and yon, spreading good
+cheer. Every time Peter visited the Old Orchard he found him there, and
+as Tommy was always ready for a bit of merry gossip, Peter soon ceased
+to miss Jenny Wren.
+
+“Don't you dread the winter, Tommy Tit?” asked Peter one day, as he
+watched Tommy clinging head down to a twig as he picked some tiny insect
+eggs from the under side.
+
+“Not a bit,” replied Tommy. “I like winter. I like cold weather. It
+makes a fellow feel good from the tips of his claws to the tip of his
+bill. I'm thankful I don't have to take that long journey most of the
+birds have to. I discovered a secret a long time ago, Peter; shall I
+tell it to you?”
+
+“Please, Tommy,” cried Peter. “You know how I love secrets.”
+
+“Well,” replied Tommy Tit, “this is it: If a fellow keeps his stomach
+filled he will beep his toes warm.”
+
+Peter looked a little puzzled. “I--I--don't just see what your stomach
+has to do with your toes,” said he.
+
+Tommy Tit chuckled. It was a lovely throaty little chuckle. “Dee, dee,
+dee!” said he. “What I mean is, if a fellow has plenty to eat he will
+keep the cold out, and I've found that if a fellow uses his eyes and
+isn't afraid of a little work, he can find plenty to eat. At least
+I can. The only time I ever get really worried is when the trees are
+covered with ice. If it were not that Farmer Brown's boy is thoughtful
+enough to hang a piece of suet in a tree for me, I should dread those
+ice storms more than I do. As I said before, plenty of food keeps a
+fellow warm.”
+
+“I thought it was your coat of feathers that kept you warm,” said Peter.
+
+“Oh, the feathers help,” replied Tommy Tit. “Food makes heat and a warm
+coat keeps the heat in the body. But the heat has got to be there first,
+or the feathers will do no good. It's just the same way with your own
+self, Peter. You know you are never really warm in winter unless you
+have plenty to eat...”
+
+“That's so,” replied Peter thoughtfully. “I never happened to think of
+it before. Just the same, I don't see how you find food enough on the
+trees when they are all bare in winter.”
+
+     “Dee, Dee, Chickadee!
+     Leave that matter just to me,”
+
+Chuckled Tommy Tit. “You ought to know by this time Peter Rabbit, that
+a lot of different kinds of bugs lay eggs on the twigs and trunks of
+trees. Those eggs would stay there all winter and in the spring hatch
+out into lice and worms if it were not for me. Why, sometimes in a
+single day I find and eat almost five hundred eggs of those little green
+plant lice that do so much damage in the spring and summer. Then there
+are little worms that bore in just under the bark, and there are other
+creatures who sleep the winter away in little cracks in the bark. Oh,
+there is plenty for me to do in the winter. I am one of the policemen of
+the trees. Downy and Hairy the Woodpeckers, Seep-Seep the Brown Creeper
+and Yank-Yank the Nuthatch are others. If we didn't stay right here on
+the job all winter, I don't know what would become of the Old Orchard.”
+
+Tommy Tit hung head downward from a twig while he picked some tiny
+insect eggs from the under side of it. It didn't seem to make the least
+difference to Tommy whether he was right side up or upside down. He was
+a little animated bunch of black and white feathers, not much bigger
+than Jenny Wren. The top of his head, back of his neck and coat were
+shining black. The sides of his head and neck were white. His back was
+ashy. His sides were a soft cream-buff, and his wing and tail feathers
+were edged with white. His tiny bill was black, and his little black
+eyes snapped and twinkled in a way good to see. Not one among all
+Peter's friends is such a merry-hearted little fellow as Tommy Tit the
+Chickadee. Merriment and happiness bubble out of him all the time, no
+matter what the weather is. He is the friend of everyone and seems to
+feel that everyone is his friend.
+
+“I've noticed,” said Peter, “that birds who do not sing at any other
+time of year sing in the spring. Do you have a spring song, Tommy Tit?”
+
+“Well, I don't know as you would call it a song, Peter,” chuckled Tommy.
+“No, I hardly think you would call it a song. But I have a little love
+call then which goes like this: Phoe-be! Phoe-be!”
+
+It was the softest, sweetest little whistle, and Tommy had rightly
+called it a love call. “Why, I've often heard that in the spring and
+didn't know it was your voice at all,” cried Peter. “You say Phoebe
+plainer than does the bird who is named Phoebe, and it is ever so much
+softer and sweeter. I guess that is because you whistle it.”
+
+“I guess you guess right,” replied Tommy Tit. “Now I can't stop to talk
+any longer. These trees need my attention. I want Farmer Brown's boy to
+feel that I have earned that suet I am sure he will put out for me as
+soon as the snow and ice come. I'm not the least bit afraid of Farmer
+Brown's boy. I had just as soon take food from his hand as from anywhere
+else. He knows I like chopped-up nut-meats, and last winter I used
+to feed from his hand every day.” Peter's eyes opened very wide with
+surprise. “Do you mean to say,” said he, “that you and Farmer Brown's
+boy are such friends that you dare sit on his hand?”
+
+Tommy Tit nodded his little black-capped head vigorously. “Certainly,”
+ said he. “Why not? What's the good of having friends if you can't trust
+them? The more you trust them the better friends they'll be.”
+
+“Just the same, I don't see how you dare to do it,” Peter replied. “I
+know Farmer Brown's boy is the friend of all the little people, and I'm
+not much afraid of him myself, but just the same I wouldn't dare go near
+enough for him to touch me.”
+
+“Pooh!” retorted Tommy Tit. “That's no way of showing true friendship.
+You've no idea, Peter, what a comfortable feeling it is to know that
+you can trust a friend, and I feel that Farmer Brown's boy is one of the
+best friends I've got. I wish more boys and girls were like him.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII. Honker and Dippy Arrive.
+
+The leaves of the trees turned yellow and red and brown and then began
+to drop, a few at first, then more and more every day until all but the
+spruce-trees and the pine-trees and the hemlock-trees and the fir-trees
+and the cedar-trees were bare. By this time most of Peter's feathered
+friends of the summer had departed, and there were days when Peter had
+oh, such a lonely feeling. The fur of his coat was growing thicker. The
+grass of the Green Meadows had turned brown. All these things were signs
+which Peter knew well. He knew that rough Brother North Wind and Jack
+Frost were on their way down from the Far North.
+
+Peter had few friends to visit now. Johnny Chuck had gone to sleep for
+the winter 'way down in his little bedroom under ground. Grandfather
+Frog had also gone to sleep. So had Old Mr. Toad. Peter spent a
+great deal of time in the dear Old Briar-patch just sitting still and
+listening. What he was listening for he didn't know. It just seemed to
+him that there was something he ought to hear at this time of year, and
+so he sat listening and listening and wondering what he was listening
+for. Then, late one afternoon, there came floating down to him from high
+up in the sky, faintly at first but growing louder, a sound unlike any
+Peter had heard all the long summer through. The sound was a voice.
+Rather it was many voices mingled “Honk, honk, honk, honk, honk, honk,
+honk!” Peter gave a little jump.
+
+“That's what I've been listening for!” he cried. “Honker the Goose and
+his friends are coming. Oh, I do hope they will stop where I can pay
+them a call.”
+
+He hopped out to the edge of the dear Old Briar-patch that he might
+see better, and looked up in the sky. High up, flying in the shape of
+a letter V, he saw a flock of great birds flying steadily from the
+direction of the Far North. By the sound of their voices he knew that
+they had flown far that day and were tired. One bird was in the lead and
+this he knew to be his old friend, Honker. Straight over his head they
+passed and as Peter listened to their voices he felt within him the
+very spirit of the Far North, that great, wild, lonely land which he had
+never seen but of which he had so often heard.
+
+As Peter watched, Honker suddenly turned and headed in the direction of
+the Big River. Then he began to slant down, his flock following him. And
+presently they disappeared behind the trees along the bank of the Great
+River. Peter gave a happy little sigh. “They are going to spend the
+night there,” thought he. “When the moon comes up, I will run over
+there, for they will come ashore and I know just where. Now that they
+have arrived I know that winter is not far away. Honker's voice is as
+sure a sign of the coming of winter as is Winsome Bluebird's that spring
+will soon be here.”
+
+Peter could hardly wait for the coming of the Black Shadows, and just as
+soon as they had crept out over the Green Meadows he started for the
+Big River. He knew just where to go, because he knew that Honker and
+his friends would rest and spend the night in the same place they had
+stopped at the year before. He knew that they would remain out in the
+middle of the Big River until the Black Shadows had made it quite safe
+for them to swim in. He reached the bank of the Big River just as sweet
+Mistress Moon was beginning to throw her silvery light over the Great
+World. There was a sandy bar in the Great River at this point, and Peter
+squatted on the bank just where this sandy bar began.
