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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3074-0.txt b/3074-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b612960 --- /dev/null +++ b/3074-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8196 @@ +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. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/3074-0.zip b/3074-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9b775b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/3074-0.zip diff --git a/3074-h.zip b/3074-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e3550c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/3074-h.zip diff --git a/3074-h/3074-h.htm b/3074-h/3074-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39f9a92 --- /dev/null +++ b/3074-h/3074-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9676 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Burgess Bird Book for Children, by Thornton W. Burgess + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +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 + +Release Date: January 17, 2009 [EBook #3074] +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, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE BURGESS BIRD BOOK FOR CHILDREN + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Thornton W. Burgess + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TO THE CHILDREN AND THE BIRDS + OF AMERICA THAT THE BONDS OF LOVE AND + FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN THEM MAY BE + STRENGTHENED + THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + THORNTON W. BURGESS + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a><br /><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> Jenny Wren Arrives. + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> The Old + Orchard Bully. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> Jenny + Has a Good Word for Some Sparrows. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> + CHAPTER IV. </a> Chippy, Sweetvoice, and Dotty. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> Peter Learns Something + He Hadn't Guessed. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> An + Old Friend In a New Home. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER + VII. </a> The Watchman of the Old Orchard. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> Old Clothes and Old + Houses. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> Longbill + and Teeter. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> Redwing + and Yellow Wing. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> Drummers + and Carpenters. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> Some + Unlikely Relatives. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. + </a> More of the Blackbird Family. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> Bob White and Carol + the Meadow Lark. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> A + Swallow and One Who Isn't. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER + XVI. </a> A Robber in the Old Orchard. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> More Robbers. <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> Some Homes in + the Green Forest. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> A + Maker of Thunder and a Friend in Black. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> A Fisherman Robbed. + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> A + Fishing Party. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> Some + Feathered Diggers. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. + </a> Some Big Mouths. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> + CHAPTER XXIV. </a> The Warblers Arrive. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> Three Cousins Quite + Unlike. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> Peter + Gets a Lame Neck. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. + </a> A New Friend and an Old One. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> Peter Sees + Rosebreast and Finds Redcoat. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> + CHAPTER XXIX. </a> The Constant Singers. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> Jenny Wren's Cousins. + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a> Voices + of the Dusk. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a> Peter + Saves a Friend and Learns Something. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0033"> + CHAPTER XXXIII. </a> A Royal Dresser and a Late Nester. <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER, XXXIV. </a> Mourner the + Dove and Cuckoo. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. </a> A + Butcher and a Hummer. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. + </a> A Stranger and a Dandy. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. </a> Farewells and + Welcomes. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. </a> Honker + and Dippy Arrive. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. + </a> Peter Discovers Two Old Friends. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. </a> Some Merry + Seed-Eaters. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. </a> More + Friends Come With the Snow. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER + XLII. </a> Peter Learns Something About Spooky. <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. </a> Queer Feet and a + Queerer Bill. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLIV. </a> More + Folks in Red. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XLV. </a> Peter + Sees Two Terrible Feathered Hunters. <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EXPANDED CONTENTS + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + I JENNY WREN ARRIVES <br /> Introducing the House Wren. <br /> II THE OLD + ORCHARD BULLY <br /> The English or House Sparrow. <br /> III JENNY HAS A + GOOD WORD FOR SOME SPARROWS <br /> The Song, White-throated and Fox + Sparrows. <br /> IV CHIPPY, SWEETVOICE AND DOTTY <br /> The Chipping, + Vesper and Tree Sparrows. <br /> V PETER LEARNS SOMETHING HE HADN'T + GUESSED <br /> The Bluebird and the Robin. <br /> VI AN OLD FRIEND IN A + NEW HOME <br /> The Phoebe and the Least Flycatcher. <br /> VII THE + WATCHMAN OF THE OLD ORCHARD <br /> The Kingbird and the Great Crested + Flycatcher. <br /> VIII OLD CLOTHES AND OLD HOUSES <br /> The Wood Peewee + and Some Nesting Places. <br /> IX LONGBILL AND TEETER <br /> The Woodcock + and the Spotted Sandpiper. <br /> X REDWING AND YELLOW WING <br /> The + Red-winged Blackbird and the Golden-winged Flicker. <br /> XI DRUMMERS + AND CARPENTERS <br /> The Downy, Hairy and Red-headed Woodpeckers. <br /> + XII SOME UNLIKE RELATIVES <br /> The Cowbird and the Baltimore Oriole. + <br /> XIII MORE OF THE BLACKBIRD FAMILY <br /> The Orchard Oriole and the + Bobolink. <br /> XIV BOB WHITE AND CAROL THE MEADOW LARK <br /> The + So-called Quail and the Meadow Lark. <br /> XV A SWALLOW AND ONE WHO + ISN'T <br /> The Tree Swallow and the Chimney Swift. <br /> XVI A ROBBER + IN THE OLD ORCHARD <br /> The Purple Martin and the Barn Swallow. <br /> + XVII MORE ROBBERS <br /> The Crow and the Blue Jay. <br /> XVIII SOME + HOMES IN THE GREEN FOREST <br /> The Crow, the Oven Bird and the + Red-tailed Hawk. <br /> XIX A MAKER OF THUNDER AND A FRIEND IN BLACK + <br /> The Ruffed Grouse and the Crow Blackbird. <br /> XX A FISHERMAN + ROBBED <br /> The Osprey and the Bald-headed Eagle. <br /> XXI A FISHING + PARTY <br /> The Great Blue Heron and the Kingfisher. <br /> XXII SOME + FEATHERED DIGGERS <br /> The Bank Swallow, the Kingfisher and the Sparrow + Hawk. <br /> XXIII SOME BIG MOUTHS <br /> The Nighthawk, the + Whip-poor-will and Chuck-wills-widow. <br /> XXIV THE WARBLERS ARRIVE + <br /> The Redstart and the Yellow Warbler. <br /> XXV THREE COUSINS QUITE + UNLIKE <br /> The Black and White Warbler, the Maryland Yellow-Throat + <br /> and the Yellow-breasted Chat. <br /> XXVI PETER GETS A LAME NECK + <br /> The Parula, Myrtle and Magnolia Warblers. <br /> XXVII A NEW FRIEND + AND AN OLD ONE <br /> The Cardinal and the Catbird. <br /> XXVIII PETER + SEES ROSEBREAST AND FINDS REDCOAT <br /> The Rose-breasted Grosbeak and + the Scarlet Tanager. <br /> XXIX THE CONSTANT SINGERS <br /> The Red-eyed, + Warbling and Yellow-throated Vireos. <br /> XXX JENNY WREN'S COUSINS + <br /> The Brown Thrasher and the Mockingbird. <br /> XXXI VOICE OF THE + DUSK <br /> The Wood, Hermit and Wilson's Thrushes. <br /> XXXII PETER + SAVES A FRIEND AND LEARNS SOMETHING <br /> The Towhee and the Indigo + Bunting. <br /> XXXIII A ROYAL DRESSER AND A LATE NESTER <br /> The Purple + Linnet and the Goldfinch. <br /> XXXIV MOURNER THE DOVE AND CUCKOO <br /> + The Mourning Dove and the Yellow-billed Cuckoo. <br /> XXXV A BUTCHER AND + A HUMMER <br /> The Shrike and the Ruby-throated Hummingbird. <br /> XXXVI + A STRANGER AND A DANDY <br /> The English Starling and the Cedar Waxwing. + <br /> XXXVII FAREWELLS AND WELCOMES <br /> The Chickadee. <br /> XXXVIII + HONKER AND DIPPY ARRIVE <br /> The Canada Goose and the Loon. <br /> XXXIX + PETER DISCOVERS TWO OLD FRIENDS <br /> The White-breasted Nuthatch and + the Brown Creeper. <br /> XL SOME MERRY SEED-EATERS <br /> The Tree + Sparrow and the Junco. <br /> XLI MORE FRIENDS COME WITH THE SNOW <br /> + The Snow Bunting and the Horned Lark. <br /> XLII PETER LEARNS SOMETHING + ABOUT SPOOKY <br /> The Screech Owl. <br /> XLIII QUEER FEET AND A QUEERER + BILL <br /> The Ruffed Grouse and the Crossbills. <br /> XLIV MORE FOLKS + IN RED <br /> The Pine Grosbeak and the Redpoll. <br /> XLV PETER SEES TWO + TERRIBLE FEATHERED HUNTERS <br /> The Goshawk and the Great Horned Owl. + <br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE BURGESS BIRD BOOK FOR CHILDREN + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. Jenny Wren Arrives. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + Jenny Wren's bright eyes snapped. “Why do you eat?” she asked tartly. + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm hungry,” replied Peter promptly. + </p> + <p> + “What would you eat if there were nothing to eat?” snapped Jenny. + </p> + <p> + “That's a silly question,” retorted Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Still what?” prompted Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He sings as if he were,” said Peter, for all the time Mr. Wren was + singing with all his might. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “And, when you scold you scold with all your might,” interrupted Peter + mischievously. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you have a pleasant journey up from the sunny South?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” demanded Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. The Old Orchard Bully. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” Jenny's voice was very sharp. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. Jenny Has a Good Word for Some Sparrows. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” exclaimed Peter. “It didn't take you long to find a new house, did + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” snapped Jenny “We can't afford to sit around wasting time + like some folk I know.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I really believe you would,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Little Friend the Song Sparrow got here some time ago,” said + she. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” demanded Jenny. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Scratcher the Fox Sparrow has been along too,” said Jenny. “He + also started sometime before we did.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” demanded Jenny rather sharply. + </p> + <p> + “That when he scratches among the leaves he uses both feet at once,” cried + Peter triumphantly. “It's funny to watch him.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter looked disappointed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. Chippy, Sweetvoice, and Dotty. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Johnny Chuck shook his head. “Peter,” said he, “whatever is the matter + with your ears? And whatever is the matter with your eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” replied Peter rather shortly. “They are as good as yours any + day, Johnny Chuck.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” Peter's voice sounded as it he suspected that Johnny Chuck + was trying to fool him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Peter, “I didn't. Chippy shouldn't be called Tree Sparrow, + because he has a cousin by that name.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny Chuck looked as if he doubted that, “I never heard of him,” he + grunted. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you call him Dotty?” asked Johnny Chuck. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Come over to the dear Old Briar-patch and sing to me,” cried Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is your nest; in a tree?” asked Peter innocently. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “In a WHAT?” cried Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. Peter Learns Something He Hadn't Guessed. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What cousins?” demanded Peter, staring very hard in the direction in + which Jenny Wren was looking. + </p> + <p> + “Those two sitting on the fence over there. Where are your eyes, Peter?” + replied Jenny rather sharply. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “He acts as if he heard those worms in the ground,” said Peter, speaking + aloud without thinking. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Can you hear them?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. An Old Friend In a New Home. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Did you catch a fly then?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Phoebe and I are living down here,” replied Dear Me. “We've made our + home down here and we like it very much.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe it!” cried Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Peter, “that as usual you were the first of your family + to arrive.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! Dear me! Good-by Peter. Dear me!” replied Mr. Phoebe as Peter + started off for the Old Orchard. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Chebec!” cried Peter. “I'm glad to see you back again. Are you + going to build in the Old Orchard this year?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I just saw your cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Phoebe, and they already have a + nest and eggs,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you the smallest in the family?” asked Peter, for it had suddenly + struck him that Chebec was a very little fellow indeed. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you start it with mud the way Welcome Robin and your cousins, the + Phoebes, do?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. The Watchman of the Old Orchard. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I know him,” declared Peter, his face clearing. “Where is he + now?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Do you live on bees altogether?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to build in the Old Orchard this year?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am,” declared Scrapper. “I—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Peter, who is always glad to do any one a favor. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “A—a—a—what?” stammered Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Go to for what?” snapped Jenny Wren. “What is it you've come to me for?” + </p> + <p> + “Snake skins,” replied Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. Old Clothes and Old Houses. + </h2> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you here early?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “If you please,” Peter inquired politely, “why do folks call you Wood + Pewee?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Come as often as you like,” replied Pewee. “The oftener the better.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “By the way, where does Cresty build?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “In a hole in a tree, like the rest of us sensible people,” retorted Jenny + Wren promptly. + </p> + <p> + Peter looked quite as surprised as he felt. “Does Cresty make the hole?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is there besides you and Cresty and Bully the English Sparrow who + uses these old Woodpecker houses?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Winsome Bluebird, stupid!” snapped Jenny Wren. + </p> + <p> + Peter grinned and looked foolish. “Of course,” said he. “I forgot all + about Winsome.” + </p> + <p> + “And Skimmer the Tree Swallow,” added Jenny. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter looked surprised. “I didn't suppose THEY nested in holes in trees!” + he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jenny,” cried Peter, as a sudden thought struck him. + </p> + <p> + Jenny paused and jerked her tail impatiently. “Well, what is it now?” she + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got two homes?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Goodness gracious, no!” exclaimed Jenny. “What do you suppose I want of + two homes? One is all I can take care of.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. Longbill and Teeter. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are even,” said a voice close at hand. “You scared him. I saw + you coming, but Longbill didn't.” + </p> + <p> + Peter turned quickly. There was Mrs. Woodcock peeping at him from behind a + tussock of grass. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean to scare him,” apologized Peter. “I really didn't mean to. + Do you think he was really very much scared?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” replied Longbill. “Mrs. Woodcock made some of them.” + </p> + <p> + “And was there a worm in every one?” asked Peter, his eyes very wide with + interest. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “It's wonderful,” sighed Peter. “I don't suppose any one else can find + hidden worms that way.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. Redwing and Yellow Wing. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the news, Peter Rabbit?” cried Redwing, coming over to sit very + near Peter. + </p> + <p> + “There isn't much,” replied Peter, “excepting that Teeter the Sandpiper + has four eggs just a little way from here.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Redwing chuckled softly. It was a happy, contented sort of chuckle. “No, + Peter,” said he. “I am not going to build a nest.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” exclaimed Peter, and his two long ears stood straight up with + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Redwing's eyes twinkled. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A secret which is known by three + Full soon will not a secret be,” + </pre> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right, Redwing. I am glad you have so much sense,” said another + voice, and Mrs. Redwing alighted very near to Redwing. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Straight from my home,” replied Mrs. Redwing demurely. “And if I do say + it, it is the best home we've ever had.” + </p> + <p> + Redwing chuckled. He was full of chuckles. You see, he had noticed how + eagerly Peter was looking everywhere. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Yellow Wing!” he cried. “My goodness, how you startled me!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Peter!” exclaimed Yellow Wing, his eyes twinkling. “What are you + doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” replied Peter, “but I want to know what you are doing. What are + all those chips?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “My,” exclaimed Peter, “you are a handsome fellow! I never realized before + how handsome you are.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + A sudden thought struck Peter. “What family do you belong to?” He asked + abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “The Woodpecker family,” replied Yellow Wing proudly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. Drummers and Carpenters. + </h2> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly he is,” replied Jenny Wren. “Of course he is. Why under the sun + should you think he isn't?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut, tut, tut!” scolded Jenny. “Think a minute, Peter! Think a + minute! Haven't you ever seen Redhead on the ground?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is he making a hole for a nest up there?” asked Peter eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o,” replied Peter slowly. “Now you speak of it, I don't. Is—is + he hunting for worms in the wood?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + But Peter wasn't satisfied. Finally he ventured another question. “What's + he doing it for?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Peter stared and blinked and stared again, then slowly shook his head. + “No,” he confessed, “I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Peter shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Redhead!” exclaimed Jenny Wren. “How did you know we were talking + about your family?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Jenny Wren tossed her head. “You didn't mention the eggs of some of your + neighbors,” said she sharply. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is it true,” asked Peter, “that Redhead does such a dreadful thing?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. Some Unlikely Relatives. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Finally Peter managed to get the attention of Jenny Wren. “What's + happened?” demanded Peter. “What's all this fuss about?” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “But what's it all about?” demanded Peter impatiently. “Do keep still long + enough to tell me. Who is this contemptible creature?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you say that she is a member of the Blackbird family?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter gasped. “I—I—hadn't the least idea that any of these + folks were related,” stammered Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they are,” retorted Jenny Wren. “As I live, there's Sally Sly now!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Gracious!” said Peter. “They must get terribly tossed about when the wind + blows. I should think their babies would be thrown out.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you worry about them,” said a voice. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + With this Welcome Robin flew away and Peter once more settled himself to + think over all he had learned. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. More of the Blackbird Family. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Peter blinked and stared very hard. “Now who can this be?” said he, + speaking aloud without thinking. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is—is—he related to Goldy?” asked Peter somewhat doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Peter couldn't help thinking how much easier it must be for her than for + her handsome husband to hide among the green leaves. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they have a hanging nest like Goldy's?” asked Peter a bit timidly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What's your hurry, Peter?” demanded Jimmy + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so, Peter; just so,” retorted Jimmy Skunk, nodding his head with + approval. “That's why I am here.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You don't happen to have seen Mrs. Bob anywhere around here, do you, + Peter?” asked Jimmy, trying to speak carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But think of all the work they would have to do to build another nest,” + replied Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I should worry,” retorted Jimmy Skunk. “Any one who can spend so much + time singing can afford to do a little extra work.” + </p> + <p> + “You're horrid, Jimmy Skunk. You're just horrid,” said Peter. “I hope you + won't find a single egg, so there!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter stared at her for a full minute. “Do you mean to say,” said he “that + your nest isn't over there at all?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bob chuckled harder than ever. “Of course it isn't over there,” said + she. + </p> + <p> + “Then where is it?” demanded Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. Bob White and Carol the Meadow Lark. + </h2> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It's perfectly beautiful, Carol!” he cried, just as soon as he was near + enough. “And I won't tell a single soul!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Then Carol began to pour out his happiness once more, quite as if nothing + had interrupted his song. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. A Swallow and One Who Isn't. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Johnny thought a moment. “No,” said he, “now you speak of it, I never + have.” + </p> + <p> + “And have you ever seen me hopping about in the branches of a tree?” + persisted Skimmer. + </p> + <p> + Again Johnny Chuck admitted that he never had. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it's the same with your cousin; Sooty the Chimney Swallow,” + said Johnny. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He looks like a Swallow,” protested Johnny Chuck. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny Chuck laughed. “Way up there in the air he looks almost alike at + both ends,” said he. “Is he all black?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Just tell me one more thing,” cried Johnny Chuck hastily. “Hasn't Sooty + any near relatives as most birds have?” + </p> + <p> + “He hasn't any one nearer than some sort of second cousins, Boomer the + Nighthawk, Whippoorwill, and Hummer the Hummingbird.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. A Robber in the Old Orchard. + </h2> + <p> + “I don't believe it,” muttered Johnny Chuck out loud. “I don't believe + Jenny Wren knows what she's talking about.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “She said that Hummer the Hummingbird is a sort of second cousin to Sooty + the Chimney Swift,” replied Johnny Chuck. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't any other like it,” declared Skimmer. “If Twitter the Martin + is the largest of our family, Forktail is the handsomest.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's where he nests,” chuckled Skimmer. + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried Johnny Chuck. “Do you mean to say he nests on Farmer Brown's + barn?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Me go over to Farmer Brown's barn!” exclaimed Johnny Chuck. “Do you think + I'm crazy?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that such a neat-looking, handsome fellow as Forktail uses + mud in his nest?” cried Johnny. + </p> + <p> + Skimmer bobbed his head. “He does just that,” said he. “He's something + like Welcome Robin in this respect. I—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. More Robbers. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What is it now?” asked Johnny of Skimmer, who was still excitedly + discussing with Mrs. Skimmer their recent fright. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, but I'm going to find out,” replied Skimmer and darted + away. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It was Sammy Jay! There is no doubt about it, it was Sammy Jay!” he + cried. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” cried Peter. “Do you mean to say that Blacky the Crow and + Sammy Jay are cousins?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I've found out your secret, Sammy Jay!” cried Peter when at last he + caught up with Sammy. + </p> + <p> + “Then I hope you'll be gentleman enough to keep it,” grumbled Sammy, + looking not at all pleased. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” replied Peter with dignity. “I wouldn't think of telling any + one. My, what a handsome fellow you are, Sammy.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you steal Mrs. Chebec's eggs?” demanded Peter abruptly. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Sammy; never mind. A little bird told me,” retorted Peter + mischievously. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was quite right. Sammy Jay does do more good than harm. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. Some Homes in the Green Forest. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on what it is,” replied Teacher, eyeing Peter a little + suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “It is why you are called Oven Bird,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say,” retorted Teacher. “What's more, I'm not going to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't you at least tell me if it is in a tree?” begged Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Peter stared, for he didn't see any nest. He said as much. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. A Maker of Thunder and a Friend in Black. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Speaking of Mrs. Grouse, where is she?” asked Peter eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Attending to her household affairs, as a good housewife should,” retorted + Strutter promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean she has a nest and eggs?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + Strutter nodded. “She has twelve eggs,” he added proudly. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Peter artfully, “her nest is somewhere near here on the + ground.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Creaker,” cried Peter, “I wonder if you know how handsome you are!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is—is—Mrs. Creaker dressed as handsomely as you are?” asked + Peter rather timidly. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is she now?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask you a very personal question, Creaker?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask as many questions as you like. I don't have to answer them unless I + want to,” retorted Creaker. + </p> + <p> + “Is it true that you steal the eggs of other birds?” Peter blurted the + question out rather hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's no excuse at all,” declared Peter. “I believe you're no better + than Sammy Jay and Blacky the Crow.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. A Fisherman Robbed. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It's Plunger the Osprey fishing, and I've nothing to fear from him,” he + cried happily. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Late that afternoon Peter visited the Old Orchard, for he just had to tell + Jenny Wren all about what he had seen that morning. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn't he eat anything but fish?” asked Peter innocently. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's queer and its hard to believe,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. A Fishing Party. + </h2> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Longlegs the Great Blue Heron! I wonder if he is coming here,” exclaimed + Peter. “I do hope so.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what has brought him over to the Smiling Pool,” thought Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Plunger hunts for his fish while Longlegs waits for his fish to come to + him,” thought Peter. “I wonder if Longlegs never goes hunting.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried Peter, and looked as if he couldn't believe his own ears. + </p> + <p> + Grandfather Frog grinned and his goggly eyes twinkled. “Yes,” said he, + “Rattles lives in a hole in the ground.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but—but what kind of a hole?” stammered Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that he digs it himself?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. Some Feathered Diggers. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Wha—wha—what were you doing there?” stuttered Peter, his eyes + popping right out with curiosity and excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that's my home,” twittered Banker. + </p> + <p> + “Do—do—do you mean to say that you live in a hole in the + ground?” cried Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; why not?” twittered Banker as he snapped up a fly just over + Peter's head. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Peter. “I was looking for it when I discovered your home. + Can you tell me where it is?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll do better than that;” replied Banker. “I'll show you where it is.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It certainly is, Peter,” replied Killy. “This is the third summer Mrs. + Killy and I have had our home there.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be very fond of grasshoppers,” Peter ventured. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” replied Killy. “They are very fine eating when one can get enough + of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they the only kind of food you eat?” ventured Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. Some Big Mouths. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, ha, ha,” tittered Jenny Wren. “What are you jumping for, Peter + Rabbit? That was only Boomer the Nighthawk.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o,” replied Peter rather slowly. “I don't suppose it is.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you told me the other day that Boomer is related to Sooty the + Chimney Swift,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “He's rather handsome, don't you think?” asked Jenny Wren. + </p> + <p> + “He certainly is,” replied Peter. “Do you happen to know what kind of a + nest the Nighthawks build, Jenny?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How funny!” exclaimed Peter. “I suppose that is Boomer making that queer + noise we hear.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I've noticed that,” said Peter. “That is one way I can tell them apart.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” cried Peter, wrinkling his brows. + </p> + <p> + “Chuck-will's-widow,” Jenny Wren fairly shouted it. “Don't you know + Chuck-will's-widow?” + </p> + <p> + Peter shook his head. “I never heard of such a bird,” he confessed. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. The Warblers Arrive. + </h2> + <p> + If there is one family of feathered friends which perplexes Peter Rabbit + more than another, it is the Warbler family. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + And such restless little folks as they were! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” demanded Jenny. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I do hope Zee Zee is going to stay here,” said Peter. “I just love to + watch him.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Peter nodded. “Yes,” said he, “I have.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry to hear it,” declared Sunshine. “She made us a lot of trouble + last year. But we fooled her.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you fool her?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I can guess,” replied Peter. “She laid one of her own eggs in your nest.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do, throw that egg out?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you had a regular two-story nest, didn't you?” cried Peter, opening + his eyes very wide. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you make your nest of?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. Three Cousins Quite Unlike. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es,” said Peter slowly. “You do look like one but you don't act like + one.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way don't I act like one I should like to know?” demanded + Creeper. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Creeper's bright eyes sparkled. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That reminds me,” said Peter. “Those folks you have mentioned nest in + holes in trees; do you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Mummer!” cried Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Hello yourself, Peter Rabbit!” retorted Mummer and then disappeared as + suddenly as he had appeared. + </p> + <p> + Peter blinked and looked in vain all about. + </p> + <p> + “Looking for some one?” asked Mummer, suddenly popping into view where + Peter least expected him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” said Peter, as he started for home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. Peter Gets a Lame Neck. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What were you doing just now in that bunch of moss?” demanded Peter, a + sudden suspicion of the truth hopping into his head. + </p> + <p> + “Just looking it over,” replied Sprite, trying to look innocent. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it rather lonesome over here by yourselves?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Fidget!” cried Peter, hurrying after the restless little bird. “Oh, + Fidget! I've been looking everywhere for you.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “You can tell me where your nest is,” replied Peter promptly. + </p> + <p> + “I can, but I won't,” retorted Fidget. “Now honestly, Peter, do you think + you have any business to ask such a question?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Bunches of moss!” exclaimed Fidget. “What under the sun do you think I + have to do with bunches of moss?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why—I just thought you probably had your nest in one, the + same as your cousin Sprite.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Peter. “Is he anywhere around here?” + </p> + <p> + “Right here,” replied another voice and Weechi the Magnolia Warbler + dropped down on the ground for just a second right in front of Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + His wings were black and gray with two white bars. He was a little smaller + than Fidget the Myrtle Warbler and quite as restless. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What were you fellows talking about?” asked Weechi. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I do myself,” replied Fidget. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. A New Friend and an Old One. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you pass a pleasant winter down South?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Fairly so. Fairly so,” replied Kitty. “By the way, Peter, I picked up + some new songs down there. Would you like to hear them?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to build somewhere near here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter looked somewhat uncertain. “Why do you want to be near Farmer + Brown's garden?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. Peter Sees Rosebreast and Finds Redcoat. + </h2> + <p> + “Who's that?” Peter Rabbit pricked up his long ears and stared up at the + tops of the trees of the Old Orchard. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he lovely!”' cried Peter, and added in the next breath, “Who is + that with him?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I would never have guessed it,” said Peter. “She doesn't look the least + bit like him.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What is she doing that for?” inquired Peter. + </p> + <p> + “For the same reason that you bite off sweet clover blossoms and leaves,” + replied Jenny Wren tartly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that they live on buds and blossoms?” cried Peter. “I + never heard of such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The look of terror which had been in the eyes of Redcoat died out, and he + stopped fluttering and simply lay panting. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Right away Peter was full of sympathy. “What kind of an accident was it, + Redcoat, and how did it happen?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, whatever shall I do, Peter Rabbit? Whatever shall I do?” sobbed + Redcoat. + </p> + <p> + “Does it pain you dreadfully?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + Redcoat nodded. “But I don't mind the pain,” he hastened to say. “It is + the thought of what MAY happen to me.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. The Constant Singers. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Peter shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's it made of?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What is so?” asked Peter rather testily, for he hadn't the least idea + what Jenny Wren was talking about. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How dreadful!” cried Peter. “If he does things like that I should think + the Redeyes would throw HIM out of the nest.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why don't they feed their own babies first and give him what's + left?” demanded Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Speaking of the Vireos, Redeye seems to be the only member of his family + around here,” remarked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Somehow I don't remember just what Warble looks like,” Peter confessed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he a singer, too?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter hopped. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. Jenny Wren's Cousins. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have always supposed he belonged to the Thrush family,” protested + Peter. “He certainly looks like a Thrush.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Peter nodded. “And I noticed that he had two white bars on each wing,” + said he. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you're so observing,” replied Jenny dryly. “Did you hear him + sing?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it did,” replied Jenny promptly. “That's a family trait. The + tails of both my other big cousins do the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” retorted Jenny. “Mocker the Mockingbird and Kitty the Catbird + belong to Brownie's family, and that makes them second cousins to me.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Fooled you that time, didn't I, Peter?” he chuckled. “You thought you + were going to see Glory the Cardinal, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And now you've learned that you can't always recognize folks by their + voices, haven't you?” chuckled Mocker. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. Voices of the Dusk. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have the best of all,” cried Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + But just then Peter's curiosity was greater than his interest in songs. + “Have you built your nest yet?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + It was Peter's turn to nod. “What is your nest built of?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Rootlets and tiny twigs and weed stalks and leaves and mud,” replied + Melody. + </p> + <p> + “Mud!” exclaimed Peter. “Why, that's what Welcome Robin uses in his nest.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Welcome Robin is my own cousin, so I don't know as there's anything + so surprising in that,” retorted Melody. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Peter. “I had forgotten that he is a member of the Thrush + family.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he is, even if he is dressed quite differently from the rest of + us,” replied Melody. + </p> + <p> + “You mentioned your cousin, Hermit. I don't believe I know him,” said + Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he build a nest like yours?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you singing and I just had to come over to see you,” cried Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Veery,” replied Peter and hopped back towards the Green + Meadows for a feast of sweet clover. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. Peter Saves a Friend and Learns Something. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you wondered about me?” asked Chewink. + </p> + <p> + “I've wondered what family you belong to,” replied Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless I am,” retorted Chewink. + </p> + <p> + “What were you scratching for when I first saw you?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, worms and bugs that hide under the leaves,” replied Chewink + carelessly. “You have no idea how many of them hide under dead leaves.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you eat anything else?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Berries and wild fruits in season,” replied Chewink. “I'm very fond of + them. They make a variety in the bill of fare.” + </p> + <p> + “I've noticed that I seldom see you up in the tree tops,” remarked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I like the ground better,” replied Chewink. “I spend more of my time on + the ground than anywhere else.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that means that you nest on the ground,” ventured Peter. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was just about to ask if he might go along and see that nest when a + new voice broke in. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “We were talking about our family,” replied Chewink. “I was telling Peter + that we belong to the largest family among the birds.” + </p> + <p> + “But you didn't say anything about Indigo,” interrupted Peter. “Do you + mean to say that he belongs to the same family?” + </p> + <p> + “I surely do,” replied Indigo. “I'm rather closely related to the Sparrow + branch. Don't I look like a Sparrow?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII. A Royal Dresser and a Late Nester. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + His wings and tail were brownish, the outer parts of the feathers edged + with rose-red. His bill was short and stout. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't what so?” demanded Chicoree the Goldfinch, perching very near to + where Linnet was sitting. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Peter, “it sounds foolish of me to ask if you are a + member of the same family as Linnet.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER, XXXIV. Mourner the Dove and Cuckoo. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Mourner!” he cried. “What under the sun are you doing in there? + Are you getting your breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “If you don't mind,” said Peter, “I'll go with you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I see you on the ground so much that I've often wondered if you build + your nest on the ground,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter shook his head. “No,” said he, “I haven't. What is it like?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true,” replied Peter, “but I like to hear him just the same. + Hello! Who's that?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That's Cuckoo,” said Kitty. “Do you mean to say you don't know Cuckoo?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” demanded Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see that cobwebby nest with all those hairy caterpillars on it and + around it up in that tree?” asked Kitty. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV. A Butcher and a Hummer. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you know so much about it, please explain,” said Johnny Chuck + rather crossly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And who is Butcher the Shrike?” demanded Peter. “He's a new one to me. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't understand yet why he fastens his victims on those long + thorns,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he kill many birds?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter looked perplexed. “What do you mean by pumping food down their + throats?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they?” asked Peter, opening his eyes very wide with surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Jenny. “When they hatch out they have short bills, but it + doesn't take them a great while to grow long.” + </p> + <p> + “How many babies does Mrs. Hummer usually have?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI. A Stranger and a Dandy. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “There isn't any new member of the Blackbird family living in the Old + Orchard,” retorted Jenny Wren tartly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you haven't told me who he is,” protested Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Peter nodded. “I certainly did,” said he. “I couldn't very well help + noticing it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “If they stay long, Farmer Brown won't have any cherries left,” remarked + Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Bow's that?” demanded Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII. Farewells and Welcomes. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Please, Tommy,” cried Peter. “You know how I love secrets.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied Tommy Tit, “this is it: If a fellow keeps his stomach + filled he will beep his toes warm.” + </p> + <p> + Peter looked a little puzzled. “I—I—don't just see what your + stomach has to do with your toes,” said he. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was your coat of feathers that kept you warm,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dee, Dee, Chickadee! + Leave that matter just to me,” + </pre> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII. Honker and Dippy Arrive. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Honker,” cried Peter, “I'm so glad you're back here safe and sound.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you come far?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Will winter soon be here?” asked Peter eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish he would come in here so that I can get a good look at him and + make his acquaintance,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should he be any more awkward on land then you?” asked Peter, his + curiosity aroused at once. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he a bill like yours?” asked Peter innocently. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You can, can't you?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + So Peter politely bade Honker and his relatives good-night and left them + in peace on the sandy bar in the Big River. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX. Peter Discovers Two Old Friends. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome home, Yank-Yank!” cried Peter, hurrying up quite out of breath. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Do you live altogether on grubs and worms and insects and their eggs?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I should say not!” exclaimed Yank-Yank. “I like acorns and beechnuts and + certain kinds of seeds.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL. Some Merry Seed-Eaters. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome back, Dotty!” cried Peter. “It does my heart good to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to stay all winter, Dotty?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Speaking of nests, do you build in a tree?” inquired Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you and your relatives come down from the Far North alone?” asked + Peter. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Dotty promptly. “Slaty the Junco and his relatives came + along with us and we had a very merry party.” + </p> + <p> + Peter pricked up his ears. “Is Slaty here now?” he asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome! Welcome!” cried Peter. “Are you here to stay all winter?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter nodded. “So I have heard,” said he, “though I think that name really + belongs to Snowflake the Snow Bunting.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “If you like here so much why don't you stay all the year?” inquired + Peter. + </p> + <p> + “It gets too warm,” replied Slaty promptly, + </p> + <p> + “I hate hot weather. Give me cold weather every time.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me that it is cold all summer where you nest in the + Far North?” demanded Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI. More Friends Come With the Snow. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to spend the winter here, Snowflake?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What has the snow to do with it?” demanded Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Do all of your family have those funny little horns?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “No,” was Wanderer's prompt reply. “Mrs. Lark does not have them.” + </p> + <p> + “I think they are very becoming,” said Peter politely. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” replied Wanderer. “I am inclined to agree with you. You + should see me when I have my summer suit.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it so very different from this?” asked Peter. “I think your present + suit is pretty enough.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And that means that you don't know anything bad about me, doesn't it?” + chuckled Wanderer. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd just love to hear him,” replied Peter. “Why don't you sing here, + Wanderer?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see,” said Peter, “why, when you get here, you don't stay in one + place.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII. Peter Learns Something About Spooky. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “You certainly did fool me that time, Spooky,” cried Peter. “I ought to + have recognized your voice, but I didn't.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't told me yet why you look so unhappy, Peter,” said Spooky. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't an empty stomach enough to make any fellow unhappy?” retorted Peter + rather shortly. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Spooky nodded solemnly. “I've lived in that hollow summer and winter for + three years,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Peter's eyes opened very wide. “And till now I never even guessed it,” he + exclaimed. “Did you raise a family there?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” exclaimed Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I said that two were dressed just like me and two were gray,” replied + Spooky rather sharply. + </p> + <p> + “That's funny,” Peter exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “What's funny?” snapped Spooky rather crossly. + </p> + <p> + “Why that all four were not dressed alike,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Birds!” snapped Spooky. “What have birds to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, don't you live on birds?” asked Peter innocently. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” exclaimed Peter. “They can try all they want to, but they won't get + any; I can tell you that.” + </p> + <p> + Spooky's round yellow eyes twinkled. “It must be you have been trying to + get some of that bark yourself,” said he. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIII. Queer Feet and a Queerer Bill. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter blinked his eyes and looked rather perplexed. “Snowshoes!” he + exclaimed. “I don't understand what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Come with me,” replied Jumper, “and I'll show you.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Just keep on following me and you'll see,” retorted Jumper. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Cousin Peter wants to see your snowshoes, Strutter,” said Jumper as they + came up with him. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who, for instance?” demanded Peter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” Peter exclaimed. “That doesn't prove anything. Those seeds might + have just fallen, or Chatterer the Red Squirrel might have dropped them.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Have—have—you met with an accident?” he asked a bit + hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + Snipper looked surprised. “Are you talking to me?” he asked. “Whatever put + such an idea into your head?” + </p> + <p> + “Your bill,” replied Peter promptly. “How did it get twisted like that?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It really is very wonderful,” confessed Peter. “Do you mind telling me, + Snipper, why I never have seen you here in summer?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Snipper flew up in the tree where the other Crossbills were at work and + Peter and Jumper watched them. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIV. More Folks in Red. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I have,” said a voice from a tree just back of them. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” demanded Peter very bluntly and impolitely. + </p> + <p> + “I'm Piny the Pine Grosbeak,” replied the stranger, seemingly not at all + put out by Peter's bluntness. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Peter. “Are you related to Rosebreast the Grosbeak who nested + last summer in the Old Orchard?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Rosebreast is very lovely and I'm very fond of him,” said Peter. “We are + very good friends.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Peter hastened to tell her just where she would find these trees and then + rather timidly asked why she wanted to find them. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Peter paid no attention to what was said but continued to stare. “My, how + pretty you are!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I shall,” said Peter. “If you please, do you live altogether on + these weed seeds?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLV. Peter Sees Two Terrible Feathered Hunters. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Presently he met his cousin, Jumper the Hare, and at once in a most + excited manner told him all he had seen. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Nesting!” exclaimed Peter. “Nesting! Why, gentle Mistress Spring will not + get here for a month yet!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Burgess Bird Book for Children, by +Thornton W. 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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 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** 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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGESS BIRD BOOK FOR CHILDREN *** + +***** This file should be named 3074.txt or 3074.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/7/3074/ + +Produced by Eve Sobol + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.12.12.00*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by Eve Sobol. + + + + + +THE BURGESS BIRD BOOK FOR CHILDREN + +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 + + +CHAPTER 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 se 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 yon 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 yon 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 +yon 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 be 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 Hisurely 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. + +"Yon can tell me where your nest is," replied Peter promptly. + +"I can, but I won't," retorted Fidget. "Now honestly, Peter, do +yon 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 he +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 B1ack 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. Cbewink that he was quite +safe and that she bad 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 yon 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 he 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 he 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 Cberrybirds. + +"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. A11 +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. + + + + + +The End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of The Burgess Bird Book +for Children, by Thornton W. Burgess. + diff --git a/old/bbbfc10.zip b/old/bbbfc10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd218b7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/bbbfc10.zip |