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 wasundertaken at the urgent request of booksellers and others who havefelt the lack of a satisfactory medium of introduction to bird life forlittle children. As such, and in no sense whatever as a competitorwith the many excellent books on this subject, but rather to supplementthese, this volume has been written. 

Its primary purpose is to interest the little child in, and to makehim acquainted with, those feathered friends he is most likely to see. Because there is no method of approach to the child mind equal to thestory, this method of conveying information has been adopted. So faras I am aware the book is unique in this respect. In its preparation anearnest effort has been made to present as far as possible the importantfacts regarding the appearance, habits and characteristics of ourfeathered neighbors. It is intended to be at once a story book and anauthoritative handbook. While it is intended for little children, itis hoped that children of larger growth may find in it much of bothinterest and helpfulness. 

Mr. Louis Agassiz Fuertes, artist and naturalist, has marvelouslysupplemented such value as may be in the text by his wonderful drawingsin full color. They were made especially for this volume and are soaccurate, so true to life, that study of them will enable any one toidentify the species shown. I am greatly indebted to Mr. Fuertes for hiscooperation in the endeavor to make this book of real assistance to thebeginner in the study of our native birds. 

It is offered to the reader without apologies of any sort. It waswritten as a labor of love--love for little children and love for thebirds. If as a result of it even a few children are led to a keenerinterest in and better understanding of our feathered friends, itspurpose 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-downstone wall along one side of the Old Orchard. It was early in themorning, very early in the morning. In fact, jolly, bright Mr. Sun hadhardly begun his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky. It was nothingunusual for Peter to see jolly Mr. Sun get up in the morning. It wouldbe more unusual for Peter not to see him, for you know Peter is a greathand 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 outof bed. 

Peter had been out all night this time, but he wasn't sleepy, not theleast teeny, weeny bit. You see, sweet Mistress Spring had arrived, andthere was so much happening on every side, and Peter was so afraid hewould miss something, that he wouldn't have slept at all if he couldhave helped it. Peter had come over to the Old Orchard so early thismorning to see if there had been any new arrivals the day before. 

"Birds are funny creatures, " said Peter, as he hopped over a low placein 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, PeterRabbit. They are not funny creatures at all. They are the most sensiblefolks in all the wide world. "

Peter cut a long hop short right in the middle, to sit up with shiningeyes. "Oh, Jenny Wren, I'm so glad to see you! When did you arrive?" hecried. 

"Mr. Wren and I have just arrived, and thank goodness we are here atlast, " replied Jenny Wren, fussing about, as only she can, in a branchabove Peter. "I never was more thankful in my life to see a place than Iam right this minute to see the Old Orchard once more. It seems ages andages since we left it. "

"Well, if you are so fond of it what did you leave it for?" demandedPeter. "It is just as I said before--you birds are funny creatures. Younever stay put; at least a lot of you don't. Sammy Jay and Tommy Titthe Chickadee and Drummer the Woodpecker and a few others have a littlesense; they don't go off on long, foolish journeys. But the rest ofyou--"

"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!" interrupted Jenny Wren. "You don't know whatyou are talking about, and no one sounds so silly as one who tries totalk about something he knows nothing about. "

Peter chuckled. "That tongue of yours is just as sharp as ever, " saidhe. "But just the same it is good to hear it. We certainly would missit. I was beginning to be a little worried for fear something might havehappened to you so that you wouldn't be back here this summer. You knowme well enough, Jenny Wren, to know that you can't hurt me with yourtongue, sharp as it is, so you may as well save your breath to tell me afew things I want to know. Now if you are as fond of the Old Orchard asyou 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, " repliedJenny. "Do give us birds credit for a little common sense, Peter. Wecan't live without eating any more than you can, and in winter there isno food at all here for most of us, so we go where there is food. Thosewho are lucky enough to eat the kinds of food that can be found here inwinter 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 justwhat a blessed place home is, " replied Jenny. "It is only six monthssince we went south, but I said it seems ages, and it does. The bestpart of going away is coming home. I don't care if that does soundrather mixed; it is true just the same. It isn't home down there in thesunny South, even if we do spend as much time there as we do here. THISis home, and there's no place like it! What's that, Mr. Wren? I haven'tseen 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 yearas we do has a right to express an opinion, especially if they have usedtheir eyes as I have mine. There is no place like home, and you needn'ttry to tease me by pretending that there is. My dear, I know you; youare just as tickled to be back here as I am. "

"He sings as if he were, " said Peter, for all the time Mr. Wren wassinging with all his might. 

Jenny Wren looked over at Mr. Wren fondly. "Isn't he a dear to sing tome 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 dowish he would be careful. Sometimes I am afraid he will overdo. Justlook at him now! He is singing so hard that he is shaking all over. Healways is that way. There is one thing true about us Wrens, and this isthat when we do things we do them with all our might. When we workwe work with all our might. When Mr. Wren sings he sings with all hismight. "

"And, when you scold you scold with all your might, " interrupted Petermischievously. 

Jenny Wren opened her mouth for a sharp reply, but laughed instead. "Isuppose I do scold a good deal, " said she, "but if I didn't goodnessknows 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 birdshurry right through without stopping, but I should think they would betired to death when they arrive. We rest whenever we are tired, and justfollow along behind Mistress Spring, keeping far enough behind so thatif she has to turn back we will not get caught by Jack Frost. It givesus time to get our new suits on the way. You know everybody expects youto 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 plainto see that she was very proud of it. 

"Very much, " replied Peter. "I am very fond of brown. Brown and gray aremy 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 likebrown. 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 ina hurry you can do it if you wear brown. But if you wear bright colorsit isn't so easy. I never envy anybody who happens to have brighterclothes than mine. I've seen dreadful things happen all because ofwearing 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 wholive there all the year round wear the brightest and most beautifulsuits I've ever seen. They are simply gorgeous. But I've noticed that intimes of danger these are the folks dreadful things happen to. You seethey simply can't get out of sight. For my part I would far rather besimply and neatly dressed and feel safe than to wear wonderful clothesand never know a minute's peace. Why, there are some families I know ofwhich, because of their beautiful suits, have been so hunted by men thathardly any are left. But gracious, Peter Rabbit, I can't sit here allday talking to you! I must find out who else has arrived in the OldOrchard 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 lookher old house over to see if it was fit to live in. "I can save you thattrouble, " said he. 

"What do you mean?" Jenny's voice was very sharp. 

"Only that our old house is already occupied, " replied Peter. "Bully theEnglish 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 sayinggood-by to Peter, they flew in a great rage to see if he had told themthe truth. Presently he heard them scolding as fast as their tonguescould go, and this is very fast indeed. 

"Much good that will do them, " chuckled Peter. "They will have to finda new house this year. All the sharp tongues in the world couldn't budgeBully the English sparrow. My, my, my, my, just hear that racket! Ithink I'll go over and see what is going on. "

So Peter hopped to a place where he could get a good view of JennyWren's old home and still not be too far from the safety of the oldstone wall. Jenny Wren's old home had been in a hole in one of the oldapple-trees. Looking over to it, Peter could see Mrs. Bully sittingin the little round doorway and quite filling it. She was shriekingexcitedly. Hopping and flitting from twig to twig close by were Jennyand Mr. Wren, their tails pointing almost straight up to the sky, andscolding as fast as they could make their tongues go. Flying savagely atone and then at the other, and almost drowning their voices with his ownharsh cries, was Bully himself. He was perhaps one fourth larger thanMr. Wren, although he looked half again as big. But for the fact thathis new spring suit was very dirty, due to his fondness for taking dustbaths and the fact that he cares nothing about his personal appearanceand takes no care of himself, he would have been a fairly good-lookingfellow. His back was more or less of an ashy color with black andchestnut stripes. His wings were brown with a white bar on each. Histhroat 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 hoppedabout, he managed to make himself appear much bigger than he really was. He looked like a regular little fighting savage. The noise had broughtall the other birds in the Old Orchard to see what was going on, andevery one of them was screaming and urging Jenny and Mr. Wren to standup for their rights. Not one of them had a good word for Bully and hiswife. It certainly was a disgraceful neighborhood squabble. 

Bully the English Sparrow is a born fighter. He never is happier thanwhen he is in the midst of a fight or a fuss of some kind. The fact thatall 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 matchfor Bully. In fact, Bully did not hesitate to fly fiercely at any of theonlookers who came near enough, not even when they were twice his ownsize. They could have driven him from the Old Orchard had they set outto, but just by his boldness and appearance he made them afraid to try. 

All the time Mrs. Bully sat in the little round doorway, encouraginghim. She knew that as long as she sat there it would be impossible foreither Jenny or Mr. Wren to get in. Truth to tell, she was enjoyingit all, for she is as quarrelsome and as fond of fighting as is Bullyhimself. 

"You're a sneak! You're a robber! That's my house, and the sooner youget out of it the better!" shrieked Jenny Wren, jerking her tail withevery word as she hopped about just out of reach of Bully. 

"It may have been your house once, but it is mine now, you littlesnip-of-nothing!" cried Bully, rushing at her like a little fury. "Justtry to put us out if you dare! You didn't make this house in the firstplace, 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 likehim and never will, but it is true that he has a perfect right to thathouse. People who go off and leave things for half a year shouldn'texpect to find them just as they left them. My, my, my what a dreadfulnoise! Why don't they all get together and drive Bully and Mrs. Bullyout 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 belongover in this country, anyway, and we would be a lot better off if theywere 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 andhaving a thoroughly good time, which is more than could be said of anyone 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 notafraid of any of you or all of you together. " This was boasting, plainboasting, but it was effective. He actually made the other birds believeit. Not one of them dared stand up to him and fight. They were contentto call him a bully and all the bad names they could think of, but thatdid nothing to help Jenny and Mr. Wren recover their house. Callinganother bad names never hurts him. Brave deeds and not brave words arewhat count. 

How long that disgraceful squabble in the Old Orchard would have lastedhad it not been for something which happened, no one knows. Right in themidst of it some one discovered Black Pussy, the cat who lives in FarmerBrown's house, stealing up through the Old Orchard, her tail twitchingand her yellow eyes glaring eagerly. She had heard that dreadful racketand suspected that in the midst of such excitement she might have achance to catch one of the feathered folks. You can always trust BlackPussy to be on hand at a time like that. 

No sooner was she discovered than everything else was forgotten. WithBully in the lead, and Jenny and Mr. Wren close behind him, all thebirds turned their attention to Black Pussy. She was the enemy of all, and they straightway forgot their own quarrel. Only Mrs. Bully remainedwhere she was, in the little round doorway of her house. She intendedto take no chances, but she added her voice to the general racket. Howthose birds did shriek and scream! They darted down almost into the faceof Black Pussy, and none went nearer than Bully the English Sparrow andJenny Wren. 

Now Black Pussy hates to be the center of so much attention. She knewthat, now she had been discovered, there wasn't a chance in the worldfor her to catch one of those Old Orchard folks. So, with tail stilltwitching angrily, she turned and, with such dignity as she could, leftthe Old Orchard. Clear to the edge of it the birds followed, shrieking, screaming, calling her bad names, and threatening to do all sorts ofdreadful things to her, quite as if they really could. 

When finally she disappeared towards Farmer Brown's barn, those angryvoices changed. It was such a funny change that Peter Rabbit laughedright out. Instead of anger there was triumph in every note as everybodyreturned to attend to his own affairs. Jenny and Mr. Wren seemed to haveforgotten all about Bully and his wife in their old house. They flew toanother part of the Old Orchard, there to talk it all over and rest andget their breath. Peter Rabbit waited to see if they would not comeover near enough to him for a little more gossip. But they didn't, andfinally Peter started for his home in the dear Old Briar-patch. All theway there he chuckled as he thought of the spunky way in which Jenny andMr. 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 theEnglish Sparrow found Peter Rabbit in the Old Orchard again. He was socurious to know what Jenny Wren would do for a house that nothing butsome very great danger could have kept him away from there. Truth totell, Peter was afraid that not being able to have their old house, Jenny and Mr. Wren would decide to leave the Old Orchard altogether. Soit was with a great deal of relief that as he hopped over a low place inthe 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 fromwhere Bully and Mrs. Bully had set up housekeeping. Peter hurried over. He found Mr. Wren right away, but at first saw nothing of Jenny. Hewas just about to ask after her when he caught sight of her with a tinystick in her bill. She snapped her sharp little eyes at him, but foronce her tongue was still. You see, she couldn't talk and carry thatstick at the same time. Peter watched her and saw her disappear in alittle hole in a big branch of one of the old apple-trees. Hardly hadshe 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 littletwig 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 wastingtime like some folk I know. "

Peter grinned and looked a little foolish, but he didn't resent it. Yousee he was quite used to that sort of thing. "Aren't you afraid thatBully 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 seehim try!" said she. "That doorway's too small for him to get more thanhis head in. And if he tries putting his head in while I'm inside, I'llpeck his eyes out! She said this so fiercely that Peter laughed rightout. 

"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 thatthat stick is too big. " Jenny snatched it out of Mr. Wren's mouthand dropped it on the ground, while Mr. Wren meekly went to hunt foranother. Jenny joined him, and as Peter watched them he understood whyJenny is so often spoken of as a feathered busybody. 

For some time Peter Rabbit watched Jenny and Mr. Wren carry sticks andstraws into that little hole until it seemed to him they were tryingto fill the whole inside of the tree. Just watching them made Peterpositively tired. Mr. Wren would stop every now and then to sing, butJenny didn't waste a minute. In spite of that she managed to talk justthe same. 

"I suppose Little Friend the Song Sparrow got here some time ago, " saidshe. 

Peter nodded. "Yes, " said he. "I saw him only a day or two ago over bythe Laughing Brook, and although he wouldn't say so, I'm sure that hehas a nest and eggs already. "

Jenny Wren jerked her tail and nodded her head vigorously. "I supposeso, " said she. "He doesn't have to make as long a journey as we do, sohe gets here sooner. Did you ever in your life see such a difference asthere is between Little Friend and his cousin, Bully? Everybody lovesLittle Friend. "

Once more Peter nodded. "That's right, " said he. "Everybody does loveLittle Friend. It makes me feel sort of all glad inside just to hearhim sing. I guess it makes everybody feel that way. I wonder why we soseldom see him up here in the Old Orchard. "

"Because he likes damp places with plenty of bushes better, " repliedJenny Wren. "It wouldn't do for everybody to like the same kind ofa place. He isn't a tree bird, anyway. He likes to be on or near theground. You will never find his nest much above the ground, not morethan a foot or two. Quite often it is on the ground. Of course I preferMr. Wren's song, but I must admit that Little Friend has one of thehappiest songs of any one I know. Then, too, he is so modest, just likeus Wrens. "

Peter turned his head aside to hide a smile, for if there is anybodywho delights in being both seen and heard it is Jenny Wren, while LittleFriend the Song Sparrow is shy and retiring, content to make all theworld glad with his song, but preferring to keep out of sight as much aspossible. 

Jenny chattered on as she hunted for some more material for her nest. "Isuppose you've noticed, " said she, "that he and his wife dress very muchalike. 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 theway their breasts and sides are streaked with brown. Then, too, they aresuch useful folks. It is a pity that that nuisance of a Bully doesn'tlearn something from them. I suppose they stay rather later than we doin the fall. "

"Yes, " replied Peter. "They don't go until Jack Frost makes them. Idon'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 newhouse and looked down at Peter Rabbit. 

Peter's face brightened. "I should say I did!" he exclaimed. "He stoppedfor a few days on his way north. I only wish he would stay here all thetime. But he seems to think there is no place like the Great Woodsof the North. I could listen all day to his song. Do you know what healways seems to be saying?"

"What?" demanded Jenny. 

"I live happ-i-ly, happ-i-ly, happ-i-ly, " replied Peter. "I guess hemust too, because he makes other people so happy. "

Jenny nodded in her usual emphatic way. "I don't know him as well as Ido some of the others, " said she, "but when I have seen him down inthe South he always has appeared to me to be a perfect gentleman. He issocial, too; he likes to travel with others. "

"I've noticed that, " said Peter. "He almost always has company when hepasses through here. Some of those Sparrows are so much alike that itis hard for me to tell them apart, but I can always tell Whitethroatbecause he is one of the largest of the tribe and has such a lovelywhite throat. He really is handsome with his black and white cap andthat bright yellow spot before each eye. I am told that he is verydearly loved up in the north where he makes his home. They say he singsall 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 hecan sing. The only thing I've got against him is the color of hiscoat. It always reminds me of Reddy Fox, and I don't like anything thatreminds me of that fellow. When he visited us I discovered somethingabout 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 eyesare make for? I thought you were going to tell me something I didn'tknow. "

Peter looked disappointed. 

CHAPTER IV. Chippy, Sweetvoice, and Dotty. 

For a while Jenny Wren was too busy to talk save to scold Mr. Wren forspending so much time singing instead of working. To Peter it seemedas if they were trying to fill that tree trunk with rubbish. "I shouldthink they had enough stuff in there for half a dozen nests, " mutteredPeter. "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 littlelater in the season when he found Mr. Wren building another nest forwhich he had no use. 

Finding that for the time being he could get nothing more from JennyWren, Peter hopped over to visit Johnny Chuck, whose home was betweenthe 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 itwas, 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 onhis doorstep. "You've lived in the Old Orchard a long time, so you oughtto be able to tell me something I want to know. Why is it that none ofthe Sparrow family excepting that noisy nuisance, Bully, build in thetrees of the Old Orchard? Is it because Bully has driven all the restout?"

Johnny Chuck shook his head. "Peter, " said he, "whatever is the matterwith your ears? And whatever is the matter with your eyes?"

"Nothing, " replied Peter rather shortly. "They are as good as yours anyday, Johnny Chuck. "

Johnny grinned. "Listen!" said Johnny. Peter listened. From a tree justa little way off came a clear "Chip, chip, chip, chip. " Peter didn'tneed to be told to look. He knew without looking who was over there. Heknew that voice for that of one of his oldest and best friends in theOld Orchard, a little fellow with a red-brown cap, brown back withfeathers streaked with black, brownish wings and tail, a gray waistcoatand black bill, and a little white line over each eye--altogether astrim a little gentleman as Peter was acquainted with. It was Chippy, aseverybody 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 eversince I can remember. I never have seen his nest because I neverhappened to think about looking for it. Does he build a trashy nest likehis cousin, Bully?"

Johnny Chuck laughed. "I should say not!" he exclaimed. "Twice Chippyand Mrs. Chippy have built their nest in this very old apple-tree. Thereis no trash in their nest, I can tell you! It is just as dainty as theyare, and not a bit bigger than it has to be. It is made mostly of littlefine, dry roots, and it is lined inside with horse-hair. "

"What's that?" Peter's voice sounded as it he suspected that JohnnyChuck was trying to fool him. 

"It's a fact, " said Johnny, nodding his head gravely. "Goodness knowswhere they find it these days, but find it they do. Here comes Chippyhimself; ask him. "

Chippy and Mrs. Chippy came flitting from tree to tree until they wereon a branch right over Peter and Johnny. "Hello!" cried Peter. "Youfolks seem very busy. Haven't you finished building your nest yet?"

"Nearly, " replied Chippy. "It is all done but the horsehair. We are onour way up to Farmer Brown's barnyard now to look for some. You haven'tseen any around anywhere, have you?"

Peter and Johnny shook their heads, and Peter confessed that he wouldn'tknow horsehair if he saw it. He often had found hair from the coats ofReddy Fox and Old Man Coyote and Digger the Badger and Lightfoot theDeer, 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, ashe prepared to fly after Mrs. Chippy. "It is long hair form the tailor mane of a horse that we must have. It makes the very nicest kind oflining for a nest. "

Chippy and Mrs. Chippy were gone a long time, but when they did returneach was carrying a long black hair. They had found what they wanted, and Mrs. Chippy was in high spirits because, as she took pains toexplain to Peter, that little nest would not soon be ready for the fourbeautiful little blue eggs with black spots on one end she meant to layin it. 

"I just love Chippy and Mrs. Chippy, " said Peter, as they watched theirtwo little feathered friends putting the finishing touches to the littlenest far out on a branch of one of the apple-trees. 

"Everybody does, " replied Johnny. "Everybody loves them as much as theyhate Bully and his wife. Did you know that they are sometimes calledTree Sparrows? I suppose it is because they so often build their nestsin 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, " hegrunted. 

Peter grinned. Here was a chance to tell Johnny Chuck something, andPeter never is happier than when he can tell folks something they don'tknow. "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 inthe 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 hisbreast, " replied Peter. "I don't know why they call him Tree Sparrow; hedoesn't spend his time in the trees the way Chippy does, but I see himmuch oftener in low bushes or on the ground. I think Chippy has muchmore right to the name of Tree Sparrow than Dotty has. Now I think ofit, I've heard Dotty called the Winter Chippy. "

"Gracious, what a mix-up!" exclaimed Johnny Chuck. "With Chippy beingcalled a Tree Sparrow and a Tree Sparrow called Chippy, I should thinkfolks would get all tangled up. "

"Perhaps they would, " replied Peter, "if both were here at the sametime, but Chippy comes just as Dotty goes, and Dotty comes as Chippygoes. That's a pretty good arrangement, especially as they look verymuch alike, excepting that Dotty is quite a little bigger than Chippyand always has that black dot, which Chippy does not have. Goodnessgracious, 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 dearOld 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 twowhite feathers on the outer edges. Those two white feathers were allPeter needed to recognize another little friend of whom he is very fond. It was Sweetvoice the Vesper Sparrow, the only one of the Sparrow familywith 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 cameup, was very busy getting a mouthful of dry grass. "Can't, " mumbledSweetvoice. "Can't do it now, Peter Rabbit. I'm too busy. It is hightime our nest was finished, and Mrs. Sweetvoice will lose her patienceif 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 wherethat nest is, excepting Mrs. Sweetvoice and myself. This much I willtell 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, chucklingsoftly. "You know when the ground was wet and soft early this spring, Bossy left deep footprints wherever she went. One of these makes thenicest kind of a place for a nest. I think we have picked out the verybest one on all the Green Meadows. Now run along, Peter Rabbit, anddon'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 singto you a while just after jolly, round, red Mr. Sun goes to bed behindthe Purple Hills. I just love to sing then. "

"I'll be watching for you, " replied Peter. "You don't love to sing anybetter than I love to hear you. I think that is the best time of allthe day in which to sing. I mean, I think it's the best time to hearsinging, " for of course Peter himself does not sing at all. 

That night, sure enough, just as the Black Shadows came creeping outover the Green Meadows, Sweetvoice, perched on the top of a bramble-bushover Peter's head, sang over and over again the sweetest little song andkept on singing even after it was quite dark. Peter didn't know it, butit is this habit of singing in the evening which has given Sweetvoicehis 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 littlegossip with Jenny Wren and his other friends there had become a regularthing with Peter Rabbit. He was learning a great many things, and someof them were most surprising. 

Now two of Peter's oldest and best friends in the Old Orchard wereWinsome Bluebird and Welcome Robin. Every spring they arrived prettynearly together, though Winsome Bluebird usually was a few days aheadof Welcome Robin. This year Winsome had arrived while the snow stilllingered in patches. He was, as he always is, the herald of sweetMistress Spring. And when Peter had heard for the first time Winsome'ssoft, sweet whistle, which seemed to come from nowhere in particularand from everywhere in general, he had kicked up his long hind legsfrom pure joy. Then, when a few days later he had heard Welcome Robin'sjoyous message of "Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer!" fromthe tiptop of a tall tree, he had known that Mistress Spring really hadarrived. 

Peter loves Winsome Bluebird and Welcome Robin, just as everybody elsedoes, and he had known them so long and so well that he thought he knewall there was to know about them. He would have been very indignant hadanybody told him he didn't. 

"Those cousins don't look much alike, do they?" remarked Jenny Wren, asshe poked her head out of her house to gossip with Peter. 

"What cousins?" demanded Peter, staring very hard in the direction inwhich 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, andon another post sat Welcome Robin. "I don't see anybody but Winsome andWelcome, and they are not even related, " replied Peter with a littlepuzzled 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 arerelated. They are cousins. I thought everybody knew that. They belong tothe same family that Melody the Thrush and all the other Thrushes belongto. That makes them all cousins. "

"What?" exclaimed Peter, looking as if he didn't believe a word of whatJenny Wren had said. Jenny repeated, and still Peter looked doubtful. 

Then Jenny lost her temper, a thing she does very easily. "If you don'tbelieve me, go ask one of them, " she snapped, and disappeared inside herhouse, where Peter could hear her scolding away to herself. 

The more he thought of it, the more this struck Peter as good advice. Sohe hopped over to the foot of the fence post on which Winsome Bluebirdwas 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, noddinghis head, "we are. You can trust that little busybody to know what sheis talking about, every time. I sometimes think she knows more aboutother people's affairs than about her own. Welcome and I may not lookmuch alike, but we are cousins just the same. Don't you think Welcome islooking unusually fine this spring?"

"Not a bit finer than you are yourself, Winsome, " replied Peterpolitely. "I just love that sky-blue coat of yours. What is the reasonthat Mrs. Bluebird doesn't wear as bright a coat as you do?"

"Go ask Jenny Wren, " chuckled Winsome Bluebird, and before Peter couldsay 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 doubtedher and that he never would again. Then he begged Jenny to tell him whyit was that Mrs. Bluebird was not as brightly dressed as was Winsome. 

"Mrs. Bluebird, like most mothers, is altogether too busy to spend muchtime taking care of her clothes; and fine clothes need a lot of care, "replied Jenny. "Besides, when Winsome is about he attracts all theattention and that gives her a chance to slip in and out of her nestwithout being noticed. I don't believe you know, Peter Rabbit, whereWinsome's nest is. "

Peter had to admit that he didn't, although he had tried his best tofind out by watching Winsome. "I think it's over in that little houseput 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 ita great deal since, so I guess it is there. "

"So you guess it is there!" mimicked Jenny Wren. "Well, your guess isquite wrong, Peter; quite wrong. As a matter of fact, it is in one ofthose old fence posts. But just which one I am not going to tell you. Iwill leave that for you to find out. Mrs. Bluebird certainly shows goodsense. She knows a good house when she sees it. The hole in that post isone of the best holes anywhere around here. If I had arrived here earlyenough I would have taken it myself. But Mrs. Bluebird already had hernest built in it and four eggs there, so there was nothing for me todo but come here. Just between you and me, Peter, I think the Bluebirdsshow more sense in nest building than do their cousins the Robins. Thereis nothing like a house with stout walls and a doorway just big enoughto get in and out of comfortably. "

Peter nodded quite as if he understood all about the advantages ofa house with walls. "That reminds me, " said he. "The other day I sawWelcome Robin getting mud and carrying it away. Pretty soon he wasjoined by Mrs. Robin, and she did the same thing. They kept it up till Igot tired of watching them. What were they doing with that mud?"