+
+It seemed to Peter that he had sat there half the night, but really it
+was only a short time, before he heard a low signal out in the Black
+Shadows which covered the middle of the Big River. It was the voice
+of Honker. Then Peter saw little silvery lines moving on the water and
+presently a dozen great shapes appeared in the moonlight. Honker and his
+friends were swimming in. The long neck of each of those great birds
+was stretched to its full height, and Peter knew that each bird was
+listening for the slightest suspicious sound. Slowly they drew near,
+Honker in the lead. They were a picture of perfect caution. When they
+reached the sandy bar they remained quiet, looking and listening for
+some time. Then, sure that all was safe, Honker gave a low signal and
+at once a low gabbling began as the big birds relaxed their watchfulness
+and came out on the sandy bar, all save one. That one was the guard,
+and he remained with neck erect on watch. Some swam in among the rushes
+growing in the water very near to where Peter was sitting and began to
+feed. Others sat on the sandy bar and dressed their feathers. Honker
+himself came ashore close to where Peter was sitting.
+
+“Oh, Honker,” cried Peter, “I'm so glad you're back here safe and
+sound.”
+
+Honker gave a little start, but instantly recognizing Peter, came over
+close to him. As he stood there in the moonlight he was truly handsome.
+His throat and a large patch on each side of his head were white. The
+rest of his head and long, slim neck were black. His short tail was also
+black. His back, wings, breast and sides were a soft grayish-brown. He
+was white around the base of his tail and he wore a white collar.
+
+“Hello, Peter,” said he. “It is good to have an old friend greet me.
+I certainly am glad to be back safe and sound, for the hunters with
+terrible guns have been at almost every one of our resting places, and
+it has been hard work to get enough to eat. It is a relief to find one
+place where there are no terrible guns.”
+
+“Have you come far?” asked Peter.
+
+“Very far, Peter; very far,” replied Honker. “And we still have very far
+to go. I shall be thankful when the journey is over, for on me depends
+the safety of all those with me, and it is a great responsibility.”
+
+“Will winter soon be here?” asked Peter eagerly.
+
+“Rough Brother North Wind and Jack Frost were right behind us,” replied
+Honker. “You know we stay in the Far North just as long as we can.
+Already the place where we nested is frozen and covered with snow. For
+the first part of the journey we kept only just ahead of the snow and
+ice, but as we drew near to where men make their homes we were forced to
+make longer journeys each day, for the places where it is safe to feed
+and rest are few and far between. Now we shall hurry on until we reach
+the place in the far-away South where we will make our winter home.”
+
+Just then Honker was interrupted by wild, strange sounds from the middle
+of the Great River. It sounded like crazy laughter. Peter jumped at the
+sound, but Honker merely chuckled. “It's Dippy the Loon,” said he. “He
+spent the summer in the Far North not far from us. He started south just
+before we did.”
+
+“I wish he would come in here so that I can get a good look at him and
+make his acquaintance,” said Peter.
+
+“He may, but I doubt it,” replied Honker. “He and his mate are great
+people to keep by themselves. Then, too, they don't have to come ashore
+for food. You know Dippy feeds altogether on fish. He really has an
+easier time on the long journey than we do, because he can get his food
+without running so much risk of being shot by the terrible hunters. He
+practically lives on the water. He's about the most awkward fellow on
+land of any one I know.”
+
+“Why should he be any more awkward on land then you?” asked Peter, his
+curiosity aroused at once.
+
+“Because,” replied Honker, “Old Mother Nature has given him very short
+legs and has placed them so far back on his body that he can't keep his
+balance to walk, and has to use his wings and bill to help him over the
+ground. On shore he is about the most helpless thing you can imagine.
+But on water he is another fellow altogether. He's just as much at home
+under water as on top. My, how that fellow can dive! When he sees the
+flash of a gun he will get under water before the shot can reach him.
+That's where he has the advantage of us Geese. You know we can't dive.
+He could swim clear across this river under water if he wanted to, and
+he can go so fast under water that he can catch a fish. It is because
+his legs have been placed so far back that he can swim so fast. You know
+his feet are nothing but big paddles. Another funny thing is that he can
+sink right down in the water when he wants to, with nothing but his head
+out. I envy him that. It would be a lot easier for us Geese to escape
+the dreadful hunters if we could sink down that way.”
+
+“Has he a bill like yours?” asked Peter innocently.
+
+“Of course not,” replied Honker. “Didn't I tell you that he lives on
+fish? How do you suppose he would hold on to his slippery fish if he had
+a broad bill like mine? His bill is stout, straight and sharp pointed.
+He is rather a handsome fellow. He is pretty nearly as big as I am,
+and his back, wings, tail and neck are black with bluish or greenish
+appearance in the sun. His back and wings are spotted with white, and
+there are streaks of white on his throat and the sides of his neck.
+On his breast and below he is all white. You certainly ought to get
+acquainted with Dippy, Peter, for there isn't anybody quite like him.”
+
+“I'd like to,” replied Peter. “But if he never comes to shore, how can
+I? I guess I will have to be content to know him just by his voice. I
+certainly never will forget that. It's about as crazy sounding as the
+voice of Old Man Coyote, and that is saying a great deal.”
+
+“There's one thing I forgot to tell you,” said Honker. “Dippy can't fly
+from the land; he must be on the water in order to get up in the air.”
+
+“You can, can't you?” asked Peter.
+
+“Of course I can,” replied Honker. “Why, we Geese get a lot of our food
+on land. When it is safe to do so we visit the grain fields and pick up
+the grain that has been shaken out during harvest. Of course we couldn't
+do that if we couldn't fly from the land. We can rise from either land
+or water equally well. Now if you'll excuse me, Peter, I'll take a nap.
+My, but I'm tired! And I've got a long journey to-morrow.”
+
+So Peter politely bade Honker and his relatives good-night and left them
+in peace on the sandy bar in the Big River.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX. Peter Discovers Two Old Friends.
+
+Rough Brother North Wind and Jack Frost were not far behind Honker the
+Goose. In a night Peter Rabbit's world was transformed. It had become
+a new world, a world of pure white. The last laggard among Peter's
+feathered friends who spend the winter in the far-away South had hurried
+away. Still Peter was not lonely. Tommy Tit's cheery voice greeted Peter
+the very first thing that morning after the storm. Tommy seemed to be in
+just as good spirits as ever he had been in summer.
+
+Now Peter rather likes the snow. He likes to run about in it, and so
+he followed Tommy Tit up to the Old Orchard. He felt sure that he would
+find company there besides Tommy Tit, and he was not disappointed. Downy
+and Hairy the Woodpeckers were getting their breakfast from a piece
+of suet Farmer Brown's boy had thoughtfully fastened in one of the
+apple-trees for them. Sammy Jay was there also, and his blue coat never
+had looked better than it did against the pure white of the snow.
+
+These were the only ones Peter really had expected to find in the Old
+Orchard, and so you can guess how pleased he was as he hopped over the
+old stone wall to hear the voice of one whom he had almost forgotten. It
+was the voice of Yank-Yank the Nuthatch, and while it was far from being
+sweet there was in it something of good cheer and contentment. At once
+Peter hurried in the direction from which it came.
+
+On the trunk of an apple-tree he caught sight of a gray and black and
+white bird about the size of Downy the Woodpecker. The top of his head
+and upper part of his back were shining black. The rest of his back was
+bluish-gray. The sides of his head and his breast were white. The outer
+feathers of his tail were black with white patches near their tips.
+
+But Peter didn't need to see how Yank-Yank was dressed in order to
+recognize him. Peter would have known him if he had been so far away
+that the colors of his coat did not show at all. You see, Yank-Yank was
+doing a most surprising thing, something no other bird can do. He was
+walking head first down the trunk of that tree, picking tiny eggs of
+insects from the bark and seemingly quite as much at home and quite as
+unconcerned in that queer position as if he were right side up.
+
+As Peter approached, Yank-Yank lifted his head and called a greeting
+which sounded very much like the repetition of his own name. Then he
+turned around and began to climb the tree as easily as he had come down
+it.
+
+“Welcome home, Yank-Yank!” cried Peter, hurrying up quite out of breath.
+
+Yank-Yank turned around so that he was once more head down, and his eyes
+twinkled as he looked down at Peter. “You're mistaken Peter,” said he.
+“This isn't home. I've simply come down here for the winter. You know
+home is where you raise your children, and my home is in the Great Woods
+farther north. There is too much ice and snow up there, so I have come
+down here to spend the winter.”
+
+“Well anyway, it's a kind of home; it's your winter home,” protested
+Peter, “and I certainly am glad to see you back. The Old Orchard
+wouldn't be quite the same without you. Did you have a pleasant summer?
+And if you please, Yank-Yank, tell me where you built your home and what
+it was like.”
+
+“Yes, Mr. Curiosity, I had a very pleasant summer,” replied Yank-Yank.
+“Mrs. Yank-Yank and I raised a family of six and that is doing a lot
+better than some folks I know, if I do say it. As to our nest, it was
+made of leaves and feathers and it was in a hole in a certain old stump
+that not a soul knows of but Mrs. Yank-Yank and myself. Now is there
+anything else you want to know?”
+
+“Yes,” retorted Peter promptly. “I want to know how it is that you can
+walk head first down the trunk of a tree without losing your balance and
+tumbling off.”
+
+Yank-Yank chuckled happily. “I discovered a long time ago, Peter,” said
+he, “that the people who get on best in this world are those who make
+the most of what they have and waste no time wishing they could
+have what other people have. I suppose you have noticed that all
+the Woodpecker family have stiff tail feathers and use them to brace
+themselves when they are climbing a tree. They have become so dependent
+on them that they don't dare move about on the trunk of a tree without
+using them. If they want to come down a tree they have to back down.
+
+“Now Old Mother Nature didn't give me stiff tail feathers, but she gave
+me a very good pair of feet with three toes in front and one behind
+and when I was a very little fellow I learned to make the most of those
+feet. Each toe has a sharp claw. When I go up a tree the three front
+claws on each foot hook into the bark. When I come down a tree I simply
+twist one foot around so that I can use the claws of this foot to keep
+me from falling. It is just as easy for me to go down a tree as it is
+to go up, and I can go right around the trunk just as easily and
+comfortably.” Suiting action to the word, Yank-Yank ran around the trunk
+of the apple-tree just above Peter's head. When he reappeared Peter had
+another question ready.
+
+“Do you live altogether on grubs and worms and insects and their eggs?”
+ he asked.
+
+“I should say not!” exclaimed Yank-Yank. “I like acorns and beechnuts
+and certain kinds of seeds.”
+
+“I don't see how such a little fellow as you can eat such hard things as
+acorns and beechnuts,” protested Peter a little doubtfully.
+
+Yank-Yank laughed right out. “Sometime when I see you over in the Green
+Forest I'll show you,” said he. “When I find a fat beechnut I take it
+to a little crack in a tree that will just hold it; then with this stout
+bill of mine I crack the shell. It really is quite easy when you know
+how. Cracking a nut open that way is sometimes called hatching, and
+that is how I come by the name of Nuthatch. Hello! There's Seep-Seep. I
+haven't seen him since we were together up North. His home was not far
+from mine.”
+
+As Yank-Yank spoke, a little brown bird alighted at the very foot of the
+next tree. He was just a trifle bigger than Jenny Wren but not at all
+like Jenny, for while Jenny's tail usually is cocked up in the sauciest
+way, Seep-Seep's tail is never cocked up at all. In fact, it bends down,
+for Seep-Seep uses his tail just as the members of the Woodpecker family
+use theirs. He was dressed in grayish-brown above and grayish-white
+beneath. Across each wing was a little band of buffy-white, and his bill
+was curved just a little.
+
+Seep-Seep didn't stop an instant but started up the trunk of that tree,
+going round and round it as he climbed, and picking out things to
+eat from under the bark. His way of climbing that tree was very like
+creeping, and Peter thought to himself that Seep-Seep was well named the
+Brown Creeper. He knew it was quite useless to try to get Seep-Seep to
+talk, He knew that Seep-Seep wouldn't waste any time that way.
+
+Round and round up the trunk of the tree he went, and when he reached
+the top at once flew down to the bottom of the next tree and without
+a pause started up that. He wasted no time exploring the branches, but
+stuck to the trunk. Once in a while he would cry in a thin little voice,
+“Seep! Seep!” but never paused to rest or look around. If he had felt
+that on him alone depended the job of getting all the insect eggs and
+grubs on those trees he could not have been more industrious.
+
+“Does he build his nest in a hole in a tree?” asked Peter of Yank-Yank.
+Yank-Yank shook his head. “No,” he replied. “He hunts for a tree or stub
+with a piece of loose bark hanging to it. In behind this he tucks his
+nest made of twigs, strips of bark and moss. He's a funny little fellow
+and I don't know of any one in all the great world who more strictly
+attends to his own business than does Seep-Seep the Brown Creeper. By
+the way, Peter, have you seen anything of Dotty the Tree Sparrow?”
+
+“Not yet,” replied Peter, “but I think he must be here. I'm glad you
+reminded me of him. I'll go look for him.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL. Some Merry Seed-Eaters.
+
+Having been reminded of Dotty the Tree Sparrow, Peter Rabbit became
+possessed of a great desire to find this little friend of the cold
+months and learn how he had fared through the summer.
+
+He was at a loss just where to look for Dotty until he remembered a
+certain weedy field along the edge of which the bushes had been left
+growing. “Perhaps I'll find him there,” thought Peter, for he remembered
+that Dotty lives almost wholly on seeds, chiefly weed seeds, and that he
+dearly loves a weedy field with bushes not far distant in which he can
+hide.
+
+So Peter hurried over to the weedy field and there, sure enough, he
+found Dotty with a lot of his friends. They were very busy getting their
+breakfast. Some were clinging to the weed-stalks picking the seeds out
+of the tops, while others were picking up the seeds from the ground. It
+was cold. Rough Brother North Wind was doing his best to blow up another
+snow-cloud. It wasn't at all the kind of day in which one would expect
+to find anybody in high spirits. But Dotty was. He was even singing
+as Peter came up, and all about Dotty's friends and relatives were
+twittering as happily and merrily as if it were the beginning of spring
+instead of winter.
+
+Dotty was very nearly the size of Little Friend the Song Sparrow and
+looked somewhat like him, save that his breast was clear ashy-gray, all
+but a little dark spot in the middle, the little dot from which he gets
+his name. He wore a chestnut cap, almost exactly like that of Chippy
+the Chipping Sparrow. It reminded Peter that Dotty is often called the
+Winter Chippy.
+
+“Welcome back, Dotty!” cried Peter. “It does my heart good to see you.”
+
+“Thank you, Peter,” twittered Dotty happily. “In a way it is good to be
+back. Certainly, it is good to know that an old friend is glad to see
+me.”
+
+“Are you going to stay all winter, Dotty?” asked Peter.
+
+“I hope so,” replied Dotty. “I certainly shall if the snow does not get
+so deep that I cannot get enough to eat. Some of these weeds are so tall
+that it will take a lot of snow to cover them, and as long as the tops
+are above the snow I will have nothing to worry about. You know a lot of
+seeds remain in these tops all winter. But if the snow gets deep enough
+to cover these I shall have to move along farther south.”
+
+“Then I hope there won't be much snow,” declared Peter very
+emphatically. “There are few enough folks about in winter at best,
+goodness knows, and I don't know of any one I enjoy having for a
+neighbor more than I do you.”
+
+“Thank you again, Peter,” cried Dotty, “and please let me return the
+compliment. I like cold weather. I like winter when there isn't too much
+ice and bad weather. I always feel good in cold weather. That is one
+reason I go north to nest.”
+
+“Speaking of nests, do you build in a tree?” inquired Peter.
+
+“Usually on or near the ground,” replied Dotty. “You know I am really
+a ground bird although I am called a Tree Sparrow. Most of us Sparrows
+spend our time on or near the ground.”
+
+“I know,” replied Peter. “Do you know I'm very fond of the Sparrow
+family. I just love your cousin Chippy, who nests in the Old Orchard
+every spring. I wish he would stay all winter. I really don't see why he
+doesn't. I should think he could if you can.”
+
+Dotty laughed. It was a tinkling little laugh, good to hear. “Cousin
+Chippy would starve to death,” he declared. “It is all a matter of food.
+You ought to know that by this time, Peter. Cousin Chippy lives chiefly
+on worms and bugs and I live almost wholly on seeds, and that is what
+makes the difference. Cousin Chippy must go where he can get plenty to
+eat. I can get plenty here and so I stay.”
+
+“Did you and your relatives come down from the Far North alone?” asked
+Peter.
+
+“No,” replied Dotty promptly. “Slaty the Junco and his relatives came
+along with us and we had a very merry party.”
+
+Peter pricked up his ears. “Is Slaty here now?” he asked eagerly.
+
+“Very much here,” replied a voice right behind Peter's back. It was
+so unexpected that it made Peter jump. He turned to find Slaty himself
+chuckling merrily as he picked up seeds. He was very nearly the same
+size as Dotty but trimmer. In fact he was one of the trimmest, neatest
+appearing of all of Peter's friends. There was no mistaking Slaty the
+Junco for any other bird. His head, throat and breast were clear slate
+color. Underneath he was white. His sides were grayish. His outer tail
+feathers were white. His bill was flesh color. It looked almost white.
+
+“Welcome! Welcome!” cried Peter. “Are you here to stay all winter?”
+
+“I certainly am,” was Slaty's prompt response. “It will take pretty bad
+weather to drive me away from here. If the snow gets too deep I'll just
+go up to Farmer Brown's barnyard. I can always pick up a meal there, for
+Farmer Brown's boy is a very good friend of mine. I know he won't let me
+starve, no matter what the weather is. I think it is going to snow some
+more. I like the snow. You know I am sometimes called the Snowbird.”
+
+Peter nodded. “So I have heard,” said he, “though I think that name
+really belongs to Snowflake the Snow Bunting.”
+
+“Quite right, Peter, quite right,” replied Slaty. “I much prefer my own
+name of Junco. My, these seeds are good!” All the time he was busily
+picking up seeds so tiny that Peter didn't even see them.
+
+“If you like here so much why don't you stay all the year?” inquired
+Peter.
+
+“It gets too warm,” replied Slaty promptly,
+
+“I hate hot weather. Give me cold weather every time.”
+
+“Do you mean to tell me that it is cold all summer where you nest in the
+Far North?” demanded Peter.
+
+“Not exactly cold,” replied Slaty, “but a lot cooler than it is down
+here. I don't go as far north to nest as Snowflake does, but I go far
+enough to be fairly comfortable. I don't see how some folks can stand
+hot weather.”
+
+“It is a good thing they can,” interrupted Dotty. “If everybody liked
+the same things it wouldn't do at all. Just suppose all the birds ate
+nothing but seeds. There wouldn't be seeds enough to go around, and a
+lot of us would starve. Then, too, the worms and the bugs would eat up
+everything. So, take it all together, it is a mighty good thing that
+some birds live almost wholly on worms and bugs and such things, leaving
+the seeds to the rest of us. I guess Old Mother Nature knew what she was
+about when she gave us different tastes.”
+
+Peter nodded his head in approval. “You can always trust Old Mother
+Nature to know what is best,” said he sagely. “By the way, Slaty, what
+do you make your nest of and where do you put it?”
+
+“My nest is usually made of grasses, moss and rootlets. Sometimes it is
+lined with fine grasses, and when I am lucky enough to find them I use
+long hairs. Often I put my nest on the ground, and never very far above
+it. I am like my friend Dotty in this respect. It always seems to me
+easier to hide a nest on the ground than anywhere else. There is nothing
+like having a nest well hidden. It takes sharp eyes to find my nest, I
+can tell you that, Peter Rabbit.”
+
+Just then Dotty, who had been picking seeds out of the top of a weed,
+gave a cry of alarm and instantly there was a flit of many wings as
+Dotty and his relatives and Slaty sought the shelter of the bushes along
+the edge of the field. Peter sat up very straight and looked this way
+and looked that way. At first he saw nothing suspicious. Then, crouching
+flat among the weeds, he got a glimpse of Black Pussy, the cat from
+Farmer Brown's house. She had been creeping up in the hope of catching
+one of those happy little seedeaters. Peter stamped angrily. Then
+with long jumps he started for the dear Old Briar-patch,
+lipperty-lipperty-lip, for truth to tell, big as he was, he was a little
+afraid of Black Pussy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI. More Friends Come With the Snow.
+
+Slaty the Junco had been quite right in thinking it was going to snow
+some more. Rough Brother North Find hurried up one big cloud after
+another, and late that afternoon the white feathery flakes came drifting
+down out of the sky.
+
+Peter Rabbit sat tight in the dear Old Briar-patch. In fact Peter did no
+moving about that night, but remained squatting just inside the entrance
+to an old hole Johnny Chuck's grandfather had dug long ago in the middle
+of the clear Old Briar-patch. Some time before morning the snow stopped
+falling and then rough Brother North Wind worked as hard to blow away
+the clouds as he had done to bring them.
+
+When jolly, round, bright Mr. Sun began his daily climb up in the blue,
+blue sky he looked down on a world of white. It seemed as if every
+little snowflake twinkled back at every little sunbeam. It was all very
+lovely, and Peter Rabbit rejoiced as he scampered forth in quest of his
+breakfast.
+
+He started first for the weedy field where the day before he had found
+Dotty the Tree Sparrow and Slaty the Junco. They were there before him,
+having the very best time ever was as they picked seeds from the tops of
+the weeds which showed above the snow. Almost at once Peter discovered
+that they were not the only seekers for seeds. Walking about on the
+snow, and quite as busy seeking seeds as were Dotty and Slaty, was a
+bird very near their size the top of whose head, neck and back were a
+soft rusty-brown. There was some black on his wings, but the latter
+were mostly white and the outer tail feathers were white. His breast and
+under parts were white. It was Snowflake the Snow Bunting in his winter
+suit. Peter knew him instantly. There was no mistaking him, for, as
+Peter well knew, there is no other bird of his size and shape who is so
+largely white. He had appeared so unexpectedly that it almost seemed as
+if he must have come out of the snow clouds just as had the snow itself.
+Peter had his usual question ready.
+
+“Are you going to spend the winter here, Snowflake?” he cried.
+
+Snowflake was so busy getting his breakfast that he did not reply at
+once. Peter noticed that he did not hop, but walked or ran. Presently he
+paused long enough to reply to Peter's question. “If the snow has come
+to stay all winter, perhaps I'll stay,” said he.
+
+“What has the snow to do with it?” demanded Peter.
+
+“Only that I like the snow and I like cold weather. When the snow
+begins to disappear, I just naturally fly back farther north,” replied
+Snowflake. “It isn't that I don't like bare ground, because I do, and
+I'm always glad when the snow is blown off in places so that I can hunt
+for seeds on the ground. But when the snow begins to melt everywhere I
+feel uneasy. I can't understand how folks can be contented where there
+is no snow and ice. You don't catch me going 'way down south. No, siree,
+you don't catch me going 'way down south. Why, when the nesting season
+comes around, I chase Jack Frost clear 'way up to where he spends the
+summer. I nest 'way up on the shore of the Polar Sea, but of course you
+don't know where that is, Peter Rabbit.”
+
+“If you are so fond of the cold in the Far North, the snow and the ice,
+what did you come south at all for? Why don't you stay up there all the
+year around?” demanded Peter.
+
+“Because, Peter,” replied Snowflake, twittering merrily, “like everybody
+else, I have to eat in order to live. When you see me down here you may
+know that the snows up north are so deep that they have covered all the
+seeds. I always keep a weather eye out, as the saying is, and the minute
+it looks as if there would be too much snow for me to get a living, I
+move along. I hope I will not have to go any farther than this, but if
+some morning you wake up and find the snow so deep that all the heads of
+the weeds are buried, don't expect to find me.”
+
+“That's what I call good, sound common sense,” said another voice, and
+a bird a little bigger than Snowflake, and who at first glance seemed to
+be dressed almost wholly in soft chocolate brown, alighted in the snow
+close by and at once began to run about in search of seeds. It was
+Wanderer the Horned Lark. Peter hailed him joyously, for there was
+something of mystery about Wanderer, and Peter, as you know, loves
+mystery.
+
+Peter had known him ever since his first winter, yet did not feel
+really acquainted, for Wanderer seldom stayed long enough for a real
+acquaintance. Every winter he would come, sometimes two or three times,
+but seldom staying more than a few days at a time. Quite often he and
+his relatives appeared with the Snowflakes, for they are the best of
+friends and travel much together.
+
+Now as Wanderer reached up to pick seeds from a weed-top, Peter had
+a good look at him. The first things he noticed were the two little
+horn-like tufts of black feathers above and behind the eyes. It is from
+these that Wanderer gets the name of Horned Lark. No other bird has
+anything quite like them. His forehead, a line over each eye, and his
+throat were yellow. There was a black mark from each corner of the
+bill curving downward just below the eye and almost joining a black
+crescent-shaped band across the breast. Beneath this he was soiled white
+with dusky spots showing here and there. His back was brown, in places
+having almost a pinkish tinge. His tail was black, showing a little
+white on the edges when he flew. All together he was a handsome little
+fellow.
+
+“Do all of your family have those funny little horns?” asked Peter.
+
+“No,” was Wanderer's prompt reply. “Mrs. Lark does not have them.”
+
+“I think they are very becoming,” said Peter politely.
+
+“Thank you,” replied Wanderer. “I am inclined to agree with you. You
+should see me when I have my summer suit.”
+
+“Is it so very different from this?” asked Peter. “I think your present
+suit is pretty enough.”
+
+“Well said, Peter, well said,” interrupted Snowflake. “I quite agree
+with you. I think Wanderer's present suit is pretty enough for any one,
+but it is true that his summer suit is even prettier. It isn't so
+very different, but it is brighter, and those black markings are much
+stronger and show up better. You see, Wanderer is one of my neighbors in
+the Far North, and I know all about him.”
+
+“And that means that you don't know anything bad about me, doesn't it?”
+ chuckled Wanderer.
+
+Snowflake nodded. “Not a thing,” he replied. “I wouldn't ask for a
+better neighbor. You should hear him sing, Peter. He sings up in the
+air, and it really is a very pretty song.”
+
+“I'd just love to hear him,” replied Peter. “Why don't you sing here,
+Wanderer?”
+
+“This isn't the singing season,” replied Wanderer promptly. “Besides,
+there isn't time to sing when one has to keep busy every minute in order
+to get enough to eat.”
+
+“I don't see,” said Peter, “why, when you get here, you don't stay in
+one place.”
+
+“Because it is easier to get a good living by moving about,” replied
+Wanderer promptly. “Besides, I like to visit new places. I shouldn't
+enjoy being tied down in just one place like some birds I know. Would
+you, Snowflake?”
+
+Snowflake promptly replied that he wouldn't. Just then Peter discovered
+something that he hadn't known before. “My goodness,” he exclaimed,
+“what a long claw you have on each hind toe!”
+
+It was true. Each hind claw was about twice as long as any other claw.
+Peter couldn't see any special use for it and he was just about to ask
+more about it when Wanderer suddenly spied a flock of his relatives
+some distance away and flew to join them. Probably this saved him some
+embarrassment, for it is doubtful if he himself knew why Old Mother
+Nature had given him such long hind claws.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII. Peter Learns Something About Spooky.
+
+Peter Rabbit likes winter. At least he doesn't mind it so very much,
+even though he has to really work for a living. Perhaps it is a good
+thing that he does, for he might grow too fat to keep out of the way of
+Reddy Fox. You see when the snow is deep Peter is forced to eat whatever
+he can, and very often there isn't much of anything for him but the bark
+of young trees. It is at such times that Peter gets into mischief, for
+there is no bark he likes better than that of young fruit trees. Now
+you know what happens when the bark is taken off all the way around the
+trunk of a tree. That tree dies. It dies for the simple reason that it
+is up the inner layer of bark that the life-giving sap travels in the
+spring and summer. Of course, when a strip of bark has been taken off
+all the way around near the base of a tree, the sap cannot go up and the
+tree must die.
+
+Now up near the Old Orchard Farmer Brown had set out a young orchard.
+Peter knew all about that young orchard, for he had visited it many
+times in the summer. Then there had been plenty of sweet clover and
+other green things to eat, and Peter had never been so much as tempted
+to sample the bark of those young trees. But now things were very
+different, and it was very seldom that Peter knew what it was to have a
+full stomach. He kept thinking of that young orchard. He knew that if he
+were wise he would keep away from there. But the more he thought of it
+the more it seemed to him that he just must have some of that tender
+young bark. So just at dusk one evening, Peter started for the young
+orchard.
+
+Peter got there in safety and his eyes sparkled as he hopped over to
+the nearest young tree. But when he reached it, Peter had a dreadful
+disappointment. All around the trunk of that young tree was wire
+netting. Peter couldn't get even a nibble of that bark. He tried the
+next tree with no better result. Then he hurried on from tree to tree,
+always with the same result. You see Farmer Brown knew all about Peter's
+liking for the bark of young fruit trees, and he had been wise enough to
+protect his young orchard.
+
+At last Peter gave up and hopped over to the Old Orchard. As he passed a
+certain big tree he was startled by a voice. “What's the matter, Peter?”
+ said the voice. “You don't look happy.”
+
+Peter stopped short and stared up in the big apple-tree. Look as he
+would he couldn't see anybody. Of course there wasn't a leaf on that
+tree, and he could see all through it. Peter blinked and felt foolish.
+He knew that had there been any one sitting on any one of those branches
+he couldn't have helped seeing him.
+
+“Don't look so high, Peter; don't look so high,” said the voice with a
+chuckle. This time it sounded as if it came right out of the trunk of
+the tree. Peter stared at the trunk and then suddenly laughed right out.
+Just a few feet above the ground was a good sized hole in the tree, and
+poking his head out of it was a funny little fellow with big eyes and a
+hooked beak.
+
+“You certainly did fool me that time, Spooky,” cried Peter. “I ought to
+have recognized your voice, but I didn't.”
+
+Spooky the Screech Owl, for that is who it was, came out of the hole in
+the tree and without a sound from his wings flew over and perched just
+above Peter's head. He was a little fellow, not over eight inches high,
+but there was no mistaking the family to which he belonged. In fact he
+looked very much like a small copy of Hooty the Great Horned Owl, so
+much so that Peter felt a little cold shiver run over him, although he
+had nothing in the world to fear from Spooky.
+
+His head seemed to be almost as big around as his body, and he seemed
+to leave no neck at all. He was dressed in bright reddish-brown, with
+little streaks and bars of black. Underneath he was whitish, with little
+streaks and bars of black and brown. On each side of his head was a tuft
+of feathers. They looked like ears and some people think they are ears,
+which is a mistake. His eyes were round and yellow with a fierce hungry
+look in them. His bill was small and almost hidden among the feathers of
+his face, but it was hooked just like the bill of Hooty. As he settled
+himself he turned his head around until he could look squarely behind
+him, then brought it back again so quickly that to Peter it looked as
+if it had gone clear around. You see Spooky's eyes are fixed in their
+sockets and he cannot move them from side to side. He has to turn his
+whole head in order to see to one side or the other.
+
+“You haven't told me yet why you look so unhappy, Peter,” said Spooky.
+
+“Isn't an empty stomach enough to make any fellow unhappy?” retorted
+Peter rather shortly.
+
+Spooky chuckled. “I've got an empty stomach myself, Peter,” said he,
+“but it isn't making me unhappy. I have a feeling that somewhere there
+is a fat Mouse waiting for me.”
+
+Just then Peter remembered what Jenny Wren had told him early in the
+spring of how Spooky the Screech Owl lives all the year around in a
+hollow tree, and curiosity made him forget for the time being that he
+was hungry. “Did you live in that hole all summer, Spooky?” he asked.
+
+Spooky nodded solemnly. “I've lived in that hollow summer and winter for
+three years,” said he.
+
+Peter's eyes opened very wide. “And till now I never even guessed it,”
+ he exclaimed. “Did you raise a family there?”
+
+“I certainly did,” replied Spooky. “Mrs. Spooky and I raised a family of
+four as fine looking youngsters as you ever have seen. They've gone out
+into the Great World to make their own living now. Two were dressed just
+like me and two were gray.”
+
+“What's that?” exclaimed Peter.
+
+“I said that two were dressed just like me and two were gray,” replied
+Spooky rather sharply.
+
+“That's funny,” Peter exclaimed.
+
+“What's funny?” snapped Spooky rather crossly.
+
+“Why that all four were not dressed alike,” said Peter.
+
+“There's nothing funny about it,” retorted Spooky, and snapped his
+bill sharply with a little cracking sound. “We Screech Owls believe in
+variety. Some of us are gray and some of us are reddish-brown. It is
+a case of where you cannot tell a person just by the color of his
+clothes.”
+
+Peter nodded as if he quite understood, although he couldn't understand
+at all. “I'm ever so pleased to find you living here,” said he politely.
+“You see, in winter the Old Orchard is rather a lonely place. I don't
+see how you get enough to eat when there are so few birds about.”
+
+“Birds!” snapped Spooky. “What have birds to do with it?”
+
+“Why, don't you live on birds?” asked Peter innocently.
+
+“I should say not. I guess I would starve if I depended on birds for
+my daily food,” retorted Spooky. “I catch a Sparrow now and then, to
+be sure, but usually it is an English Sparrow, and I consider that I am
+doing the Old Orchard a good turn every time I am lucky enough to catch
+one of the family of Bully the English Sparrow. But I live mostly on
+Mice and Shrews in winter and in summer I eat a lot of grasshoppers and
+other insects. If it wasn't for me and my relatives I guess Mice would
+soon overrun the Great World. Farmer Brown ought to be glad I've come to
+live in the Old Orchard and I guess he is, for Farmer Brown's boy knows
+all about this house of mine and never disturbs me. Now if you'll excuse
+me I think I'll fly over to Farmer Brown's young orchard. I ought to
+find a fat Mouse or two trying to get some of the bark from those young
+trees.”
+
+“Huh!” exclaimed Peter. “They can try all they want to, but they won't
+get any; I can tell you that.”
+
+Spooky's round yellow eyes twinkled. “It must be you have been trying to
+get some of that bark yourself,” said he.
+
+Peter didn't say anything but he looked guilty, and Spooky once more
+chuckled as he spread his wings and flew away so soundlessly that he
+seemed more like a drifting shadow than a bird. Then Peter started for
+a certain swamp he knew of where he would be sure to find enough bark to
+stay his appetite.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII. Queer Feet and a Queerer Bill.
+
+Peter Rabbit had gone over to the Green Forest to call on his cousin,
+Jumper the Hare, who lives there altogether. He had no difficulty in
+finding Jumper's tracks in the snow, and by following these he at length
+came up with Jumper. The fact is, Peter almost bumped into Jumper before
+he saw him, for Jumper was wearing a coat as white as the snow itself.
+Squatting under a little snow-covered hemlock-tree he looked like
+nothing more than a little mound of snow.
+
+“Oh!” cried Peter. “How you startled me! I wish I had a winter coat like
+yours. It must be a great help in avoiding your enemies.”
+
+“It certainly is, Cousin Peter,” cried Jumper. “Nine times out of ten
+all I have to do is to sit perfectly still when there was no wind to
+carry my scent. I have had Reddy Fox pass within a few feet of me and
+never suspect that I was near. I hope this snow will last all winter. It
+is only when there isn't any snow that I am particularly worried. Then
+I am not easy for a minute, because my white coat can be seen a long
+distance against the brown of the dead leaves.”
+
+Peter chuckled, “that is just when I feel safest,” he replied. “I
+like the snow, but this brown-gray coat of mine certainly does show up
+against it. Don't you find it pretty lonesome over here in the Green
+Forest with all the birds gone, Cousin Jumper?”
+
+Jumper shook his head. “Not all have gone, Peter, you know,” said he.
+“Strutter the Grouse and Mrs. Grouse are here, and I see them every day.
+They've got snowshoes now.”
+
+Peter blinked his eyes and looked rather perplexed. “Snowshoes!” he
+exclaimed. “I don't understand what you mean.”
+
+“Come with me,” replied Jumper, “and I'll show you.”
+
+So Jumper led the way and Peter followed close at his heels. Presently
+they came to some tracks in the snow. At first glance they reminded
+Peter of the queer tracks Farmer Brown's ducks made in the mud on the
+edge of the Smiling Pool in summer. “What funny tracks those are!” he
+exclaimed. “Who made them?”
+
+“Just keep on following me and you'll see,” retorted Jumper.
+
+So they continued to follow the tracks until presently, just ahead of
+them, they saw Strutter the Grouse. Peter opened his eyes with surprise
+when he discovered that those queer tracks were made by Strutter.
+
+“Cousin Peter wants to see your snowshoes, Strutter,” said Jumper as
+they came up with him.
+
+Strutter's bright eyes sparkled. “He's just as curious as ever, isn't
+he?” said he. “Well, I don't mind showing him my snowshoes because I
+think myself that they are really quite wonderful.” He held up one foot
+with the toes spread apart and Peter saw that growing out from the sides
+of each toe were queer little horny points set close together. They
+quite filled the space between his toes. Peter recalled that when he
+had seen Strutter in the summer those toes had been smooth and that his
+tracks on soft ground had shown the outline of each toe clearly. “How
+funny!” exclaimed Peter.
+
+“There's nothing funny about them,” retorted Strutter. “If Old Mother
+Nature hadn't given me something of this kind I certainly would have a
+hard time of it when there is snow on the ground. If my feet were just
+the same as in summer I would sink right down in when the snow is soft
+and wouldn't be able to walk about at all. Now, with these snowshoes I
+get along very nicely. You see I sink in but very little.”
+
+He took three or four steps and Peter saw right away how very useful
+those snowshoes were. “My!” he exclaimed. “I wish Old Mother Nature
+would give me snowshoes too.” Strutter and Jumper both laughed and after
+a second Peter laughed with them, for he realized how impossible it
+would be for him to have anything like those snowshoes of Strutter's.
+
+“Cousin Peter was just saying that he should think I would find it
+lonesome over here in the Green Forest. He forgot that you and Mrs.
+Grouse stay all winter, and he forgot that while most of the birds who
+spent the summer here have left, there are others who come down from the
+Far North to take their place.”
+
+“Who, for instance?” demanded Peter.
+
+“Snipper the Crossbill,” replied Jumper promptly. “I haven't seen him
+yet this winter, but I know he is here because only this morning I found
+some pine seeds on the snow under a certain tree.”
+
+“Huh!” Peter exclaimed. “That doesn't prove anything. Those seeds might
+have just fallen, or Chatterer the Red Squirrel might have dropped
+them.”
+
+“This isn't the season for seeds to just fall, and I know by the signs
+that Chatterer hasn't been about,” retorted Jumper. “Let's go over there
+now and see what we will see.”
+
+Once more he led the way and Peter followed. As they drew near that
+certain pine-tree, a short whistled note caused them to look up. Busily
+at work on a pine cone near the top of a tree was a bird about the size
+of Bully the English Sparrow. He was dressed wholly in dull red with
+brownish-black wings and tail.
+
+“What did I tell you?” cried Jumper. “There's Snipper this very minute,
+and over in that next tree are a lot of his family and relatives. See in
+what a funny way they climb about among the branches. They don't flit
+or hop, but just climb around. I don't know of any other bird anywhere
+around here that does that.”
+
+Just then a seed dropped and landed on the snow almost in front of
+Peter's nose. Almost at once Snipper himself followed it, picking it up
+and eating it with as much unconcern as if Peter and Jumper were a mile
+away instead of only a foot or so. The very first thing Peter noticed
+was Snipper's bill. The upper and lower halves crossed at the tips.
+That bill looked very much as if Snipper had struck something hard and
+twisted the tips over.
+
+“Have--have--you met with an accident?” he asked a bit hesitatingly.
+
+Snipper looked surprised. “Are you talking to me?” he asked. “Whatever
+put such an idea into your head?”
+
+“Your bill,” replied Peter promptly. “How did it get twisted like that?”
+
+Snipper laughed. “It isn't twisted,” said he. “It is just the way Old
+Mother Nature made it, and I really don't know what I'd do if it were
+any different.”
+
+Peter scratched one long ear, as is his way when he is puzzled. “I don't
+see,” said he, “how it is possible for you to pick up food with a bill
+like that.”
+
+“And I don't see how I would get my food if I didn't have a bill like
+this,” retorted Snipper. Then, seeing how puzzled Peter really was, he
+went on to explain. “You see, I live very largely on the seeds that grow
+in pine cones and the cones of other trees. Of course I eat some other
+food, such as seeds and buds of trees. But what I love best of all are
+the seeds that grow in the cones of evergreen trees. If you've ever
+looked at one of those cones, you will understand that those seeds are
+not very easy to get at. But with this kind of a bill it is no trouble
+at all. I can snip them out just as easily as birds with straight
+bills can pick up seeds. You see my bill is very much like a pair of
+scissors.”
+
+“It really is very wonderful,” confessed Peter. “Do you mind telling me,
+Snipper, why I never have seen you here in summer?”
+
+“For the same reason that in summer you never see Snowflake and Wanderer
+the Horned Lark and some others I might name,” replied Snipper. “Give me
+the Far North every time. I would stay there the year through but that
+sometimes food gets scarce up there. That is why I am down here now. If
+you'll excuse me, I'll go finish my breakfast.”
+
+Snipper flew up in the tree where the other Crossbills were at work and
+Peter and Jumper watched them.
+
+“I suppose you know,” said Jumper, “that Snipper has a cousin who looks
+almost exactly like him with the exception of two white bars on each
+wing. He is called the White-winged Crossbill.”
+
+“I didn't know it,” replied Peter, “but I'm glad you've told me. I
+certainly shall watch out for him. I can't get over those funny bills.
+No one could ever mistake it for any other bird. Is there anyone else
+now from the Far North whom I haven't seen?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV. More Folks in Red.
+
+Jumper the Hare didn't have time to reply to Peter Rabbit's question
+when Peter asked if there was any one else besides the Crossbills who
+had come down from the Far North.
+
+“I have,” said a voice from a tree just back of them.
+
+It was so unexpected that it made both Peter and Jumper hop in startled
+surprise. Then they turned to see who had spoken. There sat a bird just
+a little smaller than Welcome Robin, who at first glance seemed to be
+dressed in strawberry-red. However, a closer look showed that there were
+slate-gray markings about his head, under his wings and on his legs. His
+tail was brown. His wings were brown, marked with black and white and
+slate. His bill was thick and rather short.
+
+“Who are you?” demanded Peter very bluntly and impolitely.
+
+“I'm Piny the Pine Grosbeak,” replied the stranger, seemingly not at all
+put out by Peter's bluntness.
+
+“Oh,” said Peter. “Are you related to Rosebreast the Grosbeak who nested
+last summer in the Old Orchard?”
+
+“I certainly am,” replied Piny. “He is my very own cousin. I've never
+seen him because he never ventures up where I live and I don't go down
+where he spends the winter, but all members of the Grosbeak family are
+cousins.”
+
+“Rosebreast is very lovely and I'm very fond of him,” said Peter. “We
+are very good friends.”
+
+“Then I know we are going to be good friends,” replied Piny. As he said
+this he turned and Peter noticed that his tail was distinctly forked
+instead of being square across like that of Welcome Robin. Piny
+whistled, and almost at once he was joined by another bird who in shape
+was just like him, but who was dressed in slaty-gray and olive-yellow,
+instead of the bright red that he himself wore. Piny introduced the
+newcomer as Mrs. Grosbeak.
+
+“Lovely weather, isn't it?” said she. “I love the snow. I wouldn't feel
+at home with no snow about. Why, last spring I even built my nest before
+the snow was gone in the Far North. We certainly hated to leave up
+there, but food was getting so scarce that we had to. We have just
+arrived. Can you tell me if there are any cedar-trees or ash-trees or
+sumacs near here?”
+
+Peter hastened to tell her just where she would find these trees and
+then rather timidly asked why she wanted to find them.
+
+“Because they hold their berries all winter,” replied Mrs. Grosbeak
+promptly, “and those berries make very good eating. I rather thought
+there must be some around here. If there are enough of them we certainly
+shall stay a while.”
+
+“I hope you will,” replied Peter. “I want to get better acquainted with
+you. You know, if it were not for you folks who come down from the Far
+North the Green Forest would be rather a lonely place in winter. There
+are times when I like to be alone, but I like to feel that there is
+someone I can call on when I feel lonesome. Did you and Piny come down
+alone?”
+
+“No, indeed,” replied Mrs. Grosbeak. “There is a flock of our relatives
+not far away. We came down with the Crossbills. All together we made
+quite a party.”
+
+Peter and Jumper stayed a while to gossip with the Grosbeaks. Then Peter
+bethought him that it was high time for him to return to the dear Old
+Briar-patch, and bidding his new friends good-by, he started off through
+the Green Forest, lipperty-lipperty-lip. When he reached the edge of
+the Green Forest he decided to run over to the weedy field to see if the
+Snowflakes and the Tree Sparrows and the Horned Larks were there.
+They were, but almost at once Peter discovered that they had company.
+Twittering cheerfully as he busily picked seeds out of the top of a weed
+which stood above the snow, was a bird very little bigger than Chicoree
+the Goldfinch. But when Peter looked at him he just had to rub his eyes.
+
+“Gracious goodness!” he muttered, “it must be something is wrong with my
+eyes so that I am seeing red. I've already seen two birds dressed in red
+and now there's another. It certainly must be my eyes. There's Dotty
+the Tree Sparrow over there; I hear his voice. I wonder if he will look
+red.”
+
+Peter hopped near enough to get a good look at Dotty and found him
+dressed just as he should be. That relieved Peter's mind. His eyes were
+quite as they should be. Then he returned to look at the happy little
+stranger still busily picking seeds from that weed-top.
+
+The top of his head was bright red. There was no doubt about it. His
+back was toward Peter at the time and but for that bright red cap Peter
+certainly would have taken him for one of his friends among the Sparrow
+family. You see his back was grayish-brown. Peter could think of several
+Sparrows with backs very much like it. But when he looked closely he saw
+that just above his tail this little stranger wore a pinkish patch, and
+that was something no Sparrow of Peter's acquaintance possesses.
+
+Then the lively little stranger turned to face Peter and a pair of
+bright eyes twinkled mischievously. “Well,” said he, “how do you like
+my appearance? Anything wrong with me? I was taught that it is very
+impolite to stare at any one. I guess your mother forgot to teach you
+manners.”
+
+Peter paid no attention to what was said but continued to stare. “My,
+how pretty you are!” he exclaimed.
+
+The little stranger WAS pretty. His breast was PINK. Below this he was
+white. The middle of his throat was black and his sides were streaked
+with reddish-brown. He looked pleased at Peter's exclamation.
+
+“I'm glad you think I'm pretty,” said he. “I like pink myself. I like it
+very much indeed. I suppose you've already seen my friends, Snipper the
+Crossbill and Piny the Grosbeak.”
+
+Peter promptly bobbed his head. “I've just come from making their
+acquaintance,” said he. “By the way you speak, I presume you also are
+from the Far North. I am just beginning to learn that there are more
+folks who make their homes in the Far North than I had dreamed of. If
+you please, I don't believe I know you at all.”
+
+“I'm Redpoll,” was the prompt response. “I am called that because of my
+red cap. Yes, indeed, I make my home in the Far North. There is no place
+like it. You really ought to run up there and get acquainted with the
+folks who make their homes there and love it.”
+
+Redpoll laughed at his own joke, but Peter didn't see the joke at all.
+“Is it so very far?” he asked innocently; then added, “I'd dearly love
+to go.”
+
+Redpoll laughed harder than ever. “Yes,” said he, “it is. I am afraid
+you would be a very old and very gray Rabbit by the time you got there.
+I guess the next thing is for you to make the acquaintance of some of us
+who get down here once in awhile.”
+
+Redpoll called softly and almost at once was joined by another
+red-capped bird but without the pink breast, and with sides more heavily
+streaked. “This is Mrs. Redpoll,” announced her lively little mate. Then
+he turned to her and added, “I've just been telling Peter Rabbit that
+as long as he cannot visit our beautiful Far North he must become
+acquainted with those of us who come down here in the winter. I'm sure
+he'll find us very friendly folks.”
+
+“I'm sure I shall,” said Peter. “If you please, do you live altogether
+on these weed seeds?”
+
+Redpoll laughed his usual happy laugh. “Hardly, Peter,” replied he. “We
+like the seeds of the birches and the alders, and we eat the seeds of
+the evergreen trees when we get them. Sometimes we find them in cones
+Snipper the Crossbill has opened but hasn't picked all the seeds out of.
+Sometimes he drops some for us. Oh, we always manage to get plenty to
+eat. There are some of our relatives over there and we must join them.
+We'll see you again, Peter.”
+
+Peter said he hoped they would and then watched them fly over to join
+their friends. Suddenly, as if a signal had been given, all spread their
+wings at the same instant and flew up in a birch-tree not far away. All
+seemed to take wing at precisely the same instant. Up in the birch-tree
+they sat for a minute or so and then, just as if another signal had been
+given, all began to pick out the tiny seeds from the birch tassels. No
+one bird seemed to be first. It was quite like a drill, or as if each
+had thought of the same thing at the same instant. Peter chuckled over
+it all the way home. And somehow he felt better for having made the
+acquaintance of the Redpolls. It was the feeling that everybody so
+fortunate as to meet them on a gold winter's day is sure to have.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV. Peter Sees Two Terrible Feathered Hunters.
+
+While it is true that Peter Rabbit likes winter, it is also true that
+life is anything but easy for him that season. In the first place he has
+to travel about a great deal to get sufficient food, and that means that
+he must run more risks. There isn't a minute of day or night that he is
+outside of the dear Old Briar-patch when he can afford not to watch and
+listen for danger. You see, at this season of the year, Reddy Fox often
+finds it difficult to get a good meal. He is hungry most of the time,
+and he is forever hunting for Peter Rabbit. With snow on the ground and
+no leaves on the bushes and young trees, it is not easy for Peter to
+hide. So, as he travels about, the thought of Reddy Fox is always in his
+mind.
+
+But there are others whom Peter fears even more, and these wear feathers
+instead of fur coats. One of these is Terror the Goshawk. Peter is
+not alone in his fear of Terror. There is not one among his feathered
+friends who will not shiver at the mention of Terror's name. Peter will
+not soon forget the day he discovered that Terror had come down from the
+Far North, and was likely to stay for the rest of the winter. Peter went
+hungry all the rest of that day.
+
+You see it was this way: Peter had gone over to the Green Forest very
+early that morning in the hope of getting breakfast in a certain swamp.
+He was hopping along, lipperty-lipperty-lip, with his thoughts chiefly
+on that breakfast he hoped to get, but at the same time with ears and
+eyes alert for possible danger, when a strange feeling swept over him.
+It was a feeling that great danger was very near, though he saw nothing
+and heard nothing to indicate it. It was just a feeling, that was all.
+
+Now Peter has learned that the wise thing to do when one has such a
+feeling as that is to seek safety first and investigate afterwards.
+At the instant he felt that strange feeling of fear he was passing a
+certain big, hollow log. Without really knowing why he did it, because,
+you know, he didn't stop to do any thinking, he dived into that hollow
+log, and even as he did so there was the sharp swish of great wings.
+Terror the Goshawk had missed catching Peter by the fraction of a
+second.
+
+With his heart thumping as if it were trying to pound its way through
+his ribs, Peter peeped out of that hollow log. Terror had alighted on
+a tall stump only a few feet away. To Peter in his fright he seemed the
+biggest bird he ever had seen. Of course he wasn't. Actually he was very
+near the same size as Redtail the Hawk, whom Peter knew well. He was
+handsome. There was no denying the fact that he was handsome.
+
+His back was bluish. His head seemed almost black. Over and behind each
+eye was a white line. Underneath he was beautifully marked with wavy
+bars of gray and white. On his tail were four dark bands. Yes, he was
+handsome. But Peter had no thought for his beauty. He could see nothing
+but the fierceness of the eyes that were fixed on the entrance to that
+hollow log. Peter shivered as if with a cold chill. He knew that in
+Terror was no pity or gentleness.
+
+“I hope,” thought Peter, “that Mr. and Mrs. Grouse are nowhere about.”
+ You see he knew that there is no one that Terror would rather catch than
+a member of the Grouse family.
+
+Terror did not sit on that stump long. He knew that Peter was not likely
+to come out in a hurry. Presently he flew away, and Peter suspected from
+the direction in which he was headed that Terror was going over to visit
+Farmer Brown's henyard. Of all the members of the Hawk family there is
+none more bold than Terror the Goshawk. He would not hesitate to seize
+a hen from almost beneath Farmer Brown's nose. He is well named, for the
+mere suspicion that he is anywhere about strikes terror to the heart of
+all the furred and feathered folks. He is so swift of wing that few can
+escape him, and he has no pity, but kills for the mere love of killing.
+In this respect he is like Shadow the Weasel. To kill for food is
+forgiven by the little people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows,
+but to kill needlessly is unpardonable. This is why Terror the Goshawk
+is universally hated and has not a single friend.
+
+All that day Peter remained hidden in that hollow log. He did not dare
+put foot outside until the Black Shadows began to creep through the
+Green Forest. Then he knew that there was nothing more to fear from
+Terror the Goshawk, for he hunts only by day. Once more Peter's thoughts
+were chiefly of his stomach, for it was very, very empty.
+
+But it was not intended that Peter should fill his stomach at once. He
+had gone but a little way when from just ahead of him the silence of
+the early evening was broken by a terrifying sound--“Whooo-hoo-hoo,
+whooo-hoo!” It was so sudden and there was in it such a note of
+fierceness that Peter had all he could do to keep from jumping and
+running for dear life. But he knew that voice and he knew, too, that
+safety lay in keeping perfectly still. So with his heart thumping madly,
+as when he had escaped from Terror that morning, Peter sat as still as
+if he could not move.
+
+It was the hunting call of Hooty the Great Horned Owl, and it had been
+intended to frighten some one into jumping and running, or at least into
+moving ever so little. Peter knew all about that trick of Hooty's. He
+knew that in all the Green Forest there are no ears so wonderful as
+those of Hooty the Owl, and that the instant he had uttered that fierce
+hunting call he had strained those wonderful ears to catch the faintest
+sound which some startled little sleeper of the night might make. The
+rustle of a leaf would be enough to bring Hooty to the spot on his great
+silent wings, and then his fierce yellow eyes, which are made for seeing
+in the dusk, would find the victim.
+
+So Peter sat still, fearful that the very thumping of his heart might
+reach those wonderful ears. Again that terrible hunting cry rang out,
+and again Peter had all he could do to keep from jumping. But he didn't
+jump, and a few minutes later, as he sat staring at a certain tall, dead
+stub of a tree, wondering just where Hooty was, the top of that
+stub seemed to break off, and a great, broad-winged bird flew away
+soundlessly like a drifting shadow. It was Hooty himself. Sitting
+perfectly straight on the top of that tall, dead stub he had seemed a
+part of it. Peter waited some time before he ventured to move. Finally
+he heard Hooty's hunting call in a distant part of the Green Forest, and
+knew that it was safe for him to once more think of his empty stomach.
+
+Later in the winter while the snow still lay in the Green Forest,
+and the ice still bound the Laughing Brook, Peter made a surprising
+discovery. He was over in a certain lonely part of the Green Forest when
+he happened to remember that near there was an old nest which had once
+belonged to Redtail the Hawk. Out of idle curiosity Peter ran over for a
+look at that old nest. Imagine how surprised he was when just as he
+came within sight of it, he saw a great bird just settling down on it.
+Peter's heart jumped right up in his throat. At least that is the way it
+seemed, for he recognized Mrs. Hooty.
+
+Of course Peter stopped right where he was and took the greatest care
+not to move or make a sound. Presently Hooty himself appeared and
+perched in a tree near at hand. Peter has seen Hooty many times before,
+but always as a great, drifting shadow in the moonlight. Now he could
+see him clearly. As he sat bolt upright he seemed to be of the same
+height as Terror the Goshawk, but with a very much bigger body. If Peter
+had but known it, his appearance of great size was largely due to the
+fluffy feathers in which Hooty was clothed. Like his small cousin,
+Spooky the Screech Owl, Hooty seemed to have no neck at all. He looked
+as if his great head was set directly on his shoulders. From each side
+of his head two great tufts of feathers stood out like ears or horns.
+His bill was sharply hooked. He was dressed wholly in reddish-brown with
+little buff and black markings, and on his throat was a white patch. His
+legs were feathered, and so were his feet clear to the great claws.
+
+But it was on the great, round, fierce, yellow eyes that Peter kept his
+own eyes. He had always thought of Hooty as being able to see only in
+the dusk of evening or on moonlight nights, but somehow he had a feeling
+that even now in broad daylight Hooty could see perfectly well, and he
+was quite right.
+
+For a long time Peter sat there without moving. He dared not do anything
+else. After he had recovered from his first fright he began to wonder
+what Hooty and Mrs. Hooty were doing at that old nest. His curiosity was
+aroused. He felt that he simply must find out. By and by Hooty flew away
+very carefully, so as not to attract the attention of Mrs. Hooty. Peter
+stole back the way he had come.
+
+When he was far enough away to feel reasonably safe, he scampered as
+fast as ever he could. He wanted to get away from that place, and he
+wanted to find some one of whom he could ask questions.
+
+Presently he met his cousin, Jumper the Hare, and at once in a most
+excited manner told him all he had seen.
+
+Jumper listened until Peter was through. “If you'll take my advice,”
+ said he, “you'll keep away from that part of the Green Forest, Cousin
+Peter. From what you tell me it is quite clear to me that the Hooties
+have begun nesting.”
+
+“Nesting!” exclaimed Peter. “Nesting! Why, gentle Mistress Spring will
+not get here for a month yet!”
+
+“I said NESTING,” retorted Jumper, speaking rather crossly, for you see
+he did not like to have his word doubted. “Hooty the Great Horned Owl
+doesn't wait for Mistress Spring. He and Mrs. Hooty believe in getting
+household cares out of the way early. Along about this time of year they
+hunt up an old nest of Redtail the Hawk or Blacky the Crow or Chatterer
+the Red Squirrel, for they do not take the trouble to build a nest
+themselves. Then Mrs. Hooty lays her eggs while there is still snow and
+ice. Why their youngsters don't catch their death from cold when they
+hatch out is more than I can say. But they don't. I'm sorry to hear that
+the Hooties have a nest here this year. It means a bad time for a lot
+of little folks in feathers and fur. I certainly shall keep away in from
+that part of the Green Forest, and I advise you to.”
+
+Peter said that he certainly should, and then started on for the dear
+Old Briar-patch to think things over. The discovery that already the
+nesting season of a new year had begun turned Peter's thoughts towards
+the coming of sweet Mistress Spring and the return of his many feathered
+friends who had left for the far-away South so long before. A great
+longing to hear the voices of Welcome Robin and Winsome Bluebird and
+Little Friend the Song Sparrow swept over him, and a still greater
+longing for a bit of friendly gossip with Jenny Wren. In the past year
+he had learned much about his feathered neighbors, but there were still
+many things he wanted to know, things which only Jenny Wren could tell
+him. He was only just beginning to find out that no one knows all there
+is to know, especially about the birds. And no one ever will.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Burgess Bird Book for Children, by
+Thornton W. Burgess
+
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