"Building their nest, of course, stupid, " retorted Jenny. "WelcomeRobin, with that black head, beautiful russet breast, black and whitethroat and yellow bill, not to mention the proud way in which he carrieshimself, certainly is a handsome fellow, and Mrs. Robin is only a littleless handsome. How they can be content to build the kind of a home theydo is more than I can understand. People think that Mr. Wren and I usea 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, andbefore 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 dosay it. 

"Welcome Robin is a fine looker and a fine singer, and everybody loveshim. But when it comes to housekeeping, he and Mrs. Robin are just plaindirty. They make the foundation of their nest of mud, --plain, common, ordinary mud. They cover this with dead grass, and sometimes there ismighty little of this over the inside walls of mud. I know because I'veseen the inside of their nest often. Anybody with any eyes at all canfind their nest. More than once I've known them to have their nestwashed 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 outagain. Welcome Robin flew down on the ground, ran a few steps, and thenstood still with his head on one side as if listening. Then he reacheddown and tugged at something, and presently out of the ground camea long, wriggling angleworm. Welcome gulped it down and ran on a fewsteps, then once more paused to listen. This time he turned and ranthree or four steps to the right, where he pulled another worm out ofthe ground. 

"He acts as if he heard those worms in the ground, " said Peter, speakingaloud without thinking. 

"He does, " said Jenny Wren, poking her head out of her doorway just asPeter spoke. "How do you suppose he would find them when they are in theground 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, " retortedJenny. "Welcome Robin may enjoy eating them, but for my part I wantsomething smaller and daintier, young grasshoppers, tender youngbeetles, small caterpillars, bugs and spiders. "

Peter had to turn his head aside to hide the wry face he just had tomake at the mention of such things as food. "Is that all Welcome Robineats?" he asked innocently. 

"I should say not, " laughed Jenny. "He eats a lot of other kinds ofworms, and he just dearly loves fruit like strawberries and cherries andall 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 Peterwondered how she could keep from falling as she whispered, "I've gotseven eggs in my nest, so if you don't see much of me for the next weekor more, you'll know why. I've just got to sit on those eggs and keepthem warm. "

CHAPTER VI. An Old Friend In a New Home. 

Every day brought newcomers to the Old Orchard, and early in the morningthere were so many voices to be heard that perhaps it is no wonder iffor some time Peter Rabbit failed to miss that of one of his very goodfriends. Most unexpectedly he was reminded of this as very early onemorning he scampered, lipperty-lipperty-lip, across a little bridge overthe Laughing Brook. 

"Dear me! Dear me! Dear me!" cried rather a plaintive voice. Peterstopped so suddenly that he all but fell heels over head. Sitting on thetop of a tall, dead, mullein stalk was a very soberly dressed but rathertrim 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 agrayish-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 tomake the tiniest kind of crest. His wings and tail were dusky, littlebars of white showing very faintly on his wings, while the outer edgesof his tail were distinctly white. He sat with his tail hanging straightdown, as if he hadn't strength enough to hold it up. 

"Hello, Dear Me!" cried Peter joyously. "What are you doing way downhere? I haven't seen you since you first arrived, just after WinsomeBluebird got here. " Peter started to say that he had wondered what hadbecome of Dear Me, but checked himself, for Peter is very honest andhe realized now that in the excitement of greeting so many friends hehadn'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 shortcircle, 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 eachword there was a jerk of that long hanging tail. Peter almost wonderedif 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 airthat has given your family the name of Flycatchers. "

Dear Me nodded and almost at once started into the air again. Once morePeter heard the click of that little black bill, then Dear Me was backon his perch. Peter asked again what he was doing down there. 

"Mrs. Phoebe and I are living down here, " replied Dear Me. "We've madeour home down here and we like it very much. "

Peter looked all around, this way, that way, every way, with thefunniest expression on his face. He didn't see anything of Mrs. Phoebeand 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'tsuppose you and Mrs. Phoebe ever built a nest on the ground, and I don'tsee 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 littlesecret. Mrs. Phoebe and our home are under the very bridge you aresitting on. "

"I don't believe it!" cried Peter. 

But Dear Me knew from the way Peter said it that he really didn't meanthat. "Look and see for yourself, " said Dear Me. 

So Peter lay flat on his stomach and tried to stretch his head overthe edge of the bridge so as to see under it. But his neck wasn't longenough, 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 tothe very edge of the Laughing Brook. Dear Me darted out to catch anotherfly, then flew right in under the bridge and alighted on a little ledgeof stone just beneath the floor. There, sure enough, was a nest, andPeter could see Mrs. Phoebe's bill and the top of her head above theedge of it. It was a nest with a foundation of mud covered with moss andlined with feathers. 

"That's perfectly splendid!" cried Peter, as Dear Me resumed his perchon the old mullein stalk. "How did you ever come to think of such aplace? And why did you leave the shed up at Farmer Brown's where youhave build your home for the last two or three years?"

"Oh, " replied Dear Me, "we Phoebes always have been fond of buildingunder bridges. You see a place like this is quite safe. Then, too, welike to be near water. Always there are many insects flying around wherethere is water, so it is an easy matter to get plenty to eat. I left theshed at Farmer Brown's because that pesky cat up there discovered ournest last year, and we had a dreadful time keeping our babies out ofher clutches. She hasn't found us down here, and she wouldn't be able totrouble us if she should find us. "

"I suppose, " said Peter, "that as usual you were the first of yourfamily 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 thefamily do. They go clear down into the Tropics, but we manage to pick upa pretty good living without going as far as that. So we get back herebefore the rest of them, and usually have begun housekeeping by the timethey arrive. My cousin, Chebec the Least Flycatcher, should be here bythis 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 earsand 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 Peterstarted off for the Old Orchard. 

Perhaps it was because Peter was thinking of him that almost the firstvoice 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. Itdidn't take Peter long to find him. He was sitting out on the up of oneof the upper branches of an apple-tree where he could watch for fliesand other winged insects. He looked so much like Mr. Phoebe, save thathe was smaller, that any one would have know they were cousins. "Chebec!Chebec! Chebec!" he repeated over and over, and with every note jerkedhis tail. Now and then he would dart out into the air and snap upsomething so small that Peter, looking up from the ground, couldn't seeit at all. 

"Hello, Chebec!" cried Peter. "I'm glad to see you back again. Are yougoing to build in the Old Orchard this year?"

"Of course I am, " replied Chebec promptly. "Mrs. Chebec and I have builthere for the last two or three years, and we wouldn't think of goinganywhere else. Mrs. Chebec is looking for a place now. I suppose I oughtto be helping her, but I learned a long time ago, Peter Rabbit, that inmatters 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 herbuild the nest. It certainly is good to be back here in the Old Orchardand planning a home once more. We've made a terribly long journey, and Ifor one am glad it's over. "

"I just saw your cousins, Mr. And Mrs. Phoebe, and they already have anest and eggs, " said Peter. 

"The Phoebes are a funny lot, " replied Chebec. "They are the onlymembers of the family that can stand cold weather. What pleasure theyget out of it I don't understand. They are queer anyway, for they neverbuild their nests in trees as the rest of us do. "

"Are you the smallest in the family?" asked Peter, for it had suddenlystruck him that Chebec was a very little fellow indeed. 

Chebec nodded. "I'm the smallest, " said he. "That's why they call meLeast 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 fliesas 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 formerperch, jerking his tail and uttering his sharp little cry of, "Chebec!Chebec! Chebec!" until Peter began to wonder which he was the most fondof, catching flies, or the sound of his own voice. 

Presently they both heard Mrs. Chebec calling from somewhere in themiddle of the Old Orchard. "Excuse me, Peter, " said Chebec, "I must goat 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 webuild a nest. "

"Do you start it with mud the way Welcome Robin and your cousins, thePhoebes, do?" asked Peter. 

"Mud!" cried Chebec scornfully. "Mud! I should say not! I would have youunderstand, Peter, that we are very particular about what we use in ournest. We use only the finest of rootlets, strips of soft bark, fibers ofplants, the brown cotton that grows on ferns, and perhaps a littlehair when we can find it. We make a dainty nest, if I do say it, andwe fasten it securely in the fork made by two or three upright littlebranches. Now I must go because Mrs. Chebec is getting impatient. Comesee 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 inthe Old Orchard Peter dropped around as usual for a very early call. Hefound Chebec very busy hunting for materials for that nest, because, ashe explained to Peter, Mrs. Chebec is very particular indeed about whather 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, " saidChebec proudly. 

Slowly Peter reached over his back with his long left hind foot andthoughtfully scratched his long right ear. He didn't like to admit thathe couldn't recall those two cousins of Chebec's. "Did you say yourfighting cousin?" he asked in a hesitating way. 

"That's what I said, " replied Chebec. "He is Scrapper the Kingbird, asof 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 henow?"

At that very instant a great racket broke out on the other side of theOld Orchard and in no time at all the feathered folks were hurrying fromevery direction, screaming at the top of their voices. Of course, Petercouldn't be left out of anything like that, and he scampered for thescene of trouble as fast as his legs could take him. When he got therehe saw Redtail the Hawk flying up and down and this way and that way, asif trying to get away from something or somebody. 

For a minute Peter couldn't think what was the trouble with Redtail, andthen he saw. A white-throated, white-breasted bird, having a black capand back, and a broad white band across the end of his tail, was dartingat Redtail as if he meant to pull out every feather in the latter'scoat. 

He was just a little smaller than Welcome Robin, and in comparison withhim Redtail was a perfect giant. But this seemed to make no differenceto Scrapper, for that is who it was. He wasn't afraid, and he intendedthat everybody should know it, especially Redtail. It is because of hisfearlessness that he is called Kingbird. All the time he was screamingat the top of his lungs, calling Redtail a robber and every otherbad name he could think of. All the other birds joined him in callingRedtail bad names. But none, not even Bully the English Sparrow, wasbrave enough to join him in attacking big Redtail. 

When he had succeeded in driving Redtail far enough from the Old Orchardto suit him, Scrapper flew back and perched on a dead branch of one ofthe trees, where he received the congratulations of all his featheredneighbors. He took them quite modestly, assuring them that he had donenothing, nothing at all, but that he didn't intend to have any of theHawk family around the Old Orchard while he lived there. Peter couldn'thelp but admire Scrapper for his courage. 

As Peter looked up at Scrapper he saw that, like all the rest of theflycatchers, 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 havegotten close enough, he would have found that hidden in it was a patchof orange-red. While Peter sat staring up at him Scrapper suddenlydarted out into the air, and his bill snapped in quite the same wayChebec's did when he caught a fly. But it wasn't a fly that Scrapperhad. It was a bee. Peter saw it very distinctly just as Scrapper snappedit up. It reminded Peter that he had often heard Scrapper called the BeeMartin, and now he understood why. 

"Do you live on bees altogether?" asked Peter. 

"Bless your heart, Peter, no, " replied Scrapper with a chuckle. "Therewouldn't be any honey if I did. I like bees. I like them first rate. Butthey form only a very small part of my food. Those that I do catch aremostly drones, and you know the drones are useless. They do no work atall. It is only by accident that I now and then catch a worker. I eatall kinds of insects that fly and some that don't. I'm one of FarmerBrown's best friends, if he did but know it. You can talk all you pleaseabout the wonderful eyesight of the members of the Hawk family, but ifany one of them has better eyesight than I have, I'd like to know who itis. There's a fly 'way over there beyond that old apple-tree; watch mecatch it. "

Peter knew better than to waste any effort trying to see that fly. Heknew that he couldn't have seen it had it been only one fourth thatdistance away. But if he couldn't see the fly he could hear the sharpclick of Scrapper's bill, and he knew by the way Scrapper kept openingand shutting his mouth after his return that he had caught that fly andit 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. Blackysaw him coming and was wise enough to suddenly appear to have nointerest whatever in the Old Orchard, turning away toward the GreenMeadows instead. 

Peter didn't wait for Scrapper to return. It was getting high time forhim 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 theOld Orchard some one called him. "Peter! Oh, Peter Rabbit!" called thevoice. 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. Peterlooked, then all in a flash it came to him who it was Chebec had meantby the handsomest member of his family. It was Cresty the Great CrestedFlycatcher. He was a wee bit bigger than Scrapper the Kingbird, yet notquite so big as Welcome Robin, and more slender. His throat and breastwere gray, shading into bright yellow underneath. His back and head wereof a grayish-brown with a tint of olive-green. A pointed cap was allthat was needed to make him quite distinguished looking. He certainlywas 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, " saidCresty, before Peter could find his tongue. "I just want to ask onelittle 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 youwould 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'vegot to go house hunting, but you'll find me there or hereabouts, if ithappens that you find one of those cast-off Snake suits. "

Before Peter could say another word Cresty had flown away. Peterhesitated, looking first towards the dear Old Briar-patch and thentowards Jenny Wren's house. He just couldn't understand about thosecast-off suits of the Snake family, and he felt sure that Jenny Wrencould tell him. Finally curiosity got the best of him, and back hescampered, lipperty-lipperty-lip, to the foot of the tree in which JennyWren 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 Jennypopped her head out, and her little eyes fairly snapped. "Didn't I tellyou the other day, Peter Rabbit, that I'm not to be disturbed? Didn'tI tell you that I've got seven eggs in here, and that I can't spend anytime gossiping? Didn't I, Peter Rabbit? Didn't I? Didn't I?"

"You certainly did, Jenny. You certainly did, and I'm sorry to disturbyou, " replied Peter meekly. "I wouldn't have thought of doing such athing, 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 mefor?"

"Snake skins, " replied Peter. 

"Snake skins! Snake skins!" shrieked Jenny Wren. "What are you talkingabout, Peter Rabbit? I never have anything to do with Snake skins anddon't want to. Ugh! It makes me shiver just to think of it. "

"You don't understand, " cried Peter hurriedly. "What I want to knowis, why should Cresty the Flycatcher ask me to please let him know ifI found any cast-off suits of the Snake family? He flew away before Icould ask him why he wants them, and so I came to you, because I knowyou know everything, especially everything concerning your neighbors. "

Jenny Wren looked as if she didn't know whether to feel flattered orprovoked. But Peter looked so innocent that she concluded he was tryingto say something nice. 

CHAPTER VIII. Old Clothes and Old Houses. 

"I can't stop to talk to you any longer now, Peter Rabbit, " saidJenny Wren, "but if you will come over here bright and early to-morrowmorning, while I am out to get my breakfast, I will tell you aboutCresty the Flycatcher and why he wants the cast-off clothes of some ofthe Snake family. Perhaps I should say WHAT he wants of them insteadof WHY he wants them, for why any one should want anything to do withSnakes is more then I can understand. "

With this Jenny Wren disappeared inside her house, and there was nothingfor Peter to do but once more start for the dear Old Briar-patch. On hisway 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 therewas anything new over there. Hardly had he reached it when he hearda plaintive voice crying, "Pee-wee! Pee-wee! Pee-wee!" Peter chuckledhappily. "I declare, there's Pee-wee, " he cried. "He usually is one ofthe last of the Flycatcher family to arrive. I didn't expect to find himyet. I wonder what has brought him up so early. "

It didn't take Peter long to find Pewee. He just followed the sound ofthat voice and presently saw Pewee fly out and make the same kind ofa little circle as the other members of the family make when they arehunting flies. It ended just where it had started, on a dead twig of atree in a shady, rather lonely part of the Green Forest. Almost at oncehe 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 wayof 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 theend of his tail. The upper half of his bill was black, but the lowerhalf was light. Peter could see on each wing two whitish bars, and henoticed that Pewee's wings were longer than his tail, which wasn't thecase with Chebec. But no one could ever mistake Pewee for any of hisrelatives, for the simple reason that he keeps repeating his own nameover 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 WoodPewee?"

Pewee chuckled happily. "It must be, " said he, "because I am so veryfond of the Green Forest. It is so quiet and restful that I loveit. Mrs. Pewee and I are very retiring. We do not like too many nearneighbors. "

"You won't mind if I come to see you once in a while, will you?" askedPeter 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 aboutthe Flycatcher family, and as he recalled how they were forever catchingall sorts of flying insects it suddenly struck him that they must bevery useful little people in helping Old Mother Nature take care of hertrees and other growing things which insects so dearly love to destroy. 

But most of all Peter thought about that queer request of Cresty's, anda dozen times that day he found himself peeping under old logs in thehope of finding a cast-off coat of Mr. Black Snake. It was such a funnything for Cresty to ask for that Peter's curiosity would allow him nopeace, and the next morning he was up in the Old Orchard before jollyMr. Sun had kicked his bedclothes off. 

Jenny Wren was as good as her word. While she flitted and hopped aboutthis 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. Thenas Peter shook his head her tongue ran on without waiting for him toreply. "Cresty and his wife always insist upon having a piece of Snakeskin in their nest, " said she. "Why they want it, goodness knows! Butthey do want it and never can seem to settle down to housekeeping unlessthey 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 siton anything like that. I have to admit that Cresty and his wife are ahandsome 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, " retortedJenny 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 itcould cut wood?" She didn't wait for a reply, but rattled on. "It is agood thing for a lot of us that the Woodpecker family are so fond of newhouses. Look! There is Downy the Woodpecker hard at work on a new housethis very minute. That's good. I like to see that. It means that nextyear 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 myneighbors who feel the same way about it. There is something settledabout 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 thewind can't get in, the older it is the better it suits me. But theWoodpeckers seem to like new houses best, which, as I said before, is avery good thing for the rest of us. "

"Who is there besides you and Cresty and Bully the English Sparrow whouses these old Woodpecker houses?" asked Peter. 

"Winsome Bluebird, stupid!" snapped Jenny Wren. 

Peter grinned and looked foolish. "Of course, " said he. "I forgot allabout Winsome. "

"And Skimmer the Tree Swallow, " added Jenny. 

"That's so; I ought to have remembered him, " exclaimed Peter. "I'venoticed that he is very fond of the same house year after year. Is thereanybody else?"

Again Jenny Wren nodded. "Yank-Yank the Nuthatch uses an old house, I'mtold, but he usually goes up North for his nesting, " said she. "TommyTit the Chickadee sometimes uses an old house. Then again he and Mrs. Chickadee get fussy and make a house for themselves. Yellow Wing theflicker, who really is a Woodpecker, often uses an old house, but quiteoften makes a new one. Then there are Killy the Sparrow Hawk and Spookythe Screech Owl. "

Peter looked surprised. "I didn't suppose THEY nested in holes intrees!" he exclaimed. 

"They certainly do, more's the pity!" snapped Jenny. "It would be a goodthing for the rest of us if they didn't nest at all. But they do, and anold house of Yellow Wing the Flicker suits either of them. Killy alwaysuses one that is high up, and comes back to it year after year. Spookyisn'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 tothose 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 oftwo homes? One is all I can take care of. "

"Then why, " demanded Peter triumphantly, "does Mr. Wren work all daycarrying sticks and straws into a hole in another tree? It seems to methat he has carried enough in there to build two or three nests. "

Jenny Wren's eyes twinkled, and she laughed softly. "Mr. Wren just hasto be busy about something, bless his heart, " said she. "He hasn't alazy feather on him. He's building that nest to take up his time andkeep out of mischief. Besides, if he fills that hollow up nobody elsewill 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 littleround doorway of her house and popped inside. 

CHAPTER IX. Longbill and Teeter. 

From the decided way in which Jenny Wren had popped into the littleround doorway of her home, Peter knew that to wait in the hope of moregossip with her would be a waste of time. He wasn't ready to go backhome 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. Peterscratched a long ear with a long hind foot, trying to think of someplace to go. Just then he heard the clear "peep, peep, peep" of theHylas, the sweet singers of the Smiling Pool. 

"That's where I'll go!" exclaimed Peter. "I haven't been to theSmiling Pool for some time. I'll just run over and pay my respects toGrandfather Frog, and to Redwing the Blackbird. Redwing was one of thefirst 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 edgeof the Green Forest until he reached the place where the Laughing Brookcomes out of the Green Forest on its way to the Smiling Pool in theGreen Meadows. Bushes and young trees grow along the banks of theLaughing Brook at this point. The ground was soft in places, quitemuddy. Peter doesn't mind getting his feet damp, so he hopped alongcarelessly. From right under his very nose something shot up into theair with a whistling sound. It startled Peter so that he stopped shortwith his eyes popping out of his head. He had just a glimpse of abrown form disappearing over the tops of some tall bushes. Then Peterchuckled. "I declare, " said he, "I had forgotten all about my oldfriend, Longbill the Woodcock. He scared me for a second. "

"Then you are even, " said a voice close at hand. "You scared him. I sawyou coming, but Longbill didn't. "

Peter turned quickly. There was Mrs. Woodcock peeping at him from behinda tussock of grass. 

"I didn't mean to scare him, " apologized Peter. "I really didn't meanto. 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 Iwas disappearing over the tops of the bushes, so I came right back. Ilearned when I was very young that when startled it is best to fly firstand find out afterwards whether or not there is real danger. I am gladit is no one but you, Peter, for I was having a splendid meal here, andI 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 tosee what it could be Longbill was making such a good meal of. But Petercouldn't see a thing that looked good to eat. There wasn't even a bugor a worm crawling on the ground. Longbill took two or three steps inrather a stately fashion. Peter had to hide a smile, for Longbill hadsuch an air of importance, yet at the same time was such an odd lookingfellow. He was quite a little bigger than Welcome Robin, his tail wasshort, his legs were short, and his neck was short. But his bill waslong enough to make up. His back was a mixture of gray, brown, black andbuff, while his breast and under parts were a beautiful reddish-buff. Itwas his head that made him look queer. His eyes were very big and theywere set so far back that Peter wondered if it wasn't easier for him tolook behind him than in front of him. 

Suddenly Longbill plunged his bill into the ground. He plunged it in forthe whole length. Then he pulled it out and Peter caught a glimpse ofthe tail end of a worm disappearing down Longbill's throat. Where thatlong bill had gone into the ground was a neat little round hole. For thefirst time Peter noticed that there were many such little round holesall 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 widewith interest. 

Longbill nodded. "Of course, " said he. "You don't suppose we would takethe trouble to bore one of them if we didn't know that we would get aworm at the end of it, do you?"

Peter remembered how he had watched Welcome Robin listen and thensuddenly plunge his bill into the ground and pull out a worm. But theworms Welcome Robin got were always close to the surface, while theseworms were so deep in the earth that Peter couldn't understand how itwas possible for any one to know that they were there. Welcome Robincould see when he got hold of a worm, but Longbill couldn't. "Even ifyou know there is a worm down there in the ground, how do you know whenyou've reached him? And how is it possible for you to open your billdown there to take him in?" asked Peter. 

Longbill chuckled. "That's easy, " said he. "I've got the handiest billthat ever was. See here!" Longbill suddenly thrust his bill straightout in front of him and to Peter's astonishment he lifted the end of theupper half without opening the rest of his bill at all. "That's the wayI get them, " said he. "I can feel them when I reach them, and then Ijust open the top of my bill and grab them. I think there is one rightunder my feet now; watch me get him. " Longbill bored into the grounduntil his head was almost against it. When he pulled his bill out, sureenough, there was a worm. "Of course, " explained Longbill, "it is onlyin soft ground that I can do this. That is why I have to fly away southas soon as the ground freezes at all. "

"It's wonderful, " sighed Peter. "I don't suppose any one else can findhidden worms that way. "

"My cousin, Jack Snipe, can, " replied Longbill promptly. "He feeds thesame 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 strongfamily resemblance, although I hadn't thought of him as a relative ofyours before. Now I must be running along. I'm ever so glad to have seenyou, 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 SmilingPool. Right where the Laughing Brook entered the Smiling Pool there wasa little pebbly beach. Running along the very edge of the water wasa slim, trim little bird with fairly long legs, a long slender bill, brownish-gray back with black spots and markings, and a white waistcoatneatly spotted with black. Every few steps he would stop to pick upsomething, then stand for a second bobbing up and down in the funniestway, as if his body was so nicely balanced on his legs that it teeteredback and forth like a seesaw. It was Teeter the Spotted Sandpiper, anold friend of Peter's. Peter greeted him joyously. 

"Peet-weet! Peet-weet!" cried Teeter, turning towards Peter and bobbingand bowing as only Teeter can. Before Peter could say another wordTeeter came running towards him, and it was plain to see that Teeter wasvery anxious about something. "Don't move, Peter Rabbit! Don't move!" hecried. 

"Why not?" demanded Peter, for he could see no danger and could think ofno reason why he shouldn't move. Just then Mrs. Teeter came hurrying upand squatted down in the sand right in front of Peter. 

"Thank goodness!" exclaimed Teeter, still bobbing and bowing. "If youhad taken another step, Peter Rabbit, you would have stepped right onour eggs. You gave me a dreadful start. "

Peter was puzzled. He showed it as he stared down at Mrs. Teeter just infront of him. "I don't see any nest or eggs or anything, " said he rathertestily. 

Mrs. Teeter stood up and stepped aside. Then Peter saw right in a littlehollow in the sand, with just a few bits of grass for a lining, fourwhite eggs with big dark blotches on them. They looked so much like thesurrounding pebbles that he never would have seen them in the worldbut for Mrs. Teeter. Peter hastily backed away a few steps. Mrs. Teeterslipped back on the eggs and settled herself comfortably. It suddenlystruck Peter that if he hadn't seen her do it, he wouldn't have knownshe was there. You see she looked so much like her surroundings that henever would have noticed her at all. 

"My!" he exclaimed. "I certainly would have stepped on those eggs if youhadn't warned me, " said he. "I'm so thankful I didn't. I don't see howyou 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 herethat no one sees them. The only time they are in danger is when somebodycomes along, as you did, and is likely to step on them without seeingthem. But that doesn't happen often. "

CHAPTER X. Redwing and Yellow Wing. 

Peter had come over to the Smiling Pool especially to pay his respectsto Redwing the Blackbird, so as soon as he could, without beingimpolite, he left Mrs. Teeter sitting on her eggs, and Teeter himselfbobbing and bowing in the friendliest way, and hurried over to wherethe bulrushes grow. In the very top of the Big Hickory-tree, a littlefarther along on the bank of the Smiling Pool, sat some one who at thatdistance appeared to be dressed all in black. He was singing as ifthere 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 thissong alone that it was Redwing the Blackbird, for there is no other songquite like it. 

As soon as Peter appeared in sight Redwing left his high perch and flewdown to light among the broken-down bulrushes. As he flew, Peter saw thebeautiful red patch on the bend of each wing, from which Redwing getshis name. "No one could ever mistake him for anybody else, " thoughtPeter, "For there isn't anybody else with such beautiful shoulderpatches. "

"What's the news, Peter Rabbit?" cried Redwing, coming over to sit verynear Peter. 

"There isn't much, " replied Peter, "excepting that Teeter the Sandpiperhas four eggs just a little way from here. "

Redwing chuckled. "That is no news, Peter, " said he. "Do you supposethat I live neighbor to Teeter and don't know where his nest is and allabout his affairs? There isn't much going on around the Smiling Poolthat I don't know, I can tell you that. "

Peter looked a little disappointed, because there is nothing he likesbetter 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 withastonishment. 

"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 asever 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. Isuppose it is because she is sitting on those eggs that I haven't seenMrs. Redwing. It was very stupid of me not to guess that folks who comeas early as you do would be among the first to build a home. Where isit, 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 youwouldn't intentionally let my secret slip out. But you might do it byaccident. What you don't know, you can't tell. "

"That's right, Redwing. I am glad you have so much sense, " said anothervoice, and Mrs. Redwing alighted very near to Redwing. 

Peter couldn't help thinking that Old Mother Nature had been very unfairindeed in dressing Mrs. Redwing. She was, if anything, a little bitsmaller 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 Blackbirdat all. In the first place she wasn't black. She was dressed all over ingrayish-brown with streaks of darker brown which in places were almostblack. She wore no bright-colored shoulder patches. In fact, therewasn't a bright feather on her anywhere. Peter wanted to ask why it wasthat she was so plainly dressed, but he was too polite and decided towait 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 sayit, it is the best home we've ever had. "

Redwing chuckled. He was full of chuckles. You see, he had noticed howeagerly Peter was looking everywhere. 

"This much I will tell you, Peter, " said Redwing; "our nest is somewherein these bulrushes, and if you can find it we won't say a word, even ifyou 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 ina 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 ofRedwing's voice that Redwing wasn't joking. There was just one placeof safety, and that was an old hole of Grandfather Chuck's betweenthe roots of the Big Hickory-tree. Peter didn't waste any time gettingthere, and he was none too soon, for Reddy was so close at his heelsthat he pulled some white hairs out of Peter's tail as Peter plungedheadfirst down that hole. It was a lucky thing for Peter that that holewas too small for Reddy to follow and the roots prevented Reddy fromdigging it any bigger. 

For a long time Peter sat in Grandfather Chuck's old house, wonderinghow 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 Foxwas still about. By and by they stopped scolding, and a few minuteslater he heard Redwing's happy song. "That means, " thought Peter, "thatReddy Fox has gone away, but I think I'll sit here a while longer tomake sure. "

Now Peter was sitting right under the Big Hickory-tree. After a while hebegan to hear faint little sounds, little taps, and scratching sounds asof claws. They seemed to come from right over his head, but he knew thatthere was no one in that hole but himself. He couldn't understand it atall. 

Finally Peter decided it would be safe to peek outside. Very carefullyhe poked his head out. Just as he did so, a little chip struck him righton the nose. Peter pulled his head back hurriedly and stared at thelittle chip which lay just in front of the hole. Then two or three morelittle chips fell. Peter knew that they must come from up in the BigHickory-tree, and right away his curiosity was aroused. Redwing wassinging so happily that Peter felt sure no danger was near, so he hoppedoutside and looked up to find out where those little chips had comefrom. Just a few feet above his head he saw a round hole in the trunkof the Big Hickory-tree. While he was looking at it, a head with a longstout bill was thrust out and in that bill were two or three littlechips. 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 sidesand throat were a soft reddish-tan and on each side at the beginning ofthe bill was a black patch. The top of the head was gray and just at theback 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 youdoing here?"

"Nothing, " replied Peter, "but I want to know what you are doing. Whatare 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 littledeeper. Mrs. Yellow Wing and I haven't been able to find another houseto suit us, so we have decided to live here again this year. " He camewholly out and flew down on the ground near Peter. When his wingswere spread, Peter saw that on the under sides they were a beautifulgolden-yellow, as were the under sides of his tail feathers. Around histhroat was a broad, black collar. From this, clear to his tail, wereblack dots. When his wings were spread, the upper part of his body justabove the tail was pure white. 

"My, " exclaimed Peter, "you are a handsome fellow! I never realizedbefore how handsome you are. "

Yellow Wing looked pleased. Perhaps he felt a little flattered. "Iam 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 changecoats. "

A sudden thought struck Peter. "What family do you belong to?" He askedabruptly. 

"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 toask first. But Yellow Wing the Flicker didn't give him a chance to askany. 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, " exclaimedYellow Wing, and away he went. Peter noticed that as he flew he went upand down. It seemed very much as if he bounded through the air just asPeter bounds over the ground. "I would know him by the way he flies justas far as I could see him, " thought Peter, as he started for home in thedear Old Briar-patch. "Somehow he doesn't seem like a Woodpecker becausehe 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 gossipwith Jenny Wren. When he did the first thing he asked was if Yellow Wingis a true Woodpecker. 

"Certainly he is, " replied Jenny Wren. "Of course he is. Why under thesun should you think he isn't?"

"Because it seems to me he is on the ground more than he's in thetrees, " retorted Peter. "I don't know any other Woodpeckers who comedown on the ground at all. "

"Tut, tut, tut, tut!" scolded Jenny. "Think a minute, Peter! Think aminute! 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 Woodpeckersare 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, thesmallest of the whole family. He certainly makes an awful racket forsuch a little fellow. He is a splendid drummer and he's just as good acarpenter. He made the very house I am occupying now. "

Peter was sitting with his head tipped back trying to see Downy. Atfirst he couldn't make him out. Then he caught a little movement on topof a dead limb. It was Downy's head flying back and forth as he beathis long roll. He was dressed all in black and white. On the back of hishead was a little scarlet patch. He was making a tremendous racket forsuch 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 littlecommon sense. If he were cutting a hole for a nest, everybody withinhearing would know just where to look for it. Downy has too much sensein that little head of his to do such a silly thing as that. When hecuts a hole for a nest he doesn't make any more noise than is absolutelynecessary. You don't see any chips flying, do you?"

"No-o, " replied Peter slowly. "Now you speak of it, I don't. Is--is hehunting for worms in the wood?"

Jenny laughed right out. "Hardly, Peter, hardly, " said she. "He's justdrumming, that's all. That hollow limb makes the best kind of a drumand Downy is making the most of it. Just listen to that! There isn't abetter 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 thespring? What is Mr. Wren singing for over there? Downy is drumming forprecisely the same reason--happiness. He can't run and jump and he can'tsing, but he can drum. By the way, do you know that Downy is one of themost useful birds in the Old Orchard?"

Just then Downy flew away, but hardly had he disappeared when anotherdrummer took his place. At first Peter thought Downy had returned untilhe noticed that the newcomer was just a bit bigger than Downy. JennyWren's sharp eyes spied him at once. 

"Hello!" she exclaimed. "There's Hairy. Did you ever see two cousinslook more alike? If it were not that Hairy is bigger than Downy itwould 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 Jennyrather sharply. "Look at the outside feathers of his tail; they are allwhite. Downy's outside tail feathers have little bars of black. Hairy isjust as good a carpenter as is Downy, but for that matter I don't knowof a member of the Woodpecker family who isn't a good carpenter. Wheredid you say Yellow Wing the Flicker is making his home this year?"

"Over in the Big Hickory-tree by the Smiling Pool, " replied Peter. "Idon'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 OldMr. Toad, and that is saying a great deal. If Yellow Wing keeps on he'llbecome a ground bird instead of a tree bird. He gets more than half hisliving on the ground now. Speaking of drumming, did you ever hear YellowWing drum on a tin roof?"

Peter shook his head. 

"Well, if there's a tin roof anywhere around, and Yellow Wing can findit, 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 verynext tree to the one on which she was sitting, of a bird about the sizeof Sammy Jay. His whole head and neck were a beautiful, deep red. Hisbreast was pure white, and his back was black to nearly the beginning ofhis tail, where it was white. 

"Hello, Redhead!" exclaimed Jenny Wren. "How did you know we weretalking about your family?"

"Hello, chatterbox, " retorted Redhead with a twinkle in his eyes. "Ididn't know you were talking about my family, but I could have guessedthat you were talking about some one's family. Does your tongue everstop, Jenny?"

Jenny Wren started to become indignant and scold, then thought betterof it. "I was talking for Peter's benefit, " said she, trying to lookdignified, a thing quite impossible for any member of the Wren family todo. "Peter has always had the idea that true Woodpeckers never godown on the ground. I was explaining to him that Yellow Wing is a trueWoodpecker, yet spends half his time on the ground. "

Redhead nodded. "It's all on account of ants, " said he. "I don't know ofany one quite so fond of ants unless it is Old Mr. Toad. I like a few ofthem myself, but Yellow Wing just about lives on them when he can. Youmay have noticed that I go down on the ground myself once in a while. I am rather fond of beetles, and an occasional grasshopper tastesvery good to me. I like a variety. Yes, sir, I certainly do like avariety--cherries, blackberries, raspberries, strawberries, grapes. Infact most kinds of fruit taste good to me, not to mention beechnuts andacorns when there is no fruit. "

Jenny Wren tossed her head. "You didn't mention the eggs of some of yourneighbors, " said she sharply. 

Redhead did his best to look innocent, but Peter noticed that he gave aguilty start and very abruptly changed the subject, and a moment laterflew 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, " saidshe. "I've never seen him do it, but I know others who have. They say heis no better than Sammy Jay or Blacky the Crow. But gracious, goodness!I can't sit here gossiping forever. " Jenny twitched her funny littletail, 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 toarouse his curiosity, Peter Rabbit did not visit the Old Orchard forseveral days. When he did it was to find the entire neighborhood quiteupset. There was an indignation meeting in progress in and around thetree in which Chebec and his modest little wife had their home. How thetongues did clatter! Peter knew that something had happened, but thoughhe 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'shappened?" demanded Peter. "What's all this fuss about?"

Jenny Wren was so excited that she couldn't keep still an instant. Hersharp little eyes snapped and her tail was carried higher than ever. "It's a disgrace! It's a disgrace to the whole feathered race, andsomething ought to be done about it!" sputtered Jenny. "I'm ashamed tothink that such a contemptible creature wears feathers! I am so!"

"But what's it all about?" demanded Peter impatiently. "Do keep stilllong enough to tell me. Who is this contemptible creature?"

"Sally Sly, " snapped Jenny Wren. "Sally Sly the Cowbird. I hoped shewouldn't disgrace the Old Orchard this year, but she has. When Mr. AndMrs. Chebec returned from getting their breakfast this morning theyfound 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 throwthat 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 hetried to understand what it all meant. "Who is Sally Sly, and what didshe do that for?" he finally ventured. 

"For goodness' sake, Peter Rabbit, do you mean to tell me you don'tknow who Sally Sly is?" Then without waiting for Peter to reply, Jennyrattled on. "She's a member of the Blackbird family and she's thelaziest, most good-for-nothing, sneakiest, most unfeeling and mostselfish 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 anest of her own and too selfish to take care of her own children. Do youknow what will happen, Peter Rabbit? Do you know what will happen?"

Peter shook his head and confessed that he didn't. "When that egghatches out, that young Cowbird will be about twice as big as Chebec'sown children, " sputtered Jenny. "He'll be so big that he'll get mostof the food. He'll just rob those little Chebecs in spite of alltheir mother and father can do. And Chebec and his wife will be justsoft-hearted enough to work themselves to skin and bone to feed theyoung wretch because he is an orphan and hasn't anybody to look afterhim. The worst of it is, Sally Sly is likely to play the same trick onothers. She always chooses the nest of some one smaller than herself. She's terribly sly. No one has seen her about. She just sneaked intothe Old Orchard this morning when everybody was busy, laid that egg andsneaked 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. "Thankgoodness, she isn't a member of MY family. If she were I never would beable to hold my head up. Just listen to Goldy the Oriole over in thatbig elm. I don't see how he can sing like that, knowing that one of hisrelatives has just done such a shameful deed. It's a queer thing thatthere can be two members of the same family so unlike. Mrs. Goldy buildsone of the most wonderful nests of any one I know, and Sally Sly is toolazy to build any. If I were in Goldy's place I--"

"Hold on!" cried Peter. "I thought you said Sally Sly is a member ofthe Blackbird family. I don't see what she's got to do with Goldy theOriole. "

"You don't, eh?" exclaimed Jenny. "Well, for one who pokes into otherpeople's affairs as you do, you don't know much. The Orioles and theMeadow Larks and the Grackles and the Bobolinks all belong to theBlackbird family. They're all related to Redwing the Blackbird, andSally Sly the Cowbird belongs in the same family. "

Peter gasped. "I--I--hadn't the least idea that any of these folks wererelated, " stammered Peter. 

"Well, they are, " retorted Jenny Wren. "As I live, there's Sally Slynow!"

Peter caught a glimpse of a brownish-gray bird who reminded him somewhatof Mrs. Redwing. She was about the same size and looked very much likeher. It was plain that she was trying to keep out of sight, and theinstant she knew that she had been discovered she flew away in thedirection of the Old Pasture. It happened that late that afternoon Petervisited the Old Pasture and saw her again. She and some of her friendswere busily walking about close to the feet of the cows, where theyseemed to be picking up food. One had a brown head, neck and breast; therest of his coat was glossy black. Peter rightly guessed that thismust be Mr. Cowbird. Seeing them on such good terms with the cows heunderstood why they are called Cowbirds. 

Sure that Sally Sly had left the Old Orchard, the feathered folkssettled down to their personal affairs and household cares, Jenny Wrenamong them. Having no one to talk to, Peter found a shady place closeto the old stone wall and there sat down to think over the surprisingthings he had learned. Presently Goldy the Baltimore Oriole alighted inthe nearest apple-tree, and it seemed to Peter that never had he seenany one more beautifully dressed. His head, neck, throat and upper partof his back were black. The lower part of his back and his breast werea beautiful deep orange color. There was a dash of orange on hisshoulders, 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 ashis coat. 

Shortly he was joined by Mrs. Goldy. Compared with her handsome husbandshe was very modestly dressed. She wore more brown than black, and wherethe orange color appeared it was rather dull. She wasted no time insinging. Almost instantly her sharp eyes spied a piece of string caughtin the bushes almost over Peter's head. With a little cry of delightshe flew down and seized it. But the string was caught, and though shetugged and pulled with all her might she couldn't get it free. Goldy sawthe trouble she was having and cutting his song short, flew down to helpher. Together they pulled and tugged and tugged and pulled, until theyhad to stop to rest and get their breath. 

"We simply must have this piece of string, " said Mrs. Goldy. "I've beenhunting everywhere for a piece, and this is the first I've found. It isjust what we need to bind our nest fast to the twigs. With this I won'thave the least bit of fear that that nest will ever tear loose, nomatter how hard the wind blows. "

Once more they tugged and pulled and pulled and tugged until at lastthey got it free, and Mrs. Goldy flew away in triumph with the string inher bill. Goldy himself followed. Peter watched them fly to the top of along, swaying branch of a big elm-tree up near Farmer Brown's house. Hecould see something which looked like a bag hanging there, and he knewthat this must be the nest. 

"Gracious!" said Peter. "They must get terribly tossed about when thewind 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 makesone of the most wonderful nests I know of, " continued Welcome Robin. "Itis like a deep pocket made of grass, string, hair and bark, all woventogether like a piece of cloth. It is so deep that it is quite safe forthe babies, and they seem to enjoy being rocked by the wind. I shouldn'tcare for it myself because I like a solid foundation for my home, butthe Goldies like it. It looks dangerous but it really is one of thesafest nests I know of. Snakes and cats never get 'way up there andthere are few feathered nest-robbers who can get at those eggs so deepdown in the nest. Goldy is sometimes called Golden Robin. He isn't aRobin at all, but I would feel very proud if he were a member of myfamily. He's just as useful as he is handsome, and that's saying a greatdeal. 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 tothink 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 todoze, 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. Atfirst he didn't know what had wakened him, but as he sat there blinkinghis eyes, he heard a few rich notes from the top of the nearestapple-tree. "It's Goldy the Oriole, " thought Peter, and peeped out tosee. 

But though he looked and looked he couldn't see Goldy anywhere, but hedid see a stranger. It was some one of about Goldy's size and shape. Infact he was so like Goldy, but for the color of his suit, that at firstPeter almost thought Goldy had somehow changed his clothes. Of course heknew that this couldn't be, but it seemed as if it must be, for thesong the stranger was singing was something like that of Goldy. Thestranger's head and throat and back were black, just like Goldy's, andhis wings were trimmed with white in just the same way. But the restof his suit, instead of being the beautiful orange of which Goldy is soproud, 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 madehim jump. Peter whirled around. There sat Striped Chipmunk grinningat him from the top of the old stone wall. "That's Weaver the OrchardOriole, " Striped Chipmunk rattled on. "If you don't know him you oughtto, because he is one of the very nicest persons in the Old Orchard. Ijust 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 wouldhave to look at him more than once to know that. He's first cousin toGoldy. There comes Mrs. Weaver. I do hope they've decided to build inthe 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 alllike Weaver. She was dressed in olive-green and dull yellow, with whitemarkings on her wings. 

Peter couldn't help thinking how much easier it must be for her than forher handsome husband to hide among the green leaves. 

As he watched she flew down to the ground and picked up a long pieceof grass. "They are building here, as sure as you live!" cried StripedChipmunk. "I'm glad of that. Did you ever see their nest, Peter? Ofcourse 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 offine 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 betweenthe twigs near the end of a branch, but they bind it more closely to thebranch 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 aloud sniffing sound farther up along the old stone wall. He didn't waitto hear it again. He knew that Bowser the Hound was coming. 

"Good-by, Striped Chipmunk! This is no place for me, " whispered Peterand started for the dear Old Briar-patch. He was in such a hurry to getthere that on his way across the Green Meadows he almost ran into JimmySkunk 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, " repliedJimmy, who himself never hurries. "Stop and talk a bit. That oldnuisance won't bother you as long as you are with me. "

Peter hesitated. He wanted to gossip, but he still felt nervous aboutBowser 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 tostop 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 mustknow, " 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 onthe Green Meadows, " replied Peter. "When I want a thing; I look for itwhere it is likely to be found. "

"Just so, Peter; just so, " retorted Jimmy Skunk, nodding his head withapproval. "That's why I am here. "

Peter looked puzzled. He was puzzled. But before he could ask anotherquestion a rollicking song caused both of them to look up. There onquivering wings in mid-air was the singer. He was dressed very much likeJimmy Skunk himself, in black and white, save that in places the whitehad a tinge of yellow, especially on the back of his neck. It wasBubbling Bob the Bobolink. And how he did sing! It seemed as if thenotes fairly tumbled over each other. 

Jimmy Skunk raised himself on his hind-legs a little to see just whereBubbling Bob dropped down in the grass. Then Jimmy began to move in thatdirection. Suddenly Peter understood. He remembered that Bubbling Bob'snest is always on the ground. It was his eggs that Jimmy Skunk waslooking 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 tobe ashamed, Jimmy Skunk, to think of robbing such a beautiful singer asBubbling Bob. "

"Pooh!" retorted Jimmy. "What's the harm? If I find those eggs he andMrs. Bob could simply build another nest and lay some more. They won'tbe 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 muchtime singing can afford to do a little extra work. "

"You're horrid, Jimmy Skunk. You're just horrid, " said Peter. "I hopeyou 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 haddisappeared in the long grass. Peter went only a short distance and thensat up to watch Jimmy Skunk. Just before Jimmy reached the place whereBubbling Bob had disappeared, the latter mounted into the air again, pouring out his rollicking song as if there were no room in his heartfor anything but happiness. Then he saw Jimmy Shrunk and became verymuch excited. He flew down in the grass a little farther on and then upagain, 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. WhenBubbling Bob did the same thing all over again. Peter grew anxious. Heknew just how patient Jimmy Skunk could be, and he very much fearedthat Jimmy would find that nest. Presently he grew tired of watchingand started on for the dear Old Briar-patch. Just before he reached it abrown bird, who reminded him somewhat of Mrs. Redwing and Sally Sly theCowbird, though she was smaller, ran across the path in front of himand 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 JimmySkunk, 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 leadthat 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'tanywhere near there. But where it is is Bob's secret and mine, and wemean to keep it. Now I must go get something to eat, " and with a hastyfarewell Mrs. Bobolink flew over to the other side of the dear OldBriar-patch. 

Peter remembered that he had seen Mrs. Bob running along the groundbefore she flew up to the old mullein stalk. He went back to the spotwhere he had first seen her and hunted all around in the grass, butwithout success. You see, Mrs. Bobolink had been quite as clever infooling 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, thatcall floated over to the dear Old Briar-patch until Peter could stand itno longer. He felt that he just had to go over and pay an early morningcall on one of his very best friends, who at this season of the yeardelights in whistling his own name--Bob White. 

"I suppose, " muttered Peter, "that Bob White has got a nest. I wishhe would show it to me. He's terribly secretive about it. Last year Ihunted for his nest until my feet were sore, but it wasn't the least bitof use. Then one morning I met Mrs. Bob White with fifteen babies outfor a walk. How she could hide a nest with fifteen eggs in it is morethan I can understand. "

Peter left the Old Briar-patch and started off over the Green Meadowstowards the Old Pasture. As he drew near the fence between the GreenMeadows and the Old Pasture he saw Bob White sitting on one of theposts, whistling with all his might. On another post near him satanother bird very near the size of Welcome Robin. He also was tellingall the world of his happiness. It was Carol the Meadow Lark. 

Peter was so intent watching these two friends of his that he took noheed to his footsteps. Suddenly there was a whirr from almost underhis very nose and he stopped short, so startled that he almost squealedright out. In a second he recognized Mrs. Meadow Lark. He watchedher fly over to where Carol was singing. Her stout little wings movedswiftly for a moment or two, then she sailed on without moving them atall. Then they fluttered rapidly again until she was flying fast enoughto once more sail on them outstretched. The white outer feathers of hertail showed clearly and reminded Peter of the tail of Sweetvoice theVesper Sparrow, only of course it was ever so much bigger. 

Peter sat still until Mrs. Meadow Lark had alighted on the fence nearCarol. Then he prepared to hurry on, for he was anxious for a bit ofgossip with these good friends of his. But just before he did this hejust happened to glance down and there, almost at his very feet, hecaught sight of something that made him squeal right out. It was a nestwith four of the prettiest eggs Peter ever had seen. They were whitewith brown spots all over them. Had it not been for the eggs he neverwould have seen that nest, never in the world. It was made of dry, browngrass and was cunningly hidden is a little clump of dead grass whichfell over it so as to almost completely hide it. But the thing thatsurprised Peter most was the clever way in which the approach to it washidden. It was by means of a regular little tunnel of grass. 

"Oh!" cried Peter, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure. "This must bethe nest of Mrs. Meadow Lark. No wonder I have never been able to findit, when I have looked for it. It is just luck and nothing else thatI 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'tanywhere around. "

Peter sat up straight and anxiously looked this way and that way. JimmySkunk was nowhere to be seen and Peter gave a little sigh of relief. Very carefully he walked around that nest and its little tunnel, thenhurried over toward the fence as fast as he could go. 

"It's perfectly beautiful, Carol!" he cried, just as soon as he was nearenough. "And I won't tell a single soul!"

"I hope not. I certainly hope not, " cried Mrs. Meadow Lark in an anxioustone. "I never would have another single easy minute if I thought youwould 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 asingle soul. Mrs. Meadow Lark seemed to feel better. Right away she flewback 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 tothe 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, " hechuckled. "You are thinking that it is funny Mrs. Meadow Lark didn't gostraight hack to our nest when she seemed so anxious about it. I wouldhave you to know that she is too clever to do anything so foolish asthat. She knows well enough that somebody might see her and so find oursecret. She has walked there from the place where you saw her disappearin the grass. That is the way we always do when we go to our nest. Onenever can be too careful these days. "

Then Carol began to pour out his happiness once more, quite as ifnothing had interrupted his song. 

Somehow Peter never before had realized how handsome Carol the MeadowLark was. As he faced Peter, the latter saw a beautiful yellow throatand waistcoat, with a broad black crescent on his breast. There was ayellow line above each eye. His back was of brown with black markings. His sides were whitish, with spats and streaks of black. The outer edgesof his tail were white. Altogether he was really handsome, far handsomerthan one would suspect, seeing him at a distance. 

Having found out Carol's secret, Peter was doubly anxious to find BobWhite's home, so he hurried over to the post where Bob was whistlingwith all his might. "Bob!" cried Peter. "I've just found Carol's nestand 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 toanybody. My nest is one of these. If you find it, all right; but Iwouldn't show it to my very best friend, and I guess I haven't anybetter 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, "Icould find it if I wanted to. I guess it isn't any better hidden thanMrs. Meadow Lark's, and I found that. Some folks aren't as smart as theythink 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 somefolks think themselves smart when the truth is they simply have beenlucky. 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 waspointing right up in the blue, blue sky, and with all his might whistledhis name, "Bob--Bob White! Bob--Bob White!"

As Peter looked at him it came over him that Bob White was the plumpestbird of his acquaintance. He was so plump that his body seemed almostround. The shortness of his tail added to this effect, for Bob has avery short tail. The upper part of his coat was a handsome reddish-brownwith dark streaks and light edgings. His sides and the upper part of hisbreast were of the same handsome reddish-brown, while underneath he waswhitish with little bars of black. His throat was white, and above eacheye 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 eacheye. The top of his head was mixed black and brown. Altogether he was ahandsome little fellow in a modest way. 

Suddenly Bob White stopped whistling and looked down at Peter with atwinkle in his eye. "Why don't you go hunt for that nest, Peter?" saidhe. 

"I'm going, " replied Peter rather shortly, for he knew that Bob knewthat he hadn't the least idea where to look. It might be somewhere onthe Green Meadows or it might be in the Old Pasture; Bob hadn't giventhe least hint. Peter had a feeling that the nest wasn't far away andthat it was on the Green Meadows, so he began to hunt, running aimlesslythis way and that way, all the time feeling very foolish, for of coursehe 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 andtired. He decided to run up in the Old Pasture in the shade of an oldbramble-tangle there. Just the other side of the fence was a path madeby the cows and often used by Farmer Brown's boy and Reddy Fox andothers who visited the Old Pasture. Along this Peter scampered, lipperty-lipperty-lip, on his way to the bramble-tangle. He didn't lookeither to right or left. It didn't occur to him that there would be anyuse at all, for of course no one would build a nest near a path wherepeople passed to and fro every day. 

And so it was that in his happy-go-lucky way Peter scampered right pasta clump of tall weeds close beside the path without the least suspicionthat cleverly hidden in it was the very thing he was looking for. Withlaughter in her eyes, shrewd little Mrs. Bob White, with sixteen whiteeggs under her, watched him pass. She had chosen that very place for hernest because she knew that it was the last place anyone would expect tofind it. The very fact that it seemed the most dangerous place she couldhave 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 oldapple-tree in the far corner of the Old Orchard. You know they havetheir 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 becausethey had discovered that there was just room enough between thosespreading roots for them to pass in and out, and there wasn't room todig the entrance any larger. So they felt quite safe from Reddy Fox; andBowser the Hound, either of whom would have delighted to dig them outbut for those roots. 

Right in front of their doorway was a very nice doorstep of shiningsand where Johnny Chuck delighted to sit when he had a full stomach andnothing else to do. Johnny's nearest neighbors had made their home onlyabout five feet above Johnny's head when he sat up on his doorstep. Theywere Skimmer the Tree Swallow and his trim little wife, and the doorwayof their home was a little round hole in the trunk of that apple-tree, ahole which had been cut some years before by one of the Woodpeckers. 

Johnny and Skimmer were the best of friends. Johnny used to delight inwatching Skimmer dart out from beneath the branches of the trees andwheel and turn and glide, now sometimes high in the blue, blue sky, andagain just skimming the tops of the grass, on wings which seemed neverto tire. But he liked still better the bits of gossip when Skimmer wouldsit in his doorway and chat about his neighbors of the Old Orchard andhis adventures out in the Great World during his long journeys to andfrom the far-away South. 

To Johnny Chuck's way of thinking, there was no one quite so trim andneat appearing as Skimmer with his snowy white breast and blue-greenback and wings. Two things Johnny always used to wonder at, Skimmer'ssmall bill and short legs. Finally he ventured to ask Skimmer aboutthem. 

"Gracious, Johnny!" exclaimed Skimmer. "I wouldn't have a big bill foranything. I wouldn't know what to do with it; it would be in theway. 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'thave to pick them off trees and bushes or from the ground and so I don'tneed 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 neverhave. "

"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 perchingwhile I rest. I don't need long legs for walking or hopping about, soMother Nature has made my legs very short. You see I spend most of mytime 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 Skimmerindignantly. "The idea of calling Sooty a Swallow! The very idea! I'dleave 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 spendmost 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 heis 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 couldpossibly make a Swallow jealous. "

Jenny Wren cocked her tail up in that saucy way of hers and winked atJohnny Chuck. "The way he can fly, " said she softly. 

"The way he can fly!" sputtered Skimmer, "The way he can fly! Why, therenever was a day in his life that he could fly like a Swallow. Thereisn't any one more graceful on the wing than I am, if I do say so. Andthere isn't any one more ungraceful than Sooty. "

Just then there was a shrill chatter overhead and all looked up to seeSooty the Chimney Swift racing through the sky as if having the verybest time in the world. His wings would beat furiously and then he wouldglide very much as you or I would on skates. It was quite true that hewasn't graceful. But he could twist and turn and cut up all sorts ofantics, such as Skimmer never dreamed of doing. 

"He can use first one wing and then the other, while you have to useboth wings at once, " persisted Jenny Wren. "You couldn't, to save yourlife, go straight down into a chimney, and you know it, Skimmer. He cando 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 bitjealous of him, " said Skimmer, and darted away to get beyond the reachof Jenny's sharp tongue. 

"Is it really true that he and Sooty are not related?" asked JohnnyChuck, as they watched Skimmer cutting airy circles high up in the slay. 

Jenny nodded. "It's quite true, Johnny, " said site. "Sooty belongs toanother family altogether. He's a funny fellow. Did you ever in yourlife see such narrow wings? And his tail is hardly worth calling atail. "

Johnny Chuck laughed. "Way up there in the air he looks almost alike atboth ends, " said he. "Is he all black?"

"He isn't black at all, " declared Jenny. "He is sooty-brown, rathergrayish on the throat and breast. Speaking of that tail of his, thefeathers end in little, sharp, stiff points. He uses them in the sameway that Downy the Woodpecker uses his tail feathers when he braceshimself with them on the trunk of a tree. "

"But I've never seen Sooty on the trunk of a tree, " protested JohnnyChuck. "In fact, I've never seen him anywhere but in the air. "

"And you never will, " snapped Jenny. "The only place he ever alights isinside a chimney or inside a hollow tree. There he clings to the sidejust 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 casewhere 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 aregular little basket of twigs and fastens it to the side of thechimney. "

"Are you trying to stuff me with nonsense?" asked Johnny Chuckindignantly. "How can he fasten his nest to the side of a chimney unlessthere's a little shelf to put it on? And if he never alights, how doeshe get the little sticks to make a nest of? I'd just like to know howyou expect me to believe any such story as that. "

Jenny Wren's sharp little eyes snapped. "If you half used your eyes youwouldn'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 youwould have seen him clutch little dead twigs in his claws and snap themoff without stopping. That's the way he gets his little sticks, Mr. Smarty, He fastens them together with a sticky substance he has in hismouth, and he fastens the nest to the side of the chimney in the sameway. 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 hecatches them flying. Now I must get back to my duties at home. "

"Just tell me one more thing, " cried Johnny Chuck hastily. "Hasn't Sootyany near relatives as most birds have?"

"He hasn't any one nearer than some sort of second cousins, Boomer theNighthawk, Whippoorwill, and Hummer the Hummingbird. "

"What?" cried Johnny Chuck, quite as if he couldn't believe he had heardaright. "Did you say Hummer the Hummingbird?" But he got no reply, forJenny 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 believeJenny Wren knows what she's talking about. "

"What is it Jenny Wren has said that you don't believe?" demandedSkimmer the Tree Swallow, as he once more settled himself in hisdoorway. 

"She said that Hummer the Hummingbird is a sort of second cousin toSooty the Chimney Swift, " replied Johnny Chuck. 

"Well, it's so, if you don't believe it, " declared Skimmer. "I don't seethat that is any harder to believe than that you are cousin to StripedChipmunk and Nappy Jack the Gray Squirrel. To look at you no one wouldever think you are a member of the Squirrel family, but you must admitthat you are. "

Johnny Chuck nodded his head thoughtfully. "Yes, " said he, "I am, evenif I don't look it. This is a funny world, isn't it? You can't alwaystell by a person's looks who he may be related to. Now that I've foundout that Sooty isn't related to you and is related to Hummer, I'll neverdare guess again about anybody's relatives. I always supposed Twitterthe Martin to be a relative of yours, but now that I've learned thatSooty isn't, I suspect that Twitter isn't either. "

"Oh, yes, he is, " replied Skimmer promptly. "He's the largest of theSwallow 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 JohnnyChuck. "He never comes down here as you do where a fellow can get a goodlook at him. "

"Yes, " replied Skimmer, "he dresses all in black, but it is a beautifulblue-black, and when the sun shines on his back it seems to be almostpurple. That is why some folks call him the Purple Martin. He is one ofthe most social fellows I know of. I like a home by myself, such as I'vegot here, but Twitter loves company. He likes to live in an apartmenthouse with a lot of his own kind. That is why he always looks for one ofthose houses with a lot of rooms in it, such as Farmer Brown's boy hasput up on the top of that tall pole out in his back yard. He pays forall the trouble Farmer Brown's boy took to put that house up. If thereis anybody who catches more flies and winged insects than Twitter, Idon't know who it is. "

"How about me?" demanded a new voice, as a graceful form skimmedover Johnny Chuck's head, and turning like a flash, came back. It wasForktail the Barn Swallow, the handsomest and one of the most gracefulof all the Swallow family. He passed so close to Johnny that the latterhad a splendid chance to see and admire his glistening steel-blue backand the beautiful chestnut-brown of his forehead and throat with itsnarrow black collar, and the brown to buff color of his under parts. Butthe thing that was most striking about him was his tail, which was sodeeply 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 theMartin is the largest of our family, Forktail is the handsomest. "

"How about my usefulness?" demanded Forktail, as he came skimming pastagain. "Cousin Twitter certainly does catch a lot of flies and insectsbut I'm willing to go against him any day to see who can catch themost. "

With this he darted away. Watching him they saw him alight on the top ofFarmer Brown's barn. "It's funny, " remarked Johnny Chuck, "but as longas I've known Forktail, and I've known him ever since I was big enoughto know anybody, I've never found out how he builds his nest. I've seenhim skimming over the Green Meadows times without number, and often hecomes here to the Old Orchard as he did just now, but I've never seenhim 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 FarmerBrown's barn?"

"No, " replied Skimmer. "He nests in it. That's why he is called the BarnSwallow, and why you never have seen his nest. If you'll just go over toFarmer Brown's barn and look up in the roof, you'll see Forktail's nestthere somewhere. "

"Me go over to Farmer Brown's barn!" exclaimed Johnny Chuck. "Do youthink I'm crazy?"

Skimmer chuckled. "Forktail isn't crazy, " said he, "and he goes in andout of that barn all day long. I must say I wouldn't care to build insuch a place myself, but he seems to like it. There's one thing aboutit, his home is warm and dry and comfortable, no matter what the weatheris. I wouldn't trade with him, though. No, sir, I wouldn't trade withhim for anything. Give me a hollow in a tree well lined with feathers toa nest made of mud and straw, even if it is feather-lined. "

"Do you mean that such a neat-looking, handsome fellow as Forktail usesmud in his nest?" cried Johnny. 

Skimmer bobbed his head. "He does just that, " said he. "He's somethinglike Welcome Robin in this respect. I--"

But Johnny Chuck never knew what Skimmer was going to say next, forSkimmer happened at that instant to glance up. For an instant he satmotionless 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 beensitting on her eggs inside the hollow of the tree, darted out of herdoorway, also shrieking. For a moment Johnny Chuck couldn't imagine whatcould be the trouble. Then a slight rustling drew his eyes to a crotchin the tree a little above the doorway of Skimmer's home. There, partlycoiled around a branch, with head swaying to and fro, eyes glitteringand forked tongue darting out and in, as he tried to look down intoSkimmer's nest, was Mr. Blacksnake. 

It seemed to Johnny as if in a minute every bird in the Old Orchard hadarrived on the scene. Such a shrieking and screaming as there was! Firstone and then another would dart at Mr. Blacksnake, only to lose courageat the last second and turn aside. Poor Skimmer and his little wife werefrantic. They did their utmost to distract Mr. Blacksnake's attention, darting almost into his very face and then away again before he couldstrike. But Mr. Blacksnake knew that they were powerless to hurt him, and he knew that there were eggs in that nest. There is nothing heloves better than eggs unless it is a meal of baby birds. Beyond hissingangrily two or three times he paid no attention to Skimmer or hisfriends, but continued to creep nearer the entrance to that nest. 

At last he reached a position where he could put his head in thedoorway. As he did so, Skimmer and Mrs. Skimmer each gave a little cryof hopelessness and despair. But no sooner had his head disappeared inthe hole in the old apple-tree than Scrapper the Kingbird struck himsavagely. Instantly Mr. Blacksnake withdrew his head, hissing fiercely, and struck savagely at the birds nearest him. Several times the samething happened. No sooner would his head disappear in that hole thanScrapper 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 birdswere screaming as only excited feathered folk can. Johnny Chuck wasquite as excited as his feathered friends, and so intent watching thehated black robber that he had eyes for nothing else. Suddenly he hearda step just behind him. He turned his head and then frantically divedhead first down into his hole. He had looked right up into the eyes ofFarmer Brown's boy!

"Ha, ha!" cried Farmer Brown's boy, "I thought as much!" And with a longswitch he struck Mr. Blacksnake just as the latter had put his head inthat doorway, resolved to get those eggs this time. But when he feltthat switch and heard the voice of Farmer Brown's boy he changed hismind in a flash. He simply let go his hold on that tree and dropped. Theinstant he touched the ground he was off like a shot for the safety ofthe old stone wall, Farmer Brown's boy after him. Farmer Brown's boydidn't intend to kill Mr. Blacksnake, but he did want to give him such afright that he wouldn't visit the Old Orchard again in a hurry, and thishe quite succeeded in doing. 

No sooner had Mr. Blacksnake disappeared than all the birds set up sucha rejoicing that you would have thought they, and not Farmer Brown'sboy, 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 OrchardJohnny Chuck knew that it was quite safe for him to come out. Hewas 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. Ashe poked his head out of his doorway he became aware that something wasstill wrong in the Old Orchard. Into the glad chorus there broke anote of distress and sorrow. Johnny instantly recognized the voicesof Welcome Robin and Mrs. Robin. There is not one among his featheredneighbors 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 partof the Old Orchard where the Robins had built their home. The rejoicingsuddenly gave way to cries of indignation and anger, and Johnny caughtthe words, "Robber! Thief! Wretch!" It appeared that there was just asmuch excitement over there as there had been when Mr. Blacksnake hadbeen discovered trying to rob Skimmer and Mrs. Skimmer. It couldn't beMr. Blacksnake again, because Farmer Brown's boy had chased him in quiteanother direction. 

"What is it now?" asked Johnny of Skimmer, who was still excitedlydiscussing with Mrs. Skimmer their recent fright. 

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out, " replied Skimmer and dartedaway. 

Johnny Chuck waited patiently. The excitement among the birds seemedto increase, and the chattering and angry cries grew louder. Only thevoices of Welcome and Mrs. Robin were not angry. They were mournful, asif Welcome and Mrs. Robin were heartbroken. Presently Skimmer came backto tell Mrs. Skimmer the news. 

"The Robins have lost their eggs!" he cried excitedly. "All four havebeen broken and eaten. Mrs. Robin left them to come over here to helpdrive away Mr. Blacksnake, and while she was here some one ate thoseeggs. Nobody knows who it could have been, because all the birds of theOld Orchard were over here at that time. It might leave been Chattererthe Red Squirrel, or it might have been Sammy Jay, or it might have beenCreaker the Grackle, or it might have been Blacky the Crow. Whoever itwas just took that chance to sneak over there and rob that nest whenthere 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 wasnothing too bad to say about Blacky. And such dreadful things as thosebirds promised to do to Blacky the Crow if ever they should catch him inthe Old Orchard. 

"Caw, caw, caw!" shouted Blacky from the distance, and his voice soundedvery much as if he thought he had done something very smart. It wasquite 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 aroundWelcome and Mrs. Robin trying to comfort them, that it was some timebefore their indignation meeting broke up and they returned to their ownhomes and duties. Almost at once there was another cry of distress. Mr. And Mrs. Chebec had been robbed of their eggs! While they had beenattending the indignation meeting at the home of the Robins, a thief hadtaken the chance to steal their eggs and get away. 

Of course right away all the birds hurried over to sympathize with theChebecs and to repeat against the unknown thief all the threats theyhad made against Blacky the Crow. They knew it couldn't have been Blackythis time because they had heard Blacky cawing over on the edge of theGreen Forest. In the midst of the excited discussion as to who the thiefwas, Weaver the Orchard Oriole spied a blue and white feather on theground just below Chebec's nest. 

"It was Sammy Jay! There is no doubt about it, it was Sammy Jay!" hecried. 

At the sight of that telltale feather all the birds knew that Weaver wasright, and led by Scrapper the Kingbird they began a noisy search of theOld Orchard for the sly robber. But Sammy wasn't to be found, and theysoon gave up the search, none daring to stay longer away from hisown home lest something should happen there. Welcome and Mrs. Robincontinued to cry mournfully, but little Mr. And Mrs. Chebec bore theirtrouble almost silently. 

"There is one thing about it, " said Mr. Chebec to his sorrowful littlewife, "that egg of Sally Sly's went with the rest, and we won't have toraise that bothersome orphan. "

"That's true, " said she. "There is no use crying over what can't behelped. 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 leavethe eggs unwatched for a minute. "

Meanwhile Jenny Wren's tongue was fairly flying as she chattered toPeter Rabbit, who had come up in the midst of the excitement and ofcourse had to know all about it. 

"Blacky the Crow has a heart as black as his coat, and his cousin SammyJay isn't much better, " declared Jenny. "They belong to a family ofrobbers. "

"Wait a minute, " cried Peter. "Do you mean to say that Blacky the Crowand Sammy Jay are cousins?"

"For goodness' sake, Peter!" exclaimed Jenny, "do you mean to say thatyou don't know that? Of course they're cousins. They don't look muchalike, but they belong to the same family. I would expect almostanything bad of any one as black as Blacky the Crow. But how sucha handsome fellow as Sammy Jay can do such dreadful things I don'tunderstand. 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'llhave to say this for him, that whenever he discovers any danger healways gives us warning. He has saved the lives of a good many of usfeathered folks in this way. If it wasn't for this habit of stealing oureggs I wouldn't have a word to say against him, but at that, he isn'tas bad as Blacky the Crow. They say Blacky does some good by destroyingwhite 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 hedoes 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 herhouse in her usual abrupt fashion. Peter hung around for a while butfinding no one who would take the time to talk to him he suddenlydecided to go over to the Green Forest to look for some of his friendsthere. He had gone but a little way in the Green Forest when he caught aglimpse of a blue form stealing away through the trees. He knew it inan instant, for there is no one with such a coat but Sammy Jay. Peterglanced up in the tree from which Sammy had flown and there he saw anest in a crotch halfway up. "I wonder, " thought Peter, "if Sammy wasstealing eggs there, or if that is his own nest. " Then he startedafter Sammy as fast as he could go, lipperty-lipperty-lip. As he ran hehappened to look back and was just in time to see Mrs. Jay slip onto the nest. Then Peter knew that he had discovered Sammy's home. Hechuckled as he ran. 

"I've found out your secret, Sammy Jay!" cried Peter when at last hecaught 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 tellingany one. My, what a handsome fellow you are, Sammy. "

Sammy looked pleased. He is a little bit vain, is Sammy Jay. There is nodenying 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 littleblack bars and edged with white. His wings are blue with white and blackbars. His throat and breast are a soft grayish-white, and he wears acollar of black. On his head he wears a pointed cap, a very convenientcap, 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, " hereplied promptly. "If people will leave their eggs unguarded they mustexpect to lose them. How did you know I took those eggs?"

"Never mind, Sammy; never mind. A little bird told me, " retorted Petermischievously. 

Sammy opened his mouth for a sharp reply, but instead he uttered a cryof warning. "Run, Peter! Run! Here comes Reddy Fox!" he cried. 

Peter dived headlong under a great pile of brush. There he was quitesafe. While he waited for Reddy Fox to go away he thought about SammyJay. "It's funny, " he mused, "how so much good and so much bad can bemixed together. Sammy Jay stole Chebec's eggs, and then he saved mylife. 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 littlewhile 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 comeout from under that pile of brush where he had hidden at Sammy Jay'swarning. After making some terrible threats just to try to frightenPeter, he trotted away to look for some Mice. Peter didn't mind thosethreats at all. He was used to them. He knew that he was safe where hewas, and all he had to do was to stay there until Reddy should be so faraway that it would be safe to come out. 

Just to pass away the time Peter took a little nap. When he awoke he satfor a few minutes trying to make up his mind where to go and what to donext. From 'way over in the direction of the Old Pasture the voice ofBlacky the Crow reached him. Peter pricked up his ears, then chuckled. 

"Reddy Fox has gone back to the Old Pasture and Blacky has discoveredhim there, " he thought happily. You see, he understood what Blacky wassaying. To you or me Blacky would have been saying simply, "Caw! Caw!"But to all the little people of the Green Forest and Green Meadowswithin hearing he was shouting, "Fox! Fox!"

"I wonder, " thought Peter, "where Blacky is nesting this year. Lastyear his nest was in a tall pine-tree not far from the edge of the GreenForest. I believe I'll run over there and see if he has a new nest nearthe 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 himthat that nest didn't look so old, after all. In fact, it looked as ifit had recently been fixed up quite like new. He was wondering aboutthis and trying to guess what it meant, when Blacky himself alightedclose 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 anda black bill seized the thing which Blacky had brought. Then the headdisappeared and Blacky silently flew away. 

"As sure as I live, " thought Peter, "that was Mrs. Blacky, and Blackybrought her some food so that she would not have to leave those eggs shemust have up there. He may be the black-hearted robber every one says heis, but he certainly is a good husband. He's a better husband than someothers I know, of whom nothing but good is said. It just goes to showthat there is some good in the very worst folks. Blacky is a sly oldrascal. Usually he is as noisy as any one I know, but he came and wentwithout making a sound. Now I think of it, I haven't once heard hisvoice near here this spring. I guess if Farmer Brown's boy could findthis nest he would get even with Blacky for pulling up his corn. I knowa 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 acertain place farther in the Green Forest which was seldom visitedby any one. It was a place Peter usually kept away from. It was purecuriosity which led him to go there now. The discovery that Blacky theCrow was using his old nest had reminded Peter that Redtail the Hawkuses his old nest year after year, and he wanted to find out if Redtailhad come back to it this year. 

Halfway over to that lonesome place in the Green Forest a trim littlebird 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 andcried, "Teacher, teacher, teacher, teacher, teacher!" each time a littlelouder than before. It was Teacher the Oven Bird. 

In his delight at seeing this old friend, Peter quite forgot Redtail theHawk. "Oh, Teacher!" cried Peter. "I'm so glad to see you again!"

Teacher stopped singing and looked down at Peter. "If you are so gladwhy haven't you been over to see me before?" he demanded. "I've beenhere for some time. "

Peter looked a little foolish. "The truth is, Teacher, " said he veryhumbly, "I have been visiting the Old Orchard so much and learning somany things that this is the first chance I have had to come 'way overhere in the Green Forest. You see, I have been learning a lot of thingsabout you feathered folks, things I hadn't even guessed. There issomething I wish you'd tell me, Teacher; will you?"

"That depends on what it is, " replied Teacher, eyeing Peter a littlesuspiciously. 

"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 peoplethink it is like an oven and so they call us Oven Birds. I think that isa silly name myself, quite as silly as Golden Crowned Thrush, which iswhat some people call me. I'm not a Thrush. I'm not even related to theThrush family. I'm a Warbler, a Wood Warbler. "

"I suppose, " said Peter, looking at Teacher thoughtfully, "they've givenyou that name because you are dressed something like the Thrushes. Thatolive-green coat, and white waistcoat all streaked and spotted withblack, certainly does remind me of the Thrush family. If you were not somuch smaller than any of the Thrushes I should almost think you wereone myself. Why, you are not very much bigger than Chippy the ChippingSparrow, only you've got longer legs. I suppose that's because you spendso much time on the ground. I think that just Teacher is the best namefor you. No one who has once heard you could ever mistake you for anyone 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 thatmuch, " said he. "No, it isn't in a tree. It is on the ground and, if Ido 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 shortin sheer astonishment. Just in front of him was a tiny mound of deadleaves, and a few feet beyond Mrs. Teacher was fluttering about on theground 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 infront 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 youcertainly would have stepped on it. "

Very carefully Peter walked around the little bunch of leaves and peeredunder them from the other side. There, sure enough, was a nest beneaththem, and in it four speckled eggs. "I won't tell a soul, Teacher. Ipromise you I won't tell a soul, " declared Peter very earnestly. "Iunderstand now why you are called Oven Bird, but I still like the nameTeacher best. "

Feeling that Mr. And Mrs. Teacher would feel easier in their minds if heleft them, Peter said good-by and started on for the lonesome placein the Green Forest where he knew the old nest of Redtail the Hawk hadbeen. As he drew near the place he kept sharp watch through the treetopsfor 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'sold nest. He saw right away that it was bigger than it had been when hesaw it last. Suddenly there was a chorus of hungry cries and Peter sawMrs. Redtail approaching with a Mouse in her claws. From where he sat hecould 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 awayfrom here the better. "

Just then Redtail himself dropped down out of the blue, blue sky andalighted on a tree close at hand. Peter decided that the best thing hecould do was to sit perfectly still where he was. He had a splendid viewof Redtail, and he couldn't help but admire this big member of the Hawkfamily. The upper parts of his coat were a dark grayish-brown mixed withtouches of chestnut color. The upper part of his breast was streakedwith grayish-brown and buff, the lower part having but few streaks. Below this were black spots and bars ending in white. But it was thetail which Peter noticed most of all. It was a rich reddish-brown with anarrow black band near its end and a white tip. Peter understood at oncewhy this big Hawk is called Redtail. 

It was not until Mr. And Mrs. Redtail had gone in quest of more food fortheir hungry youngsters that Peter dared steal away. As soon as hefelt 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 thatlonesome place in the Green Forest was far behind. 

Yet if the truth be known, Peter had less cause to worry than would havebeen the case had it been some other member of the Hawk family insteadof Redtail. And while Redtail and his wife do sometimes catch some oftheir 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 thatlonesome part of the Green Forest where was the home of Redtail theHawk, he intended to go straight back to the dear Old Briar-patch. Buthe was not halfway there when from another direction in the Green Forestthere came a sound that caused him to stop short and quite forget allabout home. It was a sound very like distant thunder. It began slowly atfirst and then went faster and faster. Boom--Boom--Boom--Boom-Boom-BoomBoo-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 criedjoyously. "I had forgotten all about him. I certainly must go over andpay him a call and find out where Mrs. Grouse is. My, how Strutter candrum!"

Peter promptly headed towards that distant thunder. As he drew nearerto it, it sounded louder and louder. Presently Peter stopped to try tolocate exactly the place where that sound, which now was more than everlike 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 methat that is Strutter's thunder log. "

Very, very carefully Peter stole forward, making no sound at all. Atlast he reached a place where he could peep out and see that big, mossy, hollow log. Sure enough, there was Strutter the Ruffed Grouse. WhenPeter first saw him he was crouched on one end of the log, a fluffy ballof reddish-brown, black and gray feathers. He was resting. Suddenly hestraightened up to his full height, raised his tail and spread it untilit was like an open fan above his back. The outer edge was gray, thencame 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 wingswere dropped until the tips nearly touched the log. His full breastrounded out and was buff color with black markings. He was of about thesize 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 ofthat mossy log. He was a perfect picture of pride as he strutted verymuch like Tom Gobbler the big Turkey cock. When he reached the end ofthe log he suddenly dropped his tail, stretched himself to his fullheight 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 butwhen they came down they didn't quite strike his sides. It was thosefast moving wings that made the thunder. It was so loud that Peteralmost wanted to stop his ears. When it ended Strutter settled down torest and once more appeared like a ball of fluffy feathers. His ruff waslaid flat. 

Peter watched him thunder several times and then ventured to showhimself. "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. Grousesays, " he replied. "I don't know of any better thunderer if I do say itmyself. "

"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 onthe ground. "

"It's on the ground, Peter, but as to where it is I am not saying aword. It may or it may not be near here. Do you want to hear me thunderagain?"

Of course Peter said he did, and that was sufficient excuse for Strutterto show off. Peter stayed a while longer to gossip, but finding Struttermore interested in thundering than in talking, he once more started forhome. 

"I really would like to know where that nest is, " said he to himselfas he scampered along. "I suppose Mrs. Grouse has hidden it so cleverlythat it is quite useless to look for it. "

On his way he passed a certain big tree. All around the ground wascarpeted with brown, dead leaves. There were no bushes or young treesthere. Peter never once thought of looking for a nest. It was the lastplace in the world he would expect to find one. When he was well pastthe big tree there was a soft chuckle and from among the brown leavesright at the foot of that big tree a head with a pair of the brightesteyes was raised a little. Those eyes twinkled as they watched Peter outof sight. 

"He didn't see me at all, " chuckled Mrs. Grouse, as she settled downonce more. "That is what comes of having a cloak so like the colorof these nice brown leaves. He isn't the first one who has passed mewithout seeing me at all. It is better than trying to hide a nest, and Icertainly 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, Icertainly will have a family to be proud of. "

Meanwhile Peter hurried on in his usual happy-go-lucky fashion untilhe came to the edge of the Green Forest. Out on the Green Meadows justbeyond he caught sight of a black form walking about in a stately wayand now and then picking up something. It reminded him of Blacky theCrow, but he knew right away that it wasn't Blacky, because it was somuch smaller, being not more than half as big. 

"It's Creaker the Grackle. He was one of the first to arrive this springand 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 hebelongs to the Blackbird family. He looks so much like Blacky the Crowthat I suppose this is why they call him Crow Blackbird. "

Just then Creaker turned in such a way that the sun fell full on hishead and back. "Why! Why-ee!" exclaimed Peter, rubbing his eyes withastonishment. "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 trulybeautiful. His head and neck, his throat and upper breast, were ashining blue-black, while his back was a rich, shining brassy-green. His wings and tail were much like his head and neck. As Peter watchedit seemed as if the colors were constantly changing. This changing ofcolors is called iridescence. One other thing Peter noticed and thiswas that Creaker's eyes were yellow. Just at the moment Peter couldn'tremember 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, butthere are mighty few birds I would change coats with. "

"Is--is--Mrs. Creaker dressed as handsomely as you are?" asked Peterrather timidly. 

Creaker shook his head. "Not quite, " said he. "She likes plain blackbetter. Some of the feathers on her back shine like mine, but she saysthat she has no time to show off in the sun and to take care of finefeathers. "

"Where is she now?" asked Peter. 

"Over home, " replied Creaker, pulling a white grub out of the roots ofthe grass. "We've got a nest over there in one of those pine-trees onthe edge of the Green Forest and I expect any day now we will have fourhungry babies to feed. I shall have to get busy then. You know I amone of those who believe that every father should do his full share intaking care of his family. "

"I'm glad to hear you say it, " declared Peter, nodding his head withapproval quite as if he was himself the best of fathers, which he isn'tat 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 Iwant to, " retorted Creaker. 

"Is it true that you steal the eggs of other birds?" Peter blurted thequestion out rather hurriedly. 

Creaker's yellow eyes began to twinkle. "That is a very personalquestion, " said he. "I won't go so far as to say I steal eggs, but I'vefound that eggs are very good for my constitution and if I find a nestwith nobody around I sometimes help myself to the eggs. You see theowner might not come back and then those eggs would spoil, and thatwould be a pity. "

"That's no excuse at all, " declared Peter. "I believe you're no betterthan Sammy Jay and Blacky the Crow. "

Creaker chuckled, but he did not seem to be at all offended. Just thenhe heard Mrs. Creaker calling him and with a hasty farewell he spreadhis wings and headed for the Green Forest. Once in the air he seemedjust plain black. Peter watched him out of sight and then once moreheaded for the dear Old Briar-patch. 

CHAPTER XX. A Fisherman Robbed. 

Just out of curiosity, and because he possesses what is called thewandering foot, which means that he delights to roam about, Peter Rabbithad 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 theBig River, so that Peter felt quite safe there. He liked to sit gazingout over the water and wonder where it all came from and where it wasgoing and what, kept it moving. 

He was doing this very thing on this particular morning when he happenedto glance up in the blue, blue sky. There he saw a broad-winged birdsailing in wide, graceful circles. Instantly Peter crouched a littlelower in his hiding-place, for he knew this for a member of the Hawkfamily and Peter has learned by experience that the only way to keepperfectly safe when one of these hook-clawed, hook-billed birds is aboutis to keep out of sight. 

So now he crouched very close to the ground and kept his eyes fixed onthe big bird sailing so gracefully high up in the blue, blue sky overthe Big River. Suddenly the stranger paused in his flight and for amoment appeared to remain in one place, his great wings heating rapidlyto hold him there. Then those wings were closed and with a rush he shotdown straight for the water, disappearing with a great splash. InstantlyPeter 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, " hecried happily. 

Out of the water, his great wings flapping, rose Plunger. Peter lookedeagerly to see if he had caught a fish, but there was nothing inPlunger's great, curved claws. Either that fish had been too deep orhad seen Plunger and darted away just in the nick of time. Peter had asplendid view of Plunger. He was just a little bigger than Redtail theHawk. Above he was dark brown, his head and neck marked with white. Histail was grayish, crossed by several narrow dark bands and tipped withwhite. His under parts were white with some light brown spots on hisbreast. Peter could see clearly the great, curved claws which arePlunger's fishhooks. 

Up, up, up he rose, going round and round in a spiral. When he was wellup in the blue, blue sky, he began to sail again in wide circles as whenPeter had first seen him. It wasn't long before he again paused andthen shot down towards the water. This time he abruptly spread his greatwings just before reaching the water so that he no more than wet hisfeet. Once more a fish had escaped him. But Plunger seemed not in theleast discouraged. He is a true fisherman and every true fishermanpossesses patience. Up again he spiraled until he was so high that Peterwondered how he could possibly see a fish so far below. You see, Peterdidn't know that it is easier to see down into the water from high aboveit than from close to it. Then, too, there are no more wonderful eyesthan those possessed by the members of the Hawk family. And Plunger theOsprey 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 instanthe reappeared, shaking the water from him in a silver spray and flappingheavily. 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. Heheaded towards a tall tree on the other bank of the Big River, there toenjoy his breakfast. He was not more than halfway there when Peter wasstartled by a harsh scream. 

He looked up to see a great bird, with wonderful broad wings, swingingin short circles about Plunger. His body and wings were dark brown, andhis head was snowy white, as was his tail. His great hooked beak wasyellow 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 BaldHead, though his head isn't bald at all. 

Peter's eyes looked as if they would pop out of his head, for it wasquite plain to him that King Eagle was after Plunger, and Peter didn'tunderstand this at all. You see, he didn't understand what King Eaglewas screaming. But Plunger did. King Eagle was screaming, "Drop thatfish! Drop that fish!"

Plunger didn't intend to drop that fish if he could help himself. It washis fish. Hadn't he caught it himself? He didn't intend to give it up toany robber of the air, even though that robber was King Eagle himself, unless he was actually forced to. So Plunger began to dodge and twistand turn in the air, all the time mounting higher and higher, and allthe time screaming harshly, "Robber! Thief! I won't drop this fish! It'smine! It's mine!"

Now the fish was heavy, so of course Plunger couldn't fly as easily andswiftly as if he were carrying nothing. Up, up he went, but all the timeKing Eagle went up with him, circling round him, screaming harshly, andthreatening to strike him with those great cruel, curved claws. Peterwatched them, so excited that he fairly danced. "O, I do hope Plungerwill get away from that big robber, " cried Peter. "He may be king of theair, 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 tohold himself still there, just as Plunger had done before he had shotdown into the water after that fish. There was a still harsher note inKing Eagle's scream. If Peter had been near enough he would have seena 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 wouldstand for no more fooling. With a cry of bitter disappointment and angerhe 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. Justbefore the fish reached the water King Eagle struck it with his greatclaws, checked himself by spreading his broad wings and tail, and thenin triumph flew over to the very tree towards which Plunger had startedwhen 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 badmatter and that there were more fish where that one had come from, forhe once more began to sail in circles over the Big River, searchingfor a fish near the surface. Peter watched him until he saw him catchanother 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 Plungerenjoy his catch in peace. 

Late that afternoon Peter visited the Old Orchard, for he just had totell 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. Henever hesitates to rob those smaller than himself, just as you saw himrob Plunger. He is very fond of fish, and once in a while he catches onefor himself when Plunger isn't around to be robbed, but he isn't a verygood fisherman, and he isn't the least bit fussy about his fish. Plungereats only fresh fish which he catches himself, but King Eagle will eatdead fish which he finds on the shore. He doesn't seem to care how longthey 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 youto run across the Green Meadows in sight of King Eagle. I am told he isvery 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 fearhim, for he is especially fond of fat Duck. Even Honker the Goose is notsafe from him. King he may he, but he rules only through fear. He isa white-headed old robber. The best thing I can say of him is that hetakes 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 thatshe is bigger than he is, and that the young during the first year afterleaving their nest, are bigger than their parents and do not have whiteheads? By the time they get white heads they are the same size as theirparents. "

"That's queer and its hard to believe, " said Peter. 

"It is queer, but it is true just the same, whether you believe it ornot, " 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 uphis mind whether to stay at home, which was the wise and proper thingto do, or to go call on some of the friends he had not yet visited. Asharp, harsh rattle caused him to look up to see a bird about a thirdlarger than Welcome Robin, and with a head out of all proportion tothe size of his body. He was flying straight towards the Smiling Pool, rattling harshly as he flew. The mere sound of his voice settled thematter for Peter. "It's Rattles the Kingfisher, " he cried. "I think I'llrun over to the Smiling Pool and pay him my respects. "

So Peter started for the Smiling Pool as fast as his long legs couldtake him, lipperty-lipperty-lip. He had lost sight of Rattles theKingfisher, and when he reached the back of the Smiling Pool he was indoubt which way to turn. It was very early in the morning and there wasnot so much as a ripple on the surface of the Smiling Pool. As Peter satthere trying to make up his mind which way to go, he saw coming from thedirection of the Big River a great, broad-winged bird, flying slowly. Heseemed to have no neck at all, but carried straight out behind him weretwo 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 cameLonglegs. When he was right opposite Peter he suddenly dropped his longlegs, folded his great wings, and alighted right on the edge of theSmiling Pool across from where Peter was sitting. If he seemed to haveno neck at all when he was flying, now he seemed to be all neck as hestretched it to its full length. The fact is, his neck was so long thatwhen he was flying he carried it folded back on his shoulders. Neverbefore had Peter had such an opportunity to see Longlegs. 

He stood quite four feet high. The top of his head and throat werewhite. From the base of his great bill and over his eye was a blackstripe which ended in two long, slender, black feathers hanging fromthe back of his head. His bill was longer than his head, stout andsharp like a spear and yellow in color. His long neck was a lightbrownish-gray. His back and wings were of a bluish color. The bend ofeach wing and the feathered parts of his legs were a rusty-red. Theremainder of his legs and his feet were black. Hanging down over hisbreast were beautiful long pearly-gray feathers quite unlike any Peterhad seen on any of his other feathered friends. In spite of thelength of his legs and the length of his neck he was both graceful andhandsome. 

"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 stillwith his neck stretched to its full height until he was sure that nodanger was near, Longlegs waded into the water a few steps, folded hisneck back on his shoulders until his long bill seemed to rest on hisbreast, 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 Longlegshad gone to sleep. His own patience was reaching an end and he was justabout to go on in search of Rattles the Kingfisher when like a flash thedagger-like bill of Longlegs shot out and down into the water. When hewithdrew it Peter saw that Longlegs had caught a little fish which he atonce proceeded to swallow head-first. Peter almost laughed right out ashe watched the funny efforts of Longlegs to gulp that fish down his longthroat. Then Longlegs resumed his old position as motionless as before. 

It was no trouble now for Peter to sit still, for he was too interestedin watching this lone fisherman to think of leaving. It wasn't longbefore Longlegs made another catch and this time it was a fat Pollywog. Peter thought of how he had watched Plunger the Osprey fishing in theBig River and the difference in the ways of the two fishermen. 

"Plunger hunts for his fish while Longlegs waits for his fish to come tohim, " thought Peter. "I wonder if Longlegs never goes hunting. "

As if in answer to Peter's thought Longlegs seemed to conclude thatno more fish were coming his way. He stretched himself up to his fullheight, looked sharply this way and that way to make sure that all wassafe, then began to walk along the edge of the Smiling Pool. He put eachfoot down slowly and carefully so as to make no noise. He had gone buta few steps when that great bill darted down like a flash, and Petersaw that he had caught a careless young Frog. A few steps farther on hecaught another Pollywog. Then coming to a spot that suited him, he oncemore waded in and began to watch for fish. 

Peter was suddenly reminded of Rattles the Kingfisher, whom he had quiteforgotten. From the Big Hickory-tree on the bank, Rattles flew out overthe 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, blackbill was a little fish. He flew back to a branch of the Big Hickory-treethat hung out over the water and thumped the fish against the branchuntil it was dead. Then he turned it about so he could swallow ithead-first. It was a big fish for the size of the fisherman and he had adreadful time getting it down. But at last it was down, and Rattles sethimself to watch for another. The sun shone full on him, and Peter gavea little gasp of surprise. 

"I never knew before how handsome Rattles is, " thought Peter. He wasabout the size of Yellow Wing the Flicker, but his head made him lookbigger than he really was. You see, the feathers on top of his headstood up in a crest, as if they had been brushed the wrong way. Hishead, back, wings and tail were a bluish-gray. His throat was white andhe 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 waswhite. There were tiny spots of white on his wings, and his tail wasspotted with white. His bill was black and, like that of Longlegs, waslong, and stout, and sharp. It looked almost too big for his size. 

Presently Rattles flew out and plunged into the Smiling Pool again, thistime, very near to where Longlegs was patiently waiting. He caught afish, for it is not often that Rattles misses. It was smaller than thefirst one Peter had seen him catch, and this time as soon as he got backto the Big Hickory-tree, he swallowed it without thumping it against thebranch. As for Longlegs, he looked thoroughly put out. For a moment ortwo he stood glaring angrily up at Rattles. You see, when Rattles hadplunged so close to Longlegs he had frightened all the fish. FinallyLonglegs seemed to make up his mind that there was room for but onefisherman at a time at the Smiling Pool. Spreading his great wings, folding his long neck back on his shoulders, and dragging his long legsout behind him, he flew heavily away in the direction of the Big River. 

Rattles remained long enough to catch another little fish, and thenwith a harsh rattle flew off down the Laughing Brook. "I would know himanywhere by that rattle, " thought Peter. "There isn't any one who canmake a noise anything like it. I wonder where he has gone to now. Hemust have a nest, but I haven't the least idea what kind of a nest hebuilds. 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 GrandfatherFrog. "What kind of a nest does Rattles the Kingfisher build?" repeatedGrandfather Frog. "Chug-arum, Peter Rabbit! I thought everybody knewthat 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 thanever. Then seeing how perplexed and puzzled Peter looked, he went on toexplain. "He usually picks out a high gravelly bank close to the waterand digs a hole straight in just a little way from the top. He makesit just big enough for himself and Mrs. Rattles to go in and out ofcomfortably, and he digs it straight in for several feet. I'm told thatat the end of it he makes a sort of bedroom, because he usually has agood-sized family. "

"Do you mean to say that he digs it himself?" asked Peter. 

Grandfather Frog nodded. "If he doesn't, Mrs. Kingfisher does, " hereplied. "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'venever seen the inside of their home myself, but I'm told that theirbedroom is lined with fish bones. Perhaps you may call that a nest, butI 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 politeenough 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 hadsaid that Rattles the Kingfisher likes to make his home in. If Peter hadstopped to do a little thinking, he would have known that he was simplywasting time. You see, the Laughing Brook was flowing through the GreenMeadows, so of course there would be no high, gravelly bank, because theGreen Meadows are low. But Peter Rabbit, in his usual heedless way, didno thinking. He had seen Rattles fly down the Laughing Brook, and so hehad just taken it for granted that the home of Rattles must be somewheredown there. 

At last Peter reached the place where the Laughing Brook entered theBig River. Of course he hadn't found the home of Rattles. But now he didfind something that for the time being made him quite forget Rattles andhis home. Just before it reached the Big River the Laughing Brook woundthrough a swamp in which were many tall trees and a great number ofyoung trees. A great many big ferns grew there and were splendid to hideunder. Peter always did like that swamp. 

He had stopped to rest in a clump of ferns when he was startled byseeing a great bird alight in a tree just a little way from him. Hisfirst thought was that it was a Hawk, so you can imagine how surprisedand pleased he was to discover that it was Mrs. Longlegs. SomehowPeter had always thought of Longlegs the Blue Heron as never alightinganywhere except on the ground. But here was Mrs. Longlegs in a tree. Having nothing to fear, Peter crept out from his hiding place that hemight see better. 

In the tree in which Mrs. Longlegs was perched and just below her hesaw 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. Longlegssettled herself on it right while Peter was watching. It didn't seem bigenough or strong enough to hold her, but it did. 

"As I live, " thought Peter, "I've found the nest of Longlegs! He andMrs. Longlegs may be good fishermen but they certainly are mighty poornest-builders. I don't see how under the sun Mrs. Longlegs ever gets onand off that nest without kicking the eggs out. "

Peter sat around for a while, but as he didn't care to let his presencebe known, and as there was no one to talk to, he presently made up hismind that being so near the Big River he would go over there to see ifPlunger the Osprey was fishing again on this day. 

When he reached the Big River, Plunger was not in sight. Peter wasdisappointed. He had just about made up his mind to return the way hehad come, when from beyond the swamp, farther up the Big River, he heardthe harsh, rattling cry of Rattles the Kingfisher. It reminded him ofwhat 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 squattedfor 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 eagercuriosity made him quite forget that he was out in the open where it wasanything 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 wasin sight, Peter scampered along the edge of the water till he was rightat the foot of that sandy bank. Then he squatted down and looked eagerlyfor 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 smallholes. He knew right away that Rattles couldn't possibly get in or outof a single one of those holes. In fact, those holes in the bank wereno bigger than the holes Downy the Woodpecker makes in trees. Petercouldn't imagine who or what had made them. 

As Peter sat there staring and wondering a trim little head appearedat the entrance to one of those holes. It was a trim little head with avery small bill and a snowy white throat. At first glance Peter thoughtit was his old friend, Skimmer the Tree Swallow, and he was just on thepoint of asking what under the sun Skimmer was doing in such a place asthat, when with a lively twitter of greeting the owner of that littlehole in the bank flew out and circled over Peter's head. It wasn'tSkimmer at all. It was Banker the Bank Swallow, own cousin to Skimmerthe Tree Swallow. Peter recognized him the instant he got a full view ofhim. 

In the first place Banker was a little smaller than Skimmer. Then too, he was not nearly so handsome. His back, instead of being thatbeautiful rich steel-blue which makes Skimmer so handsome, was a sobergrayish-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. Histail was more nearly square across the end than is the case with othermembers of the Swallow family. 

"Wha--wha--what were you doing there?" stuttered Peter, his eyes poppingright 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 overPeter's head. 

"I don't know any reason why you shouldn't, " confessed Peter. "Butsomehow it is hard for me to think of birds as living in holes in theground. I've only just found out that Rattles the Kingfisher does. ButI 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 didher share. 'Way in at the end of it we've got the nicest little nest ofstraw 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 andcircling this way and that, and going in and out of the little holes inthe bank. 

"I am like my big cousin, Twitter the Purple Martin, fond of society, "explained Banker. "We Bank Swallows like our homes close together. Yousaid that you had just learned that Rattles the Kingfisher has his homein 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 instantclose to the top. Peter scampered over there and looked up. There, justa few inches below the top, was another hole, a very much larger holethan those he had just left. As he was staring up at it a head with along sharp bill and a crest which looked as if all the feathers on thetop of his head had been brushed the wrong way, was thrust out. It wasRattles himself. He didn't seem at all glad to see Peter. In fact, hecame out and darted at Peter angrily. Peter didn't wait to feel thatsharp dagger-like bill. He took to his heels. He had seen what hestarted out to find and he was quite content to go home. 

Peter took a short cut across the Green Meadows. It took him past acertain 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 whosebody was about the size of Sammy Jay's but whose longer wings and longertail made him look bigger. One glance was enough to tell Peter thatthis was a member of the Hawk family, the smallest of the family. It wasKilly the Sparrow Hawk. He is too small for Peter to fear him, so nowPeter was possessed of nothing more than a very lively curiosity, andsat 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 thegrass. He was up again in an instant, and Peter could see that he had afat grasshopper in his claws. Back to the top of the tall, dead treehe flew and there ate the grasshopper. When it was finished he sat upstraight and still, so still that he seemed a part of the tree itself. With those wonderful eyes of his he was watching for another grasshopperor for a careless Meadow Mouse. 

Very trim and handsome was Killy. His back was reddish-brown crossed bybars of black. His tail was reddish-brown with a band of black nearits end and a white tip. His wings were slaty-blue with little barsof black, the longest feathers leaving white bars. Underneath he was abeautiful buff, spotted with black. His head was bluish with a reddishpatch right on top. Before and behind each ear was a black mark. Hisrather short bill, like the bills of all the rest of his family, washooked. 

As Peter sat there admiring Killy, for he was handsome enough for anyone to admire, he noticed for the first time a hole high up in the trunkof the tree, such a hole as Yellow Wing the Flicker might have made andprobably did make. Right away Peter remembered what Jenny Wren hadtold 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 ofPeter, where he caught another fat grasshopper. "Is that your home upthere?" 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 getenough 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. "Ieat spiders and worms and all sorts of insects big enough to give afellow a decent bite. But for real good eating give me a fat MeadowMouse. I don't object to a Sparrow or some other small bird now andthen, especially when I have a family of hungry youngsters to feed. Buttake it the season through, I live mostly on grasshoppers and insectsand 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 hekept thinking what a pity it was that Killy ever killed his featheredneighbors. As soon as he conveniently could he politely bade Killygood-by and hurried home to the dear Old Briar-patch, there to thinkover how queer it seemed that a member of the hawk family should nestin a hollow tree and a member of the Swallow family should dig a hole inthe ground. 

CHAPTER XXIII. Some Big Mouths. 

Boom! Peter Rabbit jumped as if he had been shot. It was all so suddenand unexpected that Peter jumped before he had time to think. Thenhe looked foolish. He felt foolish. He had been scared when there wasnothing to be afraid of. 

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, " tittered Jenny Wren. "What are you jumping for, PeterRabbit? That was only Boomer the Nighthawk. "

"I know it just as well as you do, Jenny Wren, " retorted Peter rathercrossly. "You know being suddenly startled is apt to make people feelcross. 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 theevening 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 theafternoon nearly every day. On cloudy days I often see him early in theafternoon. He's a queer fellow, is Boomer. Such a mouth as he has! Isuppose it is very handy to have a big mouth if one must catch all one'sfood 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 nevernoticed that Boomer has a particularly big mouth. "

"Well he has, whether you've noticed it or not, " retorted Jenny Wrensharply. "He's got a little bit of a bill, but a great big mouth. Idon't see what folks call him a Hawk for when he isn't a Hawk at all. Heis no more of a Hawk than I am, and goodness knows I'm not even relatedto the Hawk family. "

"I believe you told me the other day that Boomer is related to Sooty theChimney Swift, " said Peter. 

Jenny nodded vigorously. "So I did, Peter, " she replied. "I'm glad youhave 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 scaresome one else. "

Peter tipped his head 'way back. High up in the blue, blue sky wasa bird which at that distance looked something like a much overgrownSwallow. He was circling and darting about this way and that. Even whilePeter watched he half closed his wings and shot down with such speedthat Peter actually held his breath. It looked very, very much as ifBoomer would dash himself to pieces. Just before he reached the earth hesuddenly opened those wings and turned upward. At the instant he turned, the booming sound which had so startled Peter was heard. It was made bythe rushing of the wind through the larger feathers of his wings as hechecked himself. 

In this dive Boomer had come near enough for Peter to get a good lookat him. His coat seemed to be a mixture of brown and gray, very softlooking. His wings were brown with a patch of white on each. There was awhite 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 anest the Nighthawks build, Jenny?"

"They don't build any. " Jenny Wren was a picture of scorn as she saidthis. "They don't built any nests at all. It can't be because they arelazy for I don't know of any birds that hunt harder for their livingthan do Boomer and Mrs. Boomer. "

"But if there isn't any nest where does Mrs. Boomer lay her eggs?" criedPeter. "I think you must be mistaken, Jenny Wren. They must have somekind of a nest. Of course they must. "

"Didn't I say they don't have a nest?" sputtered Jenny. "Mrs. Nighthawkdoesn't lay but two eggs, anyway. Perhaps she thinks it isn't worthwhile building a nest for just two eggs. Anyway, she lays them on theground or on a flat rock and lets it go at that. She isn't quite as badas Sally Sly the Cowbird, for she does sit on those eggs and she is agood mother. But just think of those Nighthawk children never having anyhome! It doesn't seem to me right and it never will. Did you ever seeBoomer in a tree?"

Peter shook his head. "I've seen him on the ground, " said he, "but Inever 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 justwanted to see if you had noticed anything peculiar about the way he sitsin a tree. But as long as you haven't seen him in a tree I may as welltell you that he doesn't sit as most birds do. He sits lengthwise of abranch. He never sits across it as the rest of us do. "

"How funny!" exclaimed Peter. "I suppose that is Boomer making thatqueer noise we hear. "

"Yes, " replied Jenny. "He certainly does like to use his voice. Theytell me that some folks call him Bullbat, though why they should callhim 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 whenhe begins to shout 'Whip poor Will' close at hand. That voice of hisgoes through me so that I want to stop both ears. There isn't a personof 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 iscousin 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 dressedvery much like Boomer, save that there are no white patches on hiswings. "

"I've noticed that, " said Peter. "That is one way I can tell themapart. "

"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'swhiskers. "

"Whiskers!" cried Peter. "Who ever heard of a bird having whiskers? Youcan stuff a lot down me, Jenny Wren, but there are some things I cannotswallow, 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 aswell as you, Peter Rabbit. Anyway, Whip-poor-will has them and that isall there is to it. It doesn't make any difference whether you believein them or not, they are there. And I guess Whip-poor-will finds themjust as useful as you find yours, and a little more so. I know thismuch, that if I had to catch all my food in the air I'd want whiskersand lots of them so that the insects would get tangled in them. Isuppose that's what Whip-poor-will's are for. "

"I beg your pardon, Jenny Wren, " said Peter very humbly. "Of courseWhip-poor-will has whiskers if you say so. By the way, do theWhip-poor-wills do any better in the matter of a nest than theNighthawks?"

"Not a bit, " replied Jenny Wren. "Mrs. Whip-poor-will lays her eggsright on the ground, but usually in the Green Forest where it is darkand lonesome. Like Mrs. Nighthawk, she lays only two. It's the same waywith 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 knowChuck-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 knowChuck-will's-widow. He looks a whole lot like the other two we've beentalking about, but has even a bigger mouth. What's more, he has whiskerswith branches. Now you needn't look as if you doubted that, PeterRabbit; it's so. In his habits he's just like his cousins, no nest andonly two eggs. I never saw people so afraid to raise a real family. Ifthe Wrens didn't do better than that, I don't know what would become ofus. " 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 Rabbitmore than another, it is the Warbler family. 

"So many of them come together and they move about so constantly thata fellow doesn't have a chance to look at one long enough to recognizehim, " complained Peter to Jenny Wren one morning when the Old Orchardwas 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 totwig, darting out into the air and all the time keeping up an endlesschattering mingled with little snatches of song. Peter would no soonerfix his eyes on one than another entirely different in appearance wouldtake its place. Occasionally he would see one whom he recognized, onewho would stay for the nesting season. But the majority of them wouldstop only for a day or two, being bound farther north to make theirsummer homes. 

Apparently, Jenny Wren did not look upon them altogether with favor. Perhaps Jenny was a little bit envious, for compared with the brightcolors 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 allkinds of small insects that it may be Jenny was a little fearful theywould not leave enough for her to get her own meals easily. 

"I don't see what they have to stop here for, " scolded Jenny. "Theycould just as well go somewhere else where they would not be taking thefood 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 stillan instant. It positively makes me tired just to watch them. "

Peter couldn't help but chuckle, for Jenny Wren herself is a veryrestless and uneasy person. As for Peter, he was thoroughly enjoyingthis visit of the Warblers, despite the fact that he was having no endof trouble trying to tell who was who. Suddenly one darted down andsnapped up a fly almost under Peter's very nose and was back up in atree 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 hereminds me of, Jenny Wren?"

"Who?" demanded Jenny. 

"Goldy the Oriole, " replied Peter promptly. "Only of course he's everand ever so much smaller. He's all black and orange-red and whitesomething 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 ofhis tail and a black stripe down the middle of it. The rest was brightorange-red. On each wing was a band of orange-red and his sides were thesame 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 theair, darting, diving, whirling, going through all sorts of antics as hecaught tiny insects too small for Peter to see. Peter began to wonderhow he kept still long enough to sleep at night. And his voice was quiteas busy as his wings. "Zee, zee, zee, zee!" he would cry. But this wasonly one of many notes. At times he would sing a beautiful little songand then again it would seem as if he were trying to imitate othermembers of the Warbler family. 

"I do hope Zee Zee is going to stay here, " said Peter. "I just love towatch him. "

"He'll stay fast enough, " retorted Jenny Wren. "I don't imagine he'llstay in the Old Orchard and I hope he won't, because if he does it willmake it just that much harder for me to catch enough to feed my bigfamily. Probably he and Mrs. Redstart will make their home on the edgeof the Green Forest. They like it better over there, for which I amthankful. There's Mrs Redstart now. Just notice that where Zee Zee isbright orange-y red she is yellow, and instead of a black head she hasa gray head and her back is olive-green with a grayish tinge. She isn'tnearly as handsome as Zee Zee, but then, that's not to be expected. Shelets 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. ButZee Zee is a good father, I'll say that much for him. He'll do his sharein feeding their babies. "

Just then Peter caught sight of a bird all in yellow. He was about thesame size as Zee Zee and was flitting about among the bushes alongthe old stone wall. "There's Sunshine!" cried Peter, and without beingpolite enough to even bid Jenny Wren farewell, he scampered over towhere he could see the one he called Sunshine flitting about from bushto bush. 

"Oh, Sunshine!" he cried, as he came within speaking distance, "I'm everand ever so glad to see you back. I do hope you and Mrs. Sunshine aregoing to make your home somewhere near here where I can see you everyday. "

"Hello, Peter! I am just as glad to see you as you are to see me, " criedSunshine the Yellow Warbler. "Yes, indeed, we certainly intend to stayhere if we can find just the right place for our nest. It is lovely tobe back here again. We've journeyed so far that we don't want to goa bit farther if we can help it. Have you seen Sally Sly the Cowbirdaround here this spring?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, " said he, "I have. "

"I'm sorry to hear it, " declared Sunshine. "She made us a lot of troublelast 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, "shefound our nest just after we had finished it and before Mrs. Sunshinehad 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 yournest. "

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! Butit didn't do her a bit of good, not a bit. That egg never hatched. Wefooled her and that's what we'll do again if she repeats that trick thisyear. "

"What did you do, throw that egg out?" asked Peter. 

"No, " replied Sunshine. "Our nest was too deep for us to get that eggout. We just made a second bottom in our nest right over that egg andbuilt the sides of the nest a little higher. Then we took good care thatshe 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, ifI do say it. If there's anything Mrs. Sunshine and I pride ourselves onit is our nest. There are no babies who have a softer, cozier home thanours. "

"What do you make your nest of?" asked Peter. 

"Fine grasses and soft fibers from plants, some hair when we can findit, and a few feathers. But we always use a lot of that nice softfern-cotton. There is nothing softer or nicer that I know of. "

All the time Peter had been admiring Sunshine and thinking howwonderfully well he was named. At first glance he seemed to be allyellow, as if somehow he had managed to catch and hold the sunshine inhis feathers. There wasn't a white feather on him. When he came veryclose Peter could see that on his breast and underneath were littlestreaks 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 brightyellow as was Sunshine, having an olive-green tint on her back. Butunderneath she was almost clear yellow without the reddish-brownstreaks. 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 fortheir nest. Of course Peter begged to be told where it was. But the twolittle folks in yellow snapped their bright eyes at him and told himthat that was their secret and they didn't propose to tell a livingsoul. 

Perhaps if Peter had not been so curious and eager to get acquaintedwith other members of the Warbler family he would have stayed and donea little spying. As it was, he promised himself to come back to look forthat nest after it had been built; then he scurried back among thetrees of the Old Orchard to look for other friends among the busylittle Warblers who were making the Old Orchard such a lively place thatmorning. 

"There's one thing about it, " cried Peter. "Any one can tell Zee Zee theRedstart by his black and flame colored suit. There is no other likeit. And any one can tell Sunshine the Yellow Warbler because there isn'tanybody else who seems to be all yellow. My, what a lively, lovely lotthese Warblers are!"

CHAPTER XXV. Three Cousins Quite Unlike. 

As Peter Rabbit passed one of the apple-trees in the Old Orchard, athin, wiry voice hailed him. "It's a wonder you wouldn't at least sayyou're glad to see me back, Peter Rabbit, " said the voice. 

Peter, who had been hopping along rather fast, stopped abruptly tolook up. Running along a limb just over his head, now on top and nowunderneath, was a little bird with a black and white striped coat and awhite waistcoat. Just as Peter looked it flew down to near the base ofthe tree and began to run straight up the trunk, picking things fromthe bark here and there as it ran. Its way of going up that treetrunk reminded Peter of one of his winter friends, Seep Seep the BrownCreeper. 

"It strikes me that this is a mighty poor welcome for one who has justcome all the way from South America, " said the little black and whitebird with twinkling eyes. 

"Oh, Creeper, I didn't know you were here!" cried Peter. "You know I'mglad to see you. I'm just as glad as glad can be. You are such a quietfellow 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 arereally and truly a Warbler. "

"Why so?" demanded Creeper the Black and White Warbler, for that isthe name by which he is commonly known. "Why so? Don't I look like aWarbler?"

"Ye-es, " said Peter slowly. "You do look like one but you don't act likeone. "

"In what way don't I act like one I should like to know?" demandedCreeper. 

"Well, " replied Peter, "all the rest of the Warblers are the uneasiestfolks I know of. They can't seem to keep still a minute. They areeverlastingly flitting about this way and that way and the other way. Iactually 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 bitWarbler-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 andin the air, but I've discovered an easier way. I've found out that thereare lots of little worms and insects and eggs on the trunks and biglimbs of the trees and that I can get the best kind of a living therewithout flitting about everlastingly. I don't have to share them withanybody but the Woodpeckers, Nuthatches, and Tommy Tit the Chickadee. "

"That reminds me, " said Peter. "Those folks you have mentioned nest inholes in trees; do you?"

"I should say not, " retorted Creeper. "I don't know of any Warbler whodoes. I build on the ground, if you want to know. I nest in the GreenForest. Sometimes I make my nest in a little hollow at the base of atree; sometimes I put it under a stump or rock or tuck it in under theroots of a tree that has been blown over. But there, Peter Rabbit, I'vetalked enough. I'm glad you're glad that I'm back, and I'm glad I'm backtoo. "

Creeper continued on up the trunk of the tree, picking here and pickingthere. Just then Peter caught sight of another friend whom he couldalways 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, noone was to be seen. Peter sat down, uncertain which way to go. SuddenlyMummer popped out right in front of Peter, seemingly from nowhere atall. His throat and breast were bright yellow and his back wings andtail a soft olive-green. But the most remarkable thing about him was themask of black right across his cheeks, eyes and forehead. At least itlooked like a mask, although it really wasn't one. 

"Hello, Mummer!" cried Peter. 

"Hello yourself, Peter Rabbit!" retorted Mummer and then disappeared assuddenly as he had appeared. 

Peter blinked and looked in vain all about. 

"Looking for some one?" asked Mummer, suddenly popping into view wherePeter least expected him. 

"For goodness' sake, can't you sit still a minute?" cried Peter. "How doyou expect a fellow can talk to you when he can't keep his eyes on youmore than two seconds at a time. "

"Who asked you to talk to me?" responded Mummer, and popped out ofsight. Two seconds later he was back again and his bright little eyesfairly shone with mischief. Then before Peter could say a word Mummerburst into a pleasant little song. He was so full of happiness thatPeter couldn't be cross with him. 

"There's one thing I like about you, Mummer, " declared Peter, "and thatis that I never get you mixed up with anybody else. I should know youjust as far as I could see you because of that black mask across yourface. Has Mrs. Yellow-throat arrived yet?"

"Certainly, " replied another voice, and Mrs. Yellow-throat flittedacross right in front of Peter. For just a second she sat still, longenough for him to have one good look at her. She was dressed very likeMummer save that she did not wear the black mask. 

Peter was just about to say something polite and pleasant when from justback of him there sounded a loud, very emphatic, "Chut! Chut!"Peter whirled about to find another old friend. It was Chut-Chut theYellow-breasted Chat, the largest of the Warbler family. He was somuch bigger than Mummer that it was hard to believe that they were owncousins. But Peter knew they were, and he also knew that he could nevermistake Chut-Chut for any other member of the family because of his bigsize, which was that of some of the members of the Sparrow family. Hisback was a dark olive-green, but his throat and breast were a beautifulbright yellow. There was a broad white line above each eye and a littlewhite line underneath. Below his breast he was all white. 

To have seen him you would have thought that he suspected Peter might dohim some harm. He acted that way. If Peter hadn't known him so well hemight have been offended. But Peter knew that there is no one among hisfeathered friends more cautious than Chut-Chut the Chat. He never takesanything 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-Chutcame out for a little gossip. But like all the rest of the Warblers hecouldn't keep still. Right in the middle of the story of his travelsfrom 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 waggingup and down in the funniest way, and there continued his song as heslowly dropped down into the thicket again. It was a beautiful song andPeter hastened to tell him so. 

Chut-Chut was pleased. He showed it by giving a little concert all byhimself. It seemed to Peter that he never had heard such a variety ofwhistles and calls and songs as came from that yellow throat. When itwas over Chut-Chut abruptly said good-by and disappeared. Peter couldhear his sharp "Chut! Chut!" farther along in the thicket as he huntedfor worms among the bushes. 

"I wonder, " said Peter, speaking out loud without thinking, "where hebuilds his nest. I wonder if he builds it on the ground, the way Creeperdoes. "

"No, " declared Mummer, who all the time had been darting about close athand. "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 orbriars. Sometimes if I can find a good tangle of briars I build my nestin it several feet from the ground, but as a rule I would rather haveit on the ground under a bush or in a clump of weeds. Have you seen mycousin 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 hefound members of the Warbler family. Being anxious to know all of themhe did his best to remember how each one looked, but there were so manyand some of them were dressed so nearly alike that after awhile Peterbecame so mixed that he gave it up as a bad job. Then, as suddenly asthey had appeared, the Warblers disappeared. That is to say, most ofthem disappeared. You see they had only stopped for a visit, being ontheir way farther north. 

In his interest in the affairs of others of his feathered friends, Peterhad quite forgotten the Warblers. Then one day when he was in the GreenForest where the spruce-trees grow, he stopped to rest. This particularpart of the Green Forest was low and damp, and on many of the trees graymoss grew, hanging down from the branches and making the trees look mucholder than they really were. Peter was staring at a hanging branch ofthis moss without thinking anything about it when suddenly a littlebird alighted on it and disappeared in it. At least, that is what Peterthought. But it was all so unexpected that he couldn't be sure his eyeshadn't fooled him. 

Of course, right away he became very much interested in that bunch ofmoss. He stared at it very hard. At first it looked no different froma dozen other bunches of moss, but presently he noticed that it wasa little thicker than other bunches, as if somehow it had been woventogether. He hopped off to one side so he could see better. It lookedas if in one side of that bunch of moss was a little round hole. Peterblinked and looked very hard indeed to make sure. A minute later therewas no doubt at all, for a little feathered head was poked out and asecond later a dainty mite of a bird flew out and alighted very close toPeter. It was one of the smaller members of the Warbler family. 

"Sprite!" cried Peter joyously. "I missed you when your cousins passedthrough here, and I thought you had gone to the Far North with the restof them. "

"Well, I haven't, and what's more I'm not going to go on to the FarNorth. I'm going to stay right here, " declared Sprite the ParulaWarbler, for that is who it was. 

As Peter looked at Sprite he couldn't help thinking that there wasn'ta daintier member in the whole Warbler family. His coat was of a softbluish color with a yellowish patch in the very center of his back. Across each wing were two bars of white. His throat was yellow. Justbeneath it was a little band of bluish-black. His breast was yellow andhis 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 yourcousins?"

"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 theGreen Forest better, so I came straight here. "

"What were you doing just now in that bunch of moss?" demanded Peter, asudden 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 taildisappearing 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 glimpsetold him all he wanted to know. 

"You've got a nest in there!" Peter exclaimed excitedly. "There's no usedenying it, Sprite; you've got a nest in there! What a perfectly lovelyplace for a nest. "

Sprite saw at once that it would be quite useless to try to deceivePeter. "Yes, " said he, "Mrs. Sprite and I have a nest in there. We'vejust finished it. I think myself it is rather nice. We always build inmoss like this. All we have to do is to find a nice thick bunch and thenweave 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 isseldom 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 youthink. My cousin, Fidget the Myrtle Warbler, is nesting not very faraway, 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 aretheir homes?" he asked eagerly. "Tell me where they are and I'll gostraight over and call. "

"Peter, " said Sprite severely, "you ought to know better than to ask meto tell you anything of this kind. You have been around enough toknow that there is no secret so precious as the secret of a home. Youhappened to find mine, and I guess I can trust you not to tell anybodywhere 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 secretsof his cousins, but he couldn't think of going home without at leastlooking for those homes. He tried to look very innocent as he asked ifthey also were in hanging bunches of moss. But Sprite was too smart tobe fooled and Peter learned nothing at all. 

For some time Peter hopped around this way and that way, thinking everybunch of moss he saw must surely contain a nest. But though he lookedand looked and looked, not another little round hole did he find, andthere were so many bunches of moss that finally his neck ached fromtipping his head back so much. Now Peter hasn't much patience as hemight have, so after a while he gave up the search and started on hisway home. On higher ground, just above the low swampy place where grewthe moss-covered trees, he came to a lot of young hemlock-trees. Thesehad no moss on them. Having given up his search Peter was thinking ofother things when there flitted across in front of him a black and graybird with a yellow cap, yellow sides, and a yellow patch at the root ofhis tail. Those yellow patches were all Peter needed to see to recognizeFidget the Myrtle Warbler, one of the two friends he had been so longlooking 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 youwould have found me before. What can I do for you?" All the time Fidgetwas 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 youthink 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 fromhis and I've looked at bunches of moss until I've got a crick in theback of my neck. "

"Bunches of moss!" exclaimed Fidget. "What under the sun do you think Ihave to do with bunches of moss?"

"Why--why--I just thought you probably had your nest in one, the same asyour cousin Sprite. "

Fidget laughed right out. "I'm afraid you would have a worse crick inthe back of your neck than you've got now before ever you found my nestin a bunch of moss, " said he. "Moss may suit my cousin Sprite, but itdoesn't suit me at all. Besides, I don't like those dark places wherethe moss grows on the trees. I build my nest of twigs and grass andweed-stalks and I line it with hair and rootlets and feathers. SometimesI bind it together with spider silk, and if you really want to know, Ilike 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 Warblerdropped 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 eyewas a white stripe and his cheeks were black. His throat was clearyellow, just below which was a black band. From this black streaks randown 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 littlesmaller than Fidget the Myrtle Warbler and quite as restless. 

Peter fairly itched to ask Weechi where his nest was, but by this timehe 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 CousinSprite may like to build in that hanging moss down there, it wouldn'tsuit me at all. "

"Nor me either, " declared Weechi promptly. "I prefer to build a realnest just as you do. By the way, Fidget, I stopped to look at your nestthis morning. I find we build a good deal alike and we like the samesort of a place to put it. I suppose you know that I am a rather nearneighbor of yours?"

"Of course I know it, " replied Fidget. "In fact I watched you start yournest. 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 somepeople. 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 theproper way of building them they quite forgot Peter Rabbit. Peter sataround for a while listening, but being more interested in seeing thosenests than hearing about them, he finally stole away to look for them. 

He looked and looked, but there were so many young hemlock-trees andthey looked so much alike that finally Peter lost patience and gave itup 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 ofGlory the Cardinal, sometimes called Redbird. He had come up to the OldOrchard for his usual morning visit and just as he hopped over the oldstone wall he heard a beautiful clear, loud whistle which drew his eyesto the top of an apple-tree. Peter stopped short with a little gaspof sheer astonishment and delight. Then he rubbed his eyes and lookedagain. He couldn't quite believe that he saw what he thought he saw. Hehadn't supposed that any one, even among the feathered folks, could bequite so beautiful. 

The stranger was dressed all in red, excepting a little black around thebase of his bill. Even his bill was red. He wore a beautiful red crestwhich made him still more distinguished looking, and how he could sing!Peter had noticed that quite often the most beautifully dressed birdshave the poorest songs. But this stranger's song was as beautiful as hiscoat, 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 JennyWren. "Who is it, Jenny? Who is that beautiful stranger with such alovely song?" cried Peter, as soon as he caught sight of Jenny. 

"It's Glory the Cardinal, " replied Jenny Wren promptly. "Isn't he theloveliest thing you've ever seen? I do hope he is going to stay here. AsI said before, I don't often envy any one's fine clothes, but when I seeGlory I'm sometimes tempted to be envious. If I were Mrs. Cardinal I'mafraid 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. Herthroat was a grayish-black. Her breast was a dull buff with a fainttinge of red. Her wings and tail were tinged with dull red. Altogethershe was very soberly dressed, but a trim, neat looking little person. But if she wasn't handsomely dressed she could sing. In fact she wasalmost as good a singer as her handsome husband. 

"I've noticed, " said Peter, "that people with fine clothes spend most oftheir time thinking about them and are of very little use when it comesto real work in life. "

"Well, you needn't think that of Glory, " declared Jenny in her vigorousway. "He's just as fine as he is handsome. He's a model husband. If theymake their home around here you'll find him doing his full share in thecare of their babies. Sometimes they raise two families. When they dothat, Glory takes charge of the first lot of youngsters as soon as theyare able to leave the nest so that Mrs. Cardinal has nothing to worryabout while she is sitting on the second lot of eggs. He fusses overthem as if they were the only children in the world. Everybody lovesGlory. Excuse me, Peter, I'm going over to find out if they are reallygoing 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 theycan find a place to suit them for a nest they're going to stay. I toldthem that it is the very best place in the world. They like an evergreentree to build in, and I think they've got their eyes on those evergreensup near Farmer Brown's house. My, they will add a lot to the quality ofthis neighborhood. "

Mr. And Mrs. Cardinal whistled and sang as if their hearts were burstingwith joy, and Peter sat around listening as if he had nothing elsein the world to do. Probably he would have sat there the rest of themorning had he not caught sight of an old friend of whom he is veryfond, Kitty the Catbird. In contrast with Glory, Kitty seemed a regularlittle 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 thebase of his tail was a patch of chestnut color. He was a little smallerthan Welcome Robin. There was no danger of mistaking him for anybodyelse, for there is no one dressed at all like him. 

Peter forgot all about Glory in his pleasure at discovering the returnedKitty and hurried over to welcome him. Kitty had disappeared among thebushes along the old stone wall, but Peter had no trouble in findinghim by the queer cries he was uttering, which were very like the meowof Black Pussy the Cat. They were very harsh and unpleasant and Peterunderstood perfectly why their maker is called the Catbird. He didnot hurry in among the bushes at once but waited expectantly. In a fewminutes the harsh cries ceased and then there came from the very sameplace a song which seemed to be made up of parts of the songs of all theother birds of the Old Orchard. It was not loud, but it was charming. Itcontained the clear whistle of Glory, and there was even the tinkle ofLittle Friend the Song Sparrow. The notes of other friends were in thatsong, and with them were notes of southern birds whose songs Kitty hadlearned while spending the winter in the South. Then there were notesall 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 thatKitty 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 andmischief, and delights to pretend. 

When Peter found him, he was sitting with all his feathers puffed outuntil he looked almost like a ball with a head and tail. He lookedpositively sleepy. Then as he caught sight of Peter he drew thosefeathers 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 hedropped 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 madehimself look fairly disreputable. But all the time his eyes weretwinkling and snapping, and Peter knew that these changes in appearancewere made out of pure fun and mischief. 

"I've been wondering if you were coming hack, " cried Peter. "I don'tknow 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 upsome 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 songsexcepting Mocker the Mockingbird. "

At the mention of Mocker a little cloud crossed Kitty's face for just aninstant. "There's a fellow I really envy, " said he. "I'm pretty good atimitating others, but Mocker is better. I'm hoping that, if I practiceenough, some day I can be as good. I saw a lot of him in the South andhe certainly is clever. "

"Huh! You don't need to envy him, " retorted Peter. "You are someimitator yourself. How about those new notes you got when you were inthe South?"

Kitty's face cleared, his throat swelled and he began to sing. It was aregular medley. It didn't seem as if so many notes could come from onethroat. 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 thinkwe shall build in these bushes here somewhere. I'm glad Farmer Brown hassense enough to let them grow. They are just the kind of a place I likefor a nest. They are near enough to Farmer Brown's garden, and the OldOrchard is right here. That's just the kind of a combination that suitsme. "

Peter looked somewhat uncertain. "Why do you want to be near FarmerBrown's garden?" he asked. 

"Because that is where I will get a good part of my living, " Kittyresponded promptly. "He ought to be glad to have me about. Once in awhile I take a little fruit, but I pay for it ten times over by thenumber of bugs and worms I get in his garden and the Old Orchard. Ipride myself on being useful. There's nothing like being useful in thisworld, 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 thetops of the trees of the Old Orchard. 

Instantly Jenny Wren popped her head out of her doorway. She cocked herhead on one side to listen, then looked down at Peter, and her sharplittle 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 newand worth while. "

Just then there were two or three rather sharp, squeaky notes from thetop of one of the trees. "There!" cried Peter. "There! Didn't you hearthat, Jenny Wren?"

"For goodness' sake, Peter Rabbit, you don't mean to say you don'tknow whose voice that is, " she cried. "That's Rosebreast. He and Mrs. Rosebreast have been here for quite a little while. I didn't supposethere was any one who didn't know those sharp, squeaky voices. Theyrather get on my nerves. What anybody wants to squeak like that for whenthey 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 toscold like that for when they can sing as Mr. Wren can, is too much forme, " retorted Peter. "But you haven't told me who Rosebreast is. "

"The Grosbeak, of course, stupid, " sputtered Jenny. "If you don't knowRosebreast the Grosbeak, Peter Rabbit, you certainly must have beenblind and deaf ever since you were born. Listen to that! Just listen tothat song!"

Peter listened. There were many songs, for it was a very beautifulmorning and all the singers of the Old Orchard were pouring out the joythat was within them. One song was a little louder and clearer than theothers because it came from a tree very close at hand, the very treefrom which those squeaky notes had come just a few minutes before. Peter suspected that that must be the song Jenny Wren meant. He lookedpuzzled. He was puzzled. "Do you mean Welcome Robin's song?" he askedrather sheepishly, for he had a feeling that he would be the victim ofJenny Wren's sharp tongue. 

"No, I don't mean Welcome Robin's song, " snapped Jenny. "What good area pair of long ears if they can't tell one song from another? That songmay sound something like Welcome Robin's, but if your ears were goodfor anything at all you'd know right away that that isn't Welcome Robinsinging. That's a better song than Welcome Robin's. Welcome Robin's songis one of good cheer, but this one is of pure happiness. I wouldn't havea pair of ears like yours for anything in the world, Peter Rabbit. "

Peter laughed right out as he tried to picture to himself Jenny Wrenwith a pair of long ears like his. "What are you laughing at?" demandedJenny crossly. "Don't you dare laugh at me! If there is any one thing Ican't stand it is being laughed at. "

"I wasn't laughing at you, " replied Peter very meekly. "I was justlaughing, at the thought of how funny you would look with a pair of longears like mine. Now you speak of it, Jenny, that song IS quite differentfrom 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. Hishead, throat and back were black. His wings were black with patches ofwhite on them. But it was his breast that made Peter catch his breathwith a little gasp of admiration, for that breast was a beautifulrose-red. The rest of him underneath was white. It was Rosebreast theGrosbeak. 

"Isn't he lovely!"' cried Peter, and added in the next breath, "Who isthat with him?"

"Mrs. Grosbeak, of course. Who else would it be?" sputtered Jenny rathercrossly, for she was still a little put out because she had been laughedat. 

"I would never have guessed it, " said Peter. "She doesn't look the leastbit 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 alittle buff here and there and with dark streaks on her breast. Overeach eye was a whitish line. Altogether she looked more as if shemight be a big member of the Sparrow family than the wife of handsomeRosebreast. While Rosebreast sang, Mrs. Grosbeak was very busily pickingbuds and blossoms from the tree. 

"What is she doing that for?" inquired Peter. 

"For the same reason that you bite off sweet clover blossoms andleaves, " 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 anybodyof my acquaintance, " retorted Jenny Wren. "Of course they don't live onbuds and blossoms. If they did they would soon starve to death, for budsand blossoms don't last long. They eat a few just for variety, but theylive mostly on bugs and insects. You ask Farmer Brown's boy who helpshim 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 thewhole they are about as useful around a garden as any one I know. Nowrun along, Peter Rabbit, and don't bother me any more. "

Seeing Farmer Brown's boy coming through the Old Orchard Peter decidedthat it was high time for him to depart. So he scampered for the GreenForest, lipperty-lipperty-lip. Just within the edge of the Green Foresthe caught sight of something which for the time being put all thought ofFarmer Brown's boy out of his head. Fluttering on the ground was a birdthan whom not even Glory the Cardinal was more beautiful. It was aboutthe size of Redwing the Blackbird. Wings and tail were pure black andall the rest was a beautiful scarlet. It was Redcoat the Tanager. Atfirst Peter had eyes only for the wonderful beauty of Redcoat. Neverbefore had he seen Redcoat so close at hand. Then quite suddenly it cameover Peter that something was wrong with Redcoat, and he hurried forwardto see what the trouble might be. 

Redcoat heard the rustle of Peter's feet among the dry leaves and atonce began to flap and flutter in an effort to fly away, but he couldnot get off the ground. "What is it, Redcoat? Has something happened toyou? 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, andhe stopped fluttering and simply lay panting. 

"Oh, Peter, " he gasped, "you don't know how glad I am that it is onlyyou. I've had a terrible accident, and I don't know what I am to do. Ican't fly, and if I have to stay on the ground some enemy will be sureto 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 himamong the trees I was heedless for a moment and did not see just where Iwas going. I struck a sharp-pointed dead twig and drove it right throughmy right wing. "

Redcoat held up his right wing and sure enough there was a littlestick projecting from both sides close up to the shoulder. The wing wasbleeding 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 isthe thought of what MAY happen to me. "

Meanwhile Mrs. Tanager was flying about in the tree tops near athand and calling anxiously. She was dressed almost wholly in lightolive-green and greenish-yellow. She looked no more like beautifulRedcoat than did Mrs. Grosbeak like Rosebreast. 

"Can't you fly up just a little way so as to get off the ground?" shecried anxiously. "Isn't it dreadful, Peter Rabbit, to have such anaccident? We've just got our nest half built, and I don't know what Ishall do if anything happens to Redcoat. Oh, dear, here comes somebody!Hide, Redcoat! Hide!" Mrs. Tanager flew off a short distance to one sideand began to cry as if in the greatest distress. Peter knew instantlythat 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 nothingunder which he could crawl, and there was no hiding that wonderful redcoat. Peter heard the sound of heavy footsteps, and looking back, sawthat Farmer Brown's boy was coming. "Don't be afraid, Redcoat, " hewhispered. "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 distanceand sat up to watch what would happen. 

Of coarse Farmer Brown's boy saw Redcoat. No one with any eyes at allcould have helped seeing him, because of that wonderful scarlet coat. Hesaw, 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 understoodinstantly that something was wrong with one wing, and running forward, he caught Redcoat. 

"You poor little thing. You poor, beautiful little creature, " saidFarmer Brown's boy softly as he saw the cruel twig sticking throughRedcoats' shoulder. "We'll have to get that out right away, " continuedFarmer Brown's boy, stroking Redcoat ever so gently. 

Somehow at that gentle touch Redcoat lost much of his fear, and a littlehope 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 onthe upper side of the wing. Then, doing his best to be careful and tohurt as little as possible, he worked the other part of the twig outfrom the under side. Carefully he examined the wing to see if any boneswere broken. None were, and after holding Redcoat a few minutes hecarefully set him up in a tree and withdrew a short distance. Redcoathopped from branch to branch until he was halfway up the tree. Thenhe 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 andcoaxed 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 spreadhis 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 GreenForest. 

"I knew Farmer Brown's boy would help him, and I'm so glad he foundhim, " 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 therebecause Jenny Wren had told him so. He would have guessed it anyway, because Redeye spent so much time in that tree during the nestingseason. No matter what hour of the day Peter visited the Old Orchard heheard Redeye singing over in the maple-tree. Peter used to think that ifsong is an expression of happiness, Redeye must be the happiest of allbirds. 

He was a little fellow about the size of one of the larger Warblers andquite as modestly dressed as any of Peter's acquaintances. The crownof his head was gray with a little blackish border on either side. Overeach eye was a white line. Underneath he was white. For the rest he wasdressed in light olive-green. The first time he came down near enoughfor Peter to see him well Peter understood at once why he is calledRedeye. His eyes were red. Yes, sir, his eyes were red and this factalone was enough to distinguish him from any other members of hisfamily. 

But it wasn't often that Redeye came down so near the ground that Petercould see his eyes. He preferred to spend most of his time in the treetops, and Peter only got glimpses of him now and then. But if he didn'tsee him often it was less often that he failed to hear him. "I don'tsee when Redeye finds time to eat, " declared Peter as he listened to theseemingly unending song in the maple-tree. 

"Redeye believes in singing while he works, " said Jenny Wren. "For mypart I should think he'd wear his throat out. When other birds sing theydon't do anything else, but Redeye sings all the time he is huntinghis meals and only stops long enough to swallow a worm or a bug when hefinds it. Just as soon as it is down he begins to sing again while hehunts for another. I must say for the Redeyes that they are mighty goodnest 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 beforeFarmer Brown's folks are awake, " said he, "so I haven't had much chanceto look for it. "

"You probably couldn't see it, anyway, " declared Jenny Wren. "They haveplaced it rather high up from the ground and those leaves are so thickthat they hide it. It's a regular little basket fastened in a fork nearthe end of a branch and it is woven almost as nicely as is the nest ofGoldy the Oriole. How anybody has the patience to weave a nest like thatis 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 apiece of paper in his nest. What for, I can't imagine. He's as fussyabout having a scrap of paper as Cresty the Flycatcher is about having apiece of Snakeskin. I had just a peep into that nest a few days ago andunless I am greatly mistaken Sally Sly the Cowbird has managed to imposeon 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 VireoPeter once more visited the Old Orchard. No sooner did he come in sightthan Jenny Wren's tongue began to fly. "What did I tell you, PeterRabbit? 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 ideawhat Jenny Wren was talking about. 

"Sally Sly DID lay an egg in Redeye's nest, and now it has hatched andI don't know whatever is to become of Redeye's own children. It'sperfectly scandalous! That's what it is, perfectly scandalous!" criedJenny, and hopped about and jerked her tail and worked herself into asmall brown fury. 

"The Redeyes are working themselves to feathers and bone feeding thatugly young Cowbird while their own babies aren't getting half enough toeat, " continued Jenny. "One of them has died already. He was kicked outof the nest by that young brute. "

"How dreadful!" cried Peter. "If he does things like that I should thinkthe Redeyes would throw HIM out of the nest. "

"They're too soft-hearted, " declared Jenny. "I can tell you I wouldn'tbe so soft-hearted if I were in their place. No, sir-ee, I wouldn't! Butthey say it isn't his fault that he's there, and that he's nothing but ahelpless baby, and so they just take care of him. "

"Then why don't they feed their own babies first and give him what'sleft?" demanded Peter. 

"Because he's twice as big as any of their own babies and so strong andgreedy that he simply snatches the food out of the very mouths of theothers. Because he gets most of the food, he's growing twice as fast asthey are. I wouldn't be surprised if he kicks all the rest of them outbefore he gets through. Mr. And Mrs. Redeye are dreadfully distressedabout 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 hismother is off gadding somewhere, having a good time and not caringa flip of her tail feathers what becomes of him. I believe in beinggoodhearted, but there is such a thing as overdoing the matter. Thankgoodness I'm not so weak-minded that I can be imposed on in any such wayas that. "

"Speaking of the Vireos, Redeye seems to be the only member of hisfamily around here, " remarked Peter. 

"Listen!" commanded Jenny Wren. "Don't you hear that warbling song 'wayover in the big elm in front of Farmer Brown's house where Goldy theoriole has his nest?"

Peter listened. At first he didn't hear it, and as usual Jenny Wren madefun of him for having such big ears and not being able to make betteruse of them. Presently he did hear it. The voice was not unlike that ofRedeye, but the song was smoother, more continuous and sweeter. Peter'sface lighted up. "I hear it, " he cried. 

"That's Redeye's cousin, the Warbling Vireo, " said Jenny. "He's a bettersinger than Redeye and just as fond of hearing his own voice. He singsfrom the time jolly Mr. Sun gets up in the morning until he goes to bedat night. He sings when it is so hot that the rest of us are glad tokeep still for comfort's sake. I don't know of anybody more fond of thetree tops than he is. He doesn't seem to care anything about the OldOrchard, but stays over in those big trees along the road. He's gota nest over in that big elm and it is as high up as that of Goldy theOriole; I haven't seen it myself, but Goldy told me about it. Why anyone 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 OldOrchard. "

"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 alittle duller olive-green and underneath he is a little bit yellowishinstead of being white. Of course he doesn't have red eyes, and he isa little smaller than Redeye. The whole family looks pretty much alikeanyway. "

"You said something then, Jenny Wren, " declared Peter. "They get me allmixed up. If only some of them had some bright colors it would be easierto tell them apart. "

"One has, " replied Jenny Wren. "He has a bright yellow throat and breastand is called the Yellow-throated Vireo. There isn't the least chance ofmistaking him. "

"Is he a singer, too?" asked Peter. 

"Of course, " replied Jenny. "Every one of that blessed family loves thesound of his own voice. It's a family trait. Sometimes it just makes mythroat sore to listen to them all day long. A good thing is good, butmore than enough of a good thing is too much. That applies to gossipingjust as well as to singing and I've wasted more time on you than I'veany business to. Now hop along, Peter, and don't bother me any moreto-day. "

Peter hopped. 

CHAPTER XXX. Jenny Wren's Cousins. 

Peter Rabbit never will forget his surprise when Jenny Wren asked himone spring morning if he had seen anything of her big cousin. Peterhesitated. As a matter of fact, he couldn't think of any big cousinof Jenny Wren. All the cousins he knew anything about were very nearlyJenny'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 behere. "

"You needn't be so cross about it if I am slow, " replied Peter. "I'mjust trying to think who your big cousin is. I guess, to be quitehonest, I don't know him. "

"Don't know him! Don't know him!" Sputtered Jenny. "Of course you knowhim. 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 Wrenfamily?"

"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 howlittle some folks know. "

"But I have always supposed he belonged to the Thrush family, " protestedPeter. "He certainly looks like a Thrush. "

"Looking like one doesn't make him one, " snapped Jenny. "By this timeyou ought to leave learned that you never can judge anybody just bylooks. It always makes me provoked to hear Brownie called the BrownThrush. There isn't a drop of Thrush blood in him. But you haven'tanswered my question yet, Peter Rabbit. I want to know if he has gothere yet. "

"Yes, " said Peter. "I saw him only yesterday on the edge of the OldPasture. He was fussing around in the bushes and on the ground andjerking that long tail of his up and down and sidewise as if he couldn'tdecide what to do with it. I've never seen anybody twitch their tailaround the way he does. "

Jenny Wren giggled. "That's just like him, " said she. "It is because hethrashes his tail around so much that he is called a Thrasher. I supposehe was wearing his new spring suit. "

"I don't know whether it was a new suit or not, but it was mighty goodlooking, " replied Peter. "I just love that beautiful reddish-brown ofhis back, wings and tail, and it certainly does set off his white andbuff waistcoat with those dark streaks and spots. You must admit, JennyWren, that any one seeing him dressed so much like the Thrushes is to beexcused for thinking him a Thrush. "

"I suppose so, " admitted Jenny rather grudgingly. "But none of theThrushes have such a bright brown coat. Brownie is handsome, if I do sayso. 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 himsing?"

"Did I hear him sing!" cried Peter, his eyes shining at the memory. "Hesang especially for me. He flew up to the top of a tree, tipped his headback 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 whenhe's singing he acts as if he enjoyed it himself and knows what a goodsinger he is. I noticed that long tail of his hung straight down thesame way Mr. Wren's does when he sings. "

"Of course it did, " replied Jenny promptly. "That's a family trait. Thetails 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 seenbefore. 

"Certainly, " retorted Jenny. "Mocker the Mockingbird and Kitty theCatbird belong to Brownie's family, and that makes them second cousinsto me. "

Such a funny expression as there was on Peter's face. He felt that JennyWren was telling the truth, but it was surprising news to him and sohard to believe that for a few minutes he couldn't find his tongue toask another question. Finally he ventured to ask very timidly, "DoesBrownie imitate the songs of other birds the way Mocker and Kitty do?"

Jenny Wren shook her head very decidedly. "No, " said she. "He'sperfectly satisfied with his own song. " Before she could add anythingfurther the clear whistle of Glory the Cardinal sounded from a treejust a little way off. Instantly Peter forgot all about Jenny Wren'srelatives and scampered over to that tree. You see Glory is so beautifulthat Peter never loses a chance to see him. 

As Peter sat staring up into the tree, trying to get a glimpse ofGlory'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 thebeautiful, brilliant coat of Glory the Cardinal he saw a bird about thesize of Welcome Robin dressed in sober ashy-gray with two white barson his wings, and white feathers on the outer edges of his tail. He wasvery trim and neat and his tail hung straight down after the manner ofBrownie's when he was singing. It was a long tail, but not as long asBrownie's. Even as Peter blinked and stared in surprise the strangeropened his mouth and from it came Glory's own beautiful whistle. Thenthe stranger looked down at Peter, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. 

"Fooled you that time, didn't I, Peter?" he chuckled. "You thought youwere going to see Glory the Cardinal, didn't you?"

Then without waiting for Peter to reply, this sober-looking strangergave such a concert as no one else in the world could give. From thatwonderful throat poured out song after song and note after note ofPeter's familiar friends of the Old Orchard, and the performance woundup with a lovely song which was all the stranger's own. Peter didn'thave 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 wassure that it was Glory whom I heard whistling. Never again will I beable 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'slots of fun. I may not be much to look at, but when it comes to singingthere'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 aboutfolks just by their looks. "

"And now you've learned that you can't always recognize folks by theirvoices, haven't you?" chuckled Mocker. 

"Yes, " replied Peter. "Hereafter I shall never be sure about anyfeathered folks unless I can both see and hear them. Won't you sing forme again, Mocker?"

Mocker did. He sang and sang, for he clearly loves to sing. When hefinished Peter had another question ready. "Somebody told me once thatdown 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 youthis, Peter, they do think a lot of me down there. There are many birdsdown there who are very beautifully dressed, birds who don't come uphere at all. But not one of them is loved as I am, and it is all onaccount of my voice. I would rather have a beautiful voice than a finecoat. "

Peter nodded as if he quite agreed, which, when you think of it, israther funny, for Peter has neither a fine coat nor a fine voice. Aglint of mischief sparkled in Mocker's eyes. "There's Mrs. Goldy theOriole over there, " said he. "Watch me fool her. "

He began to call in exact imitation of Goldy's voice when he is anxiousabout something. At once Mrs. Goldy came hurrying over to find out whatthe trouble was. When she discovered Mocker she lost her temperand scolded him roundly; then she flew away a perfect picture ofindignation. Mocker and Peter laughed, for they thought it a good joke. 

Suddenly Peter remembered what Jenny Wren had told him. "Was Jenny Wrentelling you the truth when she said that you are a second cousin ofhers?" he asked. 

Mocker nodded. "Yes, " said he, "we are relatives. We each belong toa 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, ashe 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 Hillsand the Black Shadows had begun to creep all through the Green Forestand out across the Green Meadows. It was the hour of the day PeterRabbit loves best. He sat on the edge of the Green Forest watching forthe first little star to twinkle high up in the sky. Peter felt at peacewith all the Great World, for it was the hour of peace, the hour of restfor those who had been busy all through the shining day. 

Most of Peter's feathered friends had settled themselves for the comingnight, the worries and cares of the day over and forgotten. All theGreat World seemed hushed. In the distance Sweetvoice the Vesper Sparrowwas pouring out his evening song, for it was the hour when he dearlyloves to sing. Far back in the Green Forest Whip-poor-will was callingas if his very life depended on the number of times he could say, "Whippoor Will, " without taking a breath. From overhead came now and then thesharp, rather harsh cry of Boomer the Nighthawk, as he hunted his supperin the air. 

For a time it seemed as if these were the only feathered friends stillawake, and Peter couldn't help thinking that those who went so early tobed missed the most beautiful hour of the whole day. Then, from a treejust back of him, there poured forth a song so clear, so sweet, sowonderfully suited to that peaceful hour, that Peter held his breathuntil it was finished. He knew that singer and loved him. It was Melodythe Wood Thrush. 

When the song ended Peter hopped over to the tree from which it hadcome. It was still light enough for him to see the sweet singer. He saton a branch near the top, his head thrown back and his soft, full throatthrobbing with the flute-like notes he was pouring forth. He wasa little smaller than Welcome Robin. His coat was a beautifulreddish-brown, not quite so bright as that of Brownie the Thrasher. Beneath he was white with large, black spots thickly dotting hisbreast and sides. He was singing as if he were trying to put into thosebeautiful notes all the joy of life. Listening to it Peter felt stealover him a wonderful feeling of peace and pure happiness. Not for theworld would he have interrupted it. 

The Black Shadows crept far across the Green Meadows and it became sodusky in the Green Forest that Peter could barely make out the sweetsinger above his head. Still Melody sang on and the hush of eventidegrew deeper, as if all the Great World were holding its breath tolisten. It was not until several little stars had begun to twinkle highup in the sky that Melody stopped singing and sought the safety of hishidden perch for the night. Peter felt sure that somewhere near was anest and that one thing which had made that song so beautiful was thelove Melody lad been trying to express to the little mate sitting onthe eggs that nest must contain. "I'll just run over here early in themorning, " thought Peter. 

Now Peter is a great hand to stay out all night, and that is just whathe did that night. Just before it was time for jolly, round, red Mr. Sunto 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. Everywherein the Green Forest, in the Old Orchard, on the Green Meadows, hisfeathered friends were awakening. He had quite forgotten his intentionto visit Melody and was reminded of it only when again he heard thosebeautiful flute-like notes. At once he scampered over to where he hadspent such a peaceful hour the evening before. Melody saw him at onceand dropped down on the ground for a little gossip while he scratchedamong 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 forthere is nothing I like to do better. It is the one way in which I canexpress my feelings. I love all the Great World and I just have to tellit so. I do not mean to boast when I say that all the Thrush family havegood 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 thanmine. And then there is my other cousin, Veery. His song is wonderful, Ithink. "

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, "andMrs. Wood Thrush is sitting on five eggs this blessed minute. Isn't thatperfectly 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, " repliedMelody. 

"Mud!" exclaimed Peter. "Why, that's what Welcome Robin uses in hisnest. "

"Well, Welcome Robin is my own cousin, so I don't know as there'sanything so surprising in that, " retorted Melody. 

"Oh, " said Peter. "I had forgotten that he is a member of the Thrushfamily. "

"Well, he is, even if he is dressed quite differently from the rest ofus, " replied Melody. 

"You mentioned your cousin, Hermit. I don't believe I know him, " saidPeter. 

"Then it's high time you got acquainted with him, " replied Melodypromptly. "He is rather fond of being by himself and that is why he iscalled the Hermit Thrush. He is smaller than I and his coat is not sucha bright brown. His tail is brighter than his coat. He has a waistcoatspotted very much like mine. Some folks consider him the most beautifulsinger of the Thrush family. I'm glad you like my song, but you musthear Hermit sing. I really think there is no song so beautiful in allthe Green Forest. "

"Does he build a nest like yours?" asked Peter. 

"No, " replied Melody. "He builds his nest on the ground, and he doesn'tuse any mud. Now if you'll excuse me, Peter, I must get my breakfast andgive Mrs. Wood Thrush a chance to get hers. "

So Peter continued on his way to the dear Old Briar-patch and therehe spent the day. As evening approached he decided to go back to hearMelody sing again. Just as he drew near the Green Forest he heard fromthe direction of the Laughing Brook a song that caused him to change hismind and sent him hurrying in that direction. It was a very differentsong from that of Melody the Wood Thrush, yet, if he had never heardit before, Peter would have known that such a song could come from nothroat except that of a member of the Thrush family. As he drew nearthe Laughing Brook the beautiful notes seemed to ring through the GreenForest like a bell. As Melody's song had filled Peter with a feeling ofpeace, so this song stirred in him a feeling of the wonderful mystery oflife. 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 beennamed 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 andhe was greeted with a whistled "Wheeu! wheeu!" Then, seeing that it wasno one of whom he need be afraid, Veery came out from under some fernsto greet Peter. He was smaller than Melody the Wood Thrush, being aboutone-fourth smaller than Welcome Robin. He wore a brown coat but it wasnot as bright as that of his cousin, Melody. His breast was somewhatfaintly spotted with brown, and below he was white. His sides weregrayish-white and not spotted like the sides of Melody. 

"I heard you singing and I just had to come over to see you, " criedPeter. 

"I hope you like my song, " said Veery. "I love to sing just at this hourand I love to think that other people like to hear me. "

"They do, " declared Peter most emphatically. "I can't imagine howanybody could fail to like to hear you. I came 'way over here just tosit 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 wasgoing to bed right if I didn't sing until dark. There is no part of theday I love better than the evening, and the only way I can express myhappiness and my love of the Green Forest and the joy of just being backhere at home is by singing. "

Veery slipped out of sight, and almost at once his bell-like notes beganto ring through the Green Forest. Peter sat right where he was, contentto just listen and feel within himself the joy of being alive andhappy in the beautiful spring season which Veery was expressing sowonderfully. The Black Shadows grew blacker. One by one the little starscame out and twinkled down through the tree tops. Finally from deep inthe Green Forest sounded the hunting call of Hooty the Owl. Veery's songstopped. "Good night, Peter, " he called softly. 

"Good night, Veery, " replied Peter and hopped back towards the GreenMeadows 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 GreenForest. It was warm and Peter was feeling lazy. He had nothing inparticular to do, and as he knew of no cooler place he had squattedthere to doze a bit and dream a bit. So far as he knew, Peter was allalone. 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 hedidn't have that thicket quite to himself. It was very quiet there, andthough when he first entered he hadn't the least intention in the worldof going to sleep, it wasn't long before he was dozing. 

Now Peter is a light sleeper, as all little people who never know whenthey may have to run for their lives must be. By and by he awoke witha 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 upas he listened with all his might for some little sound which might meandanger. His wobbly little nose wobbled very fast indeed as it testedthe air for the scent of a possible enemy. Very alert was Peter as hewaited. 

For a few minutes he heard nothing and saw nothing. Then, near the outeredge of the thicket, he heard a great rustling of dry leaves. It musthave been this that had wakened him. For just an instant Peter wasstartled, but only for an instant. His long ears told him at once thatthat noise was made by some one scratching among the leaves, and he knewthat no one who did not wear feathers could scratch like that. 

"Now who can that be?" thought Peter, and stole forward very softlytowards the place from which the sound came. Presently, as he peepedbetween the stems of the young trees, he saw the brown leaves whichcarpeted the ground fly this way and that, and in the midst of themwas an exceedingly busy person, a little smaller than Welcome Robin, scratching away for dear life. Every now and then he picked upsomething. 

His head, throat, back and breast were black. Beneath he was white. Hissides were reddish-brown. His tail was black and white, and the longerfeathers 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 wasbeing watched. It was quite clear that Chewink was hungry and that underthose dry leaves he was finding a good meal. His feet were made forscratching and he certainly knew how to use them. For some time Petersat there watching. He had just about made up his mind that he wouldmake his presence known and have a bit of morning gossip when, happeningto look out beyond the edge of the little thicket, he saw something red. It was something alive, for it was moving very slowly and cautiouslytowards the place where Chewink was so busy and forgetful of everythingbut his breakfast. Peter knew that there was only one person with a coatof that color. It was Reddy Fox, and quite plainly Reddy was hoping tocatch Chewink. 

For a second or two Peter was quite undecided what to do. He couldn'twarn Chewink without making his own presence known to Reddy Fox. Ofcourse he could sit perfectly still and let Chewink be caught, but thatwas such a dreadful thought that Peter didn't consider it for more thana second or two. He suddenly thumped the ground with his feet. Itwas his danger signal which all his friends know. Then he turned andscampered lipperty-lipperty-lip to a thick bramble-tangle not far behindhim. 

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 overtowards 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 youup for cheating me out of a breakfast. " Without so much as a glance atChewink, Reddy turned and trotted off, trying his best to look dignifiedand as if he had never entertained such a thought as trying to catchChewink. 

From his perch Chewink watched until he was sure that Reddy Fox hadgone away for good. Then he called softly, "Towhee! Towhee! Chewink!Chewink! All is safe now, Peter Rabbit. Come out and talk with me andlet me tell you how grateful to you I am for saving my life. "

Chewink flew down to the ground and Peter crept out of thebramble-tangle. "It wasn't anything, " declared Peter. "I saw Reddy and Iknew you didn't, so of course I gave the alarm. You would have donethe same thing for me. Do you know, Chewink, I've wondered a great dealabout 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 tothe 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, butstill we belong to the same family. I suppose you know that Rosebreastthe 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 itmust be so. It is easier to believe than it is to believe that you arerelated 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 Chewinkcarelessly. "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 ofthem. They make a variety in the bill of fare. "

"I've noticed that I seldom see you up in the tree tops, " remarkedPeter. 

"I like the ground better, " replied Chewink. "I spend more of my time onthe 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 anest in this very thicket. Mrs. Towhee is on it right now, and I suspectshe's worrying and anxious to know what happened over here when youwarned me about Reddy Fox. I think I must go over and set her mind atrest. "

Peter was just about to ask if he might go along and see that nest whena new voice broke in. 

"What are you fellows talking about?" it demanded, and there flittedjust in front of Peter a little bird the size of a Sparrow but lovelierthan any Sparrow of Peter's acquaintance. At first glance he seemedto be all blue, and such a lovely bright blue. But as he paused for aninstant Peter saw that his wings and tail were mostly black and thatthe lovely blue was brightest on his head and back. It was Indigo theBunting. 

"We were talking about our family, " replied Chewink. "I was tellingPeter that we belong to the largest family among the birds. "

"But you didn't say anything about Indigo, " interrupted Peter. "Do youmean to say that he belongs to the same family?"

"I surely do, " replied Indigo. "I'm rather closely related to theSparrow branch. Don't I look like a Sparrow?"

Peter looked at Indigo closely. "In size and shape you do, " heconfessed, "but just the same I should never in the world have thoughtof connecting you with the Sparrows. "

"How about me?" asked another voice, and a little brown bird flewup beside Indigo, twitching her tail nervously. She looked verySparrow-like indeed, so much so, that if Peter had not seen her with herhandsome mate, for she was Mrs. Indigo, he certainly would have takenher for a Sparrow. 

Only on her wings and tail was there any of the blue which made Indigo'scoat so beautiful, and this was only a faint tinge. 

"I'll have to confess that so far as you are concerned it isn't hardto think of you as related to the Sparrows, " declared Peter. "Don't yousometimes 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 coatlike his I wouldn't have a moment of peace. You have no idea how I worryabout him sometimes. You ought to be thankful, Peter Rabbit, that youhaven't a coat like his. It attracts altogether too much attention. "

Peter tried to picture himself in a bright blue coat and laughed rightout at the mere thought, and the others joined with him. Then Indigoflew up to the top of a tall tree not far away and began to sing. Itwas a lively song and Peter enjoyed it thoroughly. Mrs. Indigo took thisopportunity to slip away unobserved, and when Peter looked around forChewink, he too had disappeared. He had gone to tell Mrs. Chewink thathe 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 folksanywhere Peter Rabbit couldn't imagine who they could be. You see, everyone of those seven eggs in the Wren nest had hatched, and sevenmouths are a lot to feed, especially when every morsel of food must behunted for and carried from a distance. There was little time for gossipnow. Just as soon as it was light enough to see Jenny and Mr. Wren beganfeeding those always hungry babies, and they kept at it with hardlytime for an occasional mouthful themselves, until the Black Shadows camecreeping out from the Purple Hills. Wren babies, like all other birdbabies, grow very fast, and that means that each one of them must have agreat deal of food every day. Each one of them often ate its own weightin food in a day and all their food had to be hunted for and when foundcarried back and put into the gaping little mouths. Hardly wouldJenny Wren disappear in the little round doorway of her home with acaterpillar in her bill than she would hop out again, and Mr. Wren wouldtake her place with a spider or a fly and then hurry away for somethingmore. 

Peter tried to keep count of the number of times they came and went butsoon gave it up as a bad job. He began to wonder where all the worms andbugs and spiders came from, and gradually he came to have a great dealof respect for eyes sharp enough to find them so quickly. Needless tosay Jenny was shorter-tempered than ever. She had no time to gossip andsaid so most emphatically. So at last Peter gave up the idea of tryingto find out from her certain things he wanted to know, and hopped offto look for some one who was less busy. He had gone but a short distancewhen his attention was caught by a song so sweet and so full of littletrills that he first stopped to listen, then went to look for thesinger. 

It didn't take long to find him, for he was sitting on the very tiptopof 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 mindthat he would have to content himself with just listening to that sweetsinger when the latter flew over in the Old Orchard and alighted justover Peter's head. "Hello, Peter!" he cried. 

"Hello, Linnet!" cried Peter. "I was wondering who it could be who wassinging like that. I ought to have known, but you see it's so long sinceI've heard you sing that I couldn't just remember your song. I'm so gladyou 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. "Isee you're still the same old Peter, " said he. "I suppose you're justas full of curiosity as ever and just as full of questions. Well, here Iam, so what shall we talk about?"

"You, " replied Peter bluntly. "Lately I've found out so many surprisingthings about my feathered friends that I want to know more. I'm tryingto get it straight in my head who is related to who, and I've found outsome things which have begun to make me feel that I know very littleabout my feathered neighbors. It's getting so that I don't dare to evenguess who a person's relatives are. If you please, Linnet, what familydo you belong to?"

Linnet flew down a little nearer to Peter. "Look me over, Peter, " saidhe with twinkling eyes. "Look me over and see if you can't tell foryourself. "

Peter stared solemnly at Linnet. He saw a bird of Sparrow size most ofwhose 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 edgedwith rose-red. His bill was short and stout. 

Before Peter could reply, Mrs. Linnet appeared. There wasn't so much asa touch of that beautiful rose-red about her. Her grayish-brown backwas streaked with black, and her white breast and sides were spotted andstreaked with brown. If Peter hadn't seen her with Linnet he certainlywould have taken her for a Sparrow. She looked so much like one that heventured to say, "I guess you belong to the Sparrow family. "

"That's pretty close, Peter. That's pretty close, " declared Linnet. "Webelong to the Finch branch of the family, which makes the sparrows owncousins to us. Folks may get Mrs. Linnet mixed with some of our Sparrowcousins, but they never can mistake me. There isn't anybody else my sizewith a rose-red coat like mine. If you can't remember my song, which youought to, because there is no other song quite like it, you can alwaystell me by the color of my coat. Hello! Here comes Cousin Chicoree. Didyou ever see a happier fellow than he is? I'll venture to say that hehas been having such a good time that he hasn't even yet thought ofbuilding a nest, and here half the people of the Old Orchard have grownfamilies. I've a nest and eggs myself, but that madcap is just roamingabout having a good time. Isn't that so, Chicoree?"

"Isn't what so?" demanded Chicoree the Goldfinch, perching very near towhere 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'snose and began to pull apart a dandelion which had gone to seed. Hesnipped the seeds from the soft down to which they were attached anddidn't say a word till he was quite through. Then he flew up in thetree near Linnet, and while he dressed his feathers, answered Linnet'squestion. 

"It's quite true, but what of it?" said he. "There's time enough tothink about nest-building and household cares later. Mrs. Goldfinch andI will begin to think about them about the first of July. Meanwhile weare making the most of this beautiful season to roam about and have agood time. For one thing we like thistledown to line our nest, and thereisn't any thistledown yet. Then, there is no sense in raising a familyuntil there is plenty of the right kind of food, and you know weGoldfinches live mostly on seeds. I'll venture to say that we are thegreatest seed-eaters anywhere around. Of course when the babies aresmall they have to have soft food, but one can find plenty of worms andbugs any time during the summer. Just as soon as the children are bigenough to hunt their own food they need seeds, so there is no sense intrying to raise a family until there are plenty of seeds for them whenneeded. Meanwhile we are having a good time. How do you like my summersuit, Peter?"

"It's beautiful, " cried Peter. "I wouldn't know you for the same bird Isee so often in the late fall and sometimes in the winter. I don't knowof anybody who makes a more complete change. That black cap certainly isvery smart and becoming. "

Chicoree cocked his head on one side, the better to show off that blackcap. The rest of his head and his whole body were bright yellow. Hiswings 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 andaltogether one of the smartest appearing of all the little people whowear feathers. It was a joy just to look at him. If Peter had knownanything about Canaries, which of course he didn't, because Canariesare always kept in cages, he would have understood why Chicoree theGoldfinch is often called the Wild Canary. 

Mrs. Goldfinch now joined her handsome mate and it was plain to see thatshe admired him quite as much as did Peter. Her wings and tail were muchlike his but were more brownish than black. She wore no cap it all andher back and head were a grayish-brown with an olive tinge. Underneathshe was lighter, with a tinge of yellow. All together she was a verymodestly dressed small person. As Peter recalled Chicoree's winter suit, it was very much like that now worn by Mrs. Goldfinch, save that hiswings and tail were as they now appeared. 

All the time Chicoree kept up a continual happy twittering, breaking outevery few moments into song. It was clear that he was fairly bubblingover with joy. 

"I suppose, " said Peter, "it sounds foolish of me to ask if you are amember of the same family as Linnet. "

"Very foolish, Peter. Very foolish, " laughed Chicoree. "Isn't my nameGoldfinch, and isn't his name Purple Finch? We belong to the same familyand a mighty fine family it is. Now I must go over to the Old Pasture tosee 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 verymuch the same way that Yellow Wing the Flicker does. 

"I'd know them just by that, even if Chicoree didn't keep calling hisown name, " thought Peter. "It's funny how they often stay around allwinter 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 suchthing, " scolded Jenny Wren as she flew last Peter on her way to hunt foranother 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 onthe Green Meadows. It happened that very early one morning Peter Rabbittook it into his funny little head to run down that long lane to seewhat he might see. Now at a certain place beside that long lane was agravelly bank into which Farmer Brown had dug for gravel to put on theroadway up near his house. As Peter was scampering past this placewhere Farmer Brown had dug he caught sight of some one very busy in thatgravel pit. Peter stopped short, then sat up to stare. 

It was Mourner the Dove whom Peter saw, an old friend of whom Peter isvery fond. His body was a little bigger than that of Welcome Robin, but his long slender neck, and longer tail and wings made him appearconsiderably larger. In shape he reminded Peter at once of thePigeons up at Farmer Brown's. His back was grayish-brown, varying tobluish-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 wasblack and his feet red. The two middle feathers of his tail were longestand of the color of his back. The other feathers were slaty-gray withlittle black bands and tipped with white. On his wings were a fewscattered black spots. Just under each ear was a black spot. But itwas the sides of his slender neck which were the most beautiful part ofMourner. When untouched by the Jolly Little Sunbeams the neck feathersappeared to be in color very like his breast, but the moment theywere touched by the Jolly Little Sunbeams they seemed to be constantlychanging, which, as you know, is called iridescence. Altogether Mournerwas lovely in a quiet way. 

But it was not his appearance which made Peter stare; it was what he wasdoing. He was walking about and every now and then picking up somethingquite as if he were getting his breakfast in that gravel pit, and Petercouldn't imagine anything good to eat down there. He knew that therewere not even worms there. Besides, Mourner is not fond of worms; helives almost altogether on seeds and grains of many kinds. So Peter waspuzzled. But as you know he isn't the kind to puzzle long over anythingwhen 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 mydigestion. " He picked up a tiny pebble and swallowed it. 

"Well, of all things!" cried Peter. "You must be crazy. The idea ofthinking that gravel is going to help your digestion. I should say thechances are that it will work just the other way. "

Mourner laughed. It was the softest of little cooing laughs, verypleasant to hear. "I see that as usual you are judging others byyourself, " said he. "You ought to know by this time that you can donothing more foolish. I haven't the least doubt that a breakfast ofgravel would give you the worst kind of a stomach-ache. But you are youand I am I, and there is all the difference in the world. You know I eatgrain 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 andcrush my food so that it may be digested. Tiny pebbles and gravel helpgrind the food and so aid digestion. I think I've got enough now forthis morning, and it is time for a dust bath. There is a dusty spot overin 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 dustyplace in the long lane. There Mourner was joined by Mrs. Dove, who wasdressed very much like him save that she did not have so beautiful aneck. While they thoroughly dusted themselves they chatted with Peter. 

"I see you on the ground so much that I've often wondered if you buildyour nest on the ground, " said Peter. 

"No, " replied Mourner. "Mrs. Dove builds in a tree, but usually not veryfar 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 beclose at hand to keep her company and make love to her. "

The Doves shook the loose dust from their feathers and flew away. Peterwatched to see where they went, but lost sight of them behind sometrees, so decided to run up to the Old Orchard. There he found Jenny andMr. Wren as busy as ever feeding that growing family of theirs. Jennywouldn't stop an instant to gossip. Peter was so brimful of what he hadfound 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 stonewall, so hurried over to look for him. As soon as he found him Peterbegan to tell what he had learned about Mourner the Dove. 

"That's no news, Peter, " interrupted Kitty. "I know all about Mournerand his wife. They are very nice people, though I must say Mrs. Dove isone of the poorest housekeepers I know of. I take it you never have seenher 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 Iknow 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 agood thing that Mrs. Dove doesn't lay more than two eggs, and it's awonder to me that those two stay in the nest. Listen! There'sMourner's voice now. For one who is so happy he certainly does have themournfullest sounding voice. To hear him you'd think he was sorrowfulinstead 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 heardthat 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 ofhis voice, that's all. Tell me, Kitty, is it true that Mrs. Cuckoo isno better than Sally Sly the Cowbird and goes about laying her eggs inthe nests of other birds? I've heard that said of her. "

"There isn't a word of truth in it, " declared Kitty emphatically. "Shebuilds a nest, such as it is, which isn't much, and she looks after herown children. The Cuckoos have been given a bad name because of somegood-for-nothing cousins of theirs who live across the ocean where Bullythe English Sparrow belongs, and who, if all reports are true, reallyare no better than Sally Sly the Cowbird. It's funny how a bad namesticks. The Cuckoos have been accused of stealing the eggs of us otherbirds, but I've never known them to do it and I've lived neighbor tothem for a long time, I guess they get their bad name because of theirhabit of slipping about silently and keeping out of sight as much aspossible, as if they were guilty of doing something wrong and trying tokeep 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 havecome back to the Old Orchard this year. "

"Why?" demanded Peter. 

"Do you see that cobwebby nest with all those hairy caterpillars on itand around it up in that tree?" asked Kitty. 

Peter replied that he did and that he had seen a great many nests justlike it, and had noticed how the caterpillars ate all the leaves nearthem. 

"I'll venture to say that you won't see very many leaves eaten aroundthat nest, " replied Kitty. "Those are called tent-caterpillars, and theydo an awful lot of damage. I can't bear them myself because they are sohairy, and very few birds will touch them. But Cuckoo likes them. Therehe comes now; just watch him. "

A long, slim Dove-like looking bird alighted close to the caterpillar'snest. Above he was brownish-gray with just a little greenish tinge. Beneath he was white. His wings were reddish-brown. His tail was alittle longer than that of Mourner the Dove. The outer feathers wereblack tipped with white, while the middle feathers were the color ofhis back. The upper half of his bill was black, but the under half wasyellow, and from this he is called the Yellow-billed Cuckoo. He has acousin very much like himself in appearance, save that his bill is allblack and he is listed the Black-billed Cuckoo. 

Cuckoo made no sound but began to pick off the hairy caterpillars andswallow them. When he had eaten all those in sight he made holes in thesilken 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 comeand disappeared among the bushes farther along the old stone wall. Amoment 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, " remarkedKitty the Catbird. "They have the silly notion that Cuckoo only callsjust before rain, and so they call him the Rain Crow. But that isn'tso at all. Well, Peter, I guess I've gossiped enough for one morning. Imust go see how Mrs. Catbird is getting along. "

Kitty disappeared and Peter, having no one to talk to, decided that thebest 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 oftenpassed. He never had paid particular attention to it. One morninghe stopped to rest under it. Happening to look up, he saw a mostastonishing thing. Fastened on the sharp thorns of one of the brancheswere three big grasshoppers, a big moth, two big caterpillars, a lizard, a small mouse and a young English Sparrow. Do you wonder that Peterthought he must be dreaming? He couldn't imagine how those creaturescould have become fastened on those long sharp thorns. Somehow it gavehim an uncomfortable feeling and he hurried on to the Old Orchard, bubbling over with desire to tell some one of the strange and dreadfulthing he had seen in the thorn-tree. 

As he entered the Old Orchard in the far corner he saw Johnny Chucksitting on his doorstep and hurried over to tell him the strange news. Johnny listened until Peter was through, then told him quite franklythat never had he heard of such a thing, and that he thought Peter musthave been dreaming and didn't know it. 

"You're wrong, Johnny Chuck. Peter hasn't been dreaming at all, " saidSkimmer the Swallow, who, you remember, lived in a hole in a tree justabove the entrance to Johnny Chuck's house. He had been sitting where hecould hear all that Peter had said. 

"Well, if you know so much about it, please explain, " said Johnny Chuckrather crossly. 

"It's simple enough, " replied Skimmer. "Peter just happened to find thestorehouse of Butcher the Loggerhead Shrike. It isn't a very pleasantsight, I must admit, but one must give Butcher credit for being smartenough 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'tnoticed him. I've seen him in the South often. There he is now, on thetiptop of that tree over yonder. "

Peter and Johnny looked eagerly. They saw a bird who at first glanceappeared not unlike Mocker the Mockingbird. He was dressed wholly inblack, gray and white. When he turned his head they noticed a blackstripe across the side of his face and that the tip of his bill washooked. These are enough to make them forget that otherwise he was likeMocker. While they were watching him he flew down into the grass andpicked up a grasshopper. Then he flew with a steady, even flight, onlya little above the ground, for some distance, suddenly shooting up andreturning to the perch where they had first seen him. There he ate thegrasshopper and resumed his watch for something else to catch. 

"He certainly has wonderful eyes, " said Skimmer admiringly. "He masthave seen that grasshopper way over there in the grass before he startedafter it, for he flew straight there. He doesn't waste time and energyhunting aimlessly. He sits on a high perch and watches until he seessomething he wants. Many times I've seen him sitting on top of atelegraph pole. I understand that Bully the English Sparrow has becometerribly nervous since the arrival of Butcher. He is particularly fondof English Sparrows. I presume it was one of Bully's children you sawin the thorn-tree, Peter. For my part I hope he'll frighten Bully intoleaving 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 longthorns, " said Peter. 

"For two reasons, " replied Skimmer. "When he catches more grasshoppersand other insects than he can eat, he sticks them on those thorns sothat later he may be sure of a good meal if it happens there are no moreto be caught when he is hungry. Mice, Sparrows, and things too bigfor him to swallow he sticks on the thorns so that he can pull them topieces easier. You see his feet and claws are not big and stout enoughto hold his victims while he tears them to pieces with his hooked bill. Sometimes, instead of sticking them on thorns, he sticks them on thebarbed wire of a fence and sometimes he wedges them into the fork of twobranches. "

"Does he kill many birds?" asked Peter. 

"Not many, " replied Skimmer, "and most of those he does kill are EnglishSparrows. The rest of us have learned to keep out of his way. He feedsmostly on insects, worms and caterpillars, but he is very fond of miceand he catches a good many. He is a good deal like Killy the SparrowHawk in this respect. He has a cousin, the Great Northern Shrike, whosometimes 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 Peterfollowed. He got there just in time to see Chatterer the Red Squirreldodging around the trunk of a tree, first on one side, then on theother, to avoid the sharp bills of the angry feathered folk who haddiscovered him trying to rob a nest of its young. 

Peter chuckled. "Chatterer is getting just what is due him, I guess, " hemuttered. "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 thebirds 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 onebird was quick enough to catch up with him and that one was such a tinyfellow that he seemed hardly bigger than a big insect. It was Hammer theHummingbird. He followed Chatterer clear to the old stone wall. A momentlater Peter heard a humming noise just over his head and looked up tosee Hummer himself alight on a twig, where he squeaked excitedly for afew minutes, for his voice is nothing but a little squeak. 

Often Peter had seen Hummer darting about from flower to flower andholding himself still in mid-air in front of each as he thrust his longbill into the heart of the blossom to get the tiny insects there andthe sweet juices he is so fond of. But this was the first time Peter hadever seen him sitting still. He was such a mite of a thing that itwas 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 fixedhis eyes. It was a wonderful ruby-red that glistened and shone in thesun like a jewel. 

Hummer lifted one wing and with his long needle-like bill smoothed thefeathers under it. Then he darted out into the air, his wings moving sofast that Peter couldn't see them at all. But if he couldn't see them hecould hear them. You see they moved so fast that they made a sound verylike the humming of Bumble the Bee. It is because of this that he iscalled the Hummingbird. A fey' minutes later he was back again and nowhe was joined by Mrs. Hummer. She was dressed very much like Hummer butdid not have the beautiful ruby throat. She stopped only a minute ortwo, then darted over to what looked for all the world like a tiny cupof moss. It was their nest. 

Just then Jenny Wren came along, and being quite worn out with the workof feeding her seven babies, she was content to rest for a few momentsand gossip. Peter told her what he had discovered. 

"I know all about that, " retorted Jenny. "You don't suppose I hunt thesetrees over for food without knowing where my neighbors are living, doyou? I'd have you to understand, Peter, that that is the daintiest nestin the Old Orchard. It is made wholly of plant down and covered on theoutside with bits of that gray moss-like stuff that grows on the bark ofthe trees and is called lichens. That is what makes that nest look likenothing more than a knot on the branch. Chatterer made a big mistakewhen he visited this tree. Hummer may be a tiny fellow but he isn'tafraid of anybody under the sun. That bill of his is so sharp and he isso quick that few folks ever bother him more than once. Why, there isn'ta single member of the Hawk family that Hummer won't attack. There isn'ta cowardly feather on him. "

"Does he go very far south for the winter?" asked Peter. "He is such atiny fellow I don't see how he can stand a very long journey. "

"Huh!" exclaimed Jenny Wren. "Distance doesn't bother Hummer any. Youneedn't worry about those wings of his. He goes clear down to SouthAmerica. He has ever so many relatives down there. You ought to see hisbabies when they first hatch out. They are no bigger than bees. But theycertainly do grow fast. Why, they are flying three weeks from the timethey hatch. I'm glad I don't have to pump food down the throats of myyoungsters the way Mrs. Hummingbird has to down hers. "

Peter looked perplexed. "What do you mean by pumping food down theirthroats?" he demanded. 

"Just what I say, " retorted Jenny Wren. "Mrs. Hummer sticks her billright down their throats and then pumps up the food she has alreadyswallowed. 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 itdoesn'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 totell 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. Therewas another stranger who, Peter Rabbit soon discovered, was looked onwith some suspicion by all the other birds of the Old Orchard. The firsttime Peter saw him, he was walking about on the ground some distanceoff. 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 Peterthink 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 haveseen at once that the stranger was smaller than Creaker. 

Presently the stranger flew up in a tree and Peter saw that his tail waslittle more than half as long as that of Creaker. At once it came overPeter that this was a stranger to him, and of course his curiosity wasaroused. He didn't have any doubt whatever that this was a member of theBlackbird 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 inthe Old Orchard?" Peter asked as soon as he found Jenny Wren. 

"There isn't any new member of the Blackbird family living in the OldOrchard, " retorted Jenny Wren tartly. 

"There is too, " contradicted Peter. "I saw him with my own eyes. I cansee 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 Blackbirdfamily. "

"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'smore, he isn't black. Go over there and take a good look at him; thencome back and tell me if you still think he is black. "

Jenny turned her back on Peter and went to hunting worms. There beingnothing else to do, Peter hopped over where he could get a good look atthe stranger. The sun was shining full on him, and he wasn't black atall. Jenny Wren was right. For the most part he was very dark green. Atleast, that is what Peter thought at first glance. Then, as the strangermoved, he seemed to be a rich purple in places. In short he changedcolor as he turned. His feathers were like those of Creaker theGrackle--iridescent. All over he was speckled with tiny light spots. Underneath he was dark brownish-gray. His wings and tail were of thesame color, with little touches of buff. His rather large bill wasyellow. 

Peter hurried back to Jenny Wren and it must be confessed he lookedsheepish. "You were right, Jenny Wren; he isn't black at all, " confessedPeter. "Of course I was right. I usually am, " retorted Jenny. "He isn'tblack, he isn't even related to the Blackbird family, and he hasn'tany business in the Old Orchard. In fact, if you ask me, he hasn't anybusiness in this country anyway. He's a foreigner. That's what he is--aforeigner. "

"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 theEnglish Sparrow. Thank goodness he hasn't such a quarrelsome dispositionas Bully. Just the same, the rest of us would be better satisfied if hewere not here. He has taken possession of one of the old homes of YellowWing the Flicker, and that means one less house for birds who reallybelong 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. Didyou notice that yellow bill of his?"

Peter nodded. "I certainly did, " said he. "I couldn't very well helpnoticing it. "

"Well, there's a funny thing about that bill, " replied Jenny. "In winterit turns almost black. Most of us wear a different colored suit inwinter, but our bills remain the same. "

"Well, he seems to be pretty well fixed here, and I don't see but whatthe thing for the rest of you birds to do is to make the best of thematter, " said Peter. "What I want to know is whether or not he is of anyuse. "

"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 Ihave a suspicion that if his family becomes very numerous, and I suspectit will, they will eat more of Farmer Brown's grain than they will payfor by the worms and bugs they destroy. Hello! There's Dandy the Waxwingand his friends. "

A flock of modestly dressed yet rather distinguished looking featheredfolks had alighted in a cherry-tree and promptly began to helpthemselves to Farmer Brown's cherries. They were about the size ofWinsome Bluebird, but did not look in the least like him, for they weredressed almost wholly in beautiful, rich, soft grayish-brown. Across theend of each tail was a yellow band. On each, the forehead, chin anda line through each eye was velvety-black. Each wore a very stylishpointed cap, and on the wings of most of them were little spots ofred which looked like sealing-wax, and from which they get the name ofWaxwings. They were slim and trim and quite dandified, and in a quietway were really beautiful. 

As Peter watched them he began to wonder if Farmer Brown would haveany cherries left. Peter himself can do pretty well in the matter ofstuffing his stomach, but even he marvelled at the way those birds putthe cherries out of sight. It was quite clear to him why they are oftencalled Cherrybirds. 

"If they stay long, Farmer Brown won't have any cherries left, " remarkedPeter. 

"Don't worry, " replied Jenny Wren. "They won't stay long. I don'tknow anybody equal to them for roaming about. Here are most of us withfamilies on our hands and Mr. And Mrs. Bluebird with a second family andMr. And Mrs. Robin with a second set of eggs, while those gadabouts upthere haven't even begun to think about housekeeping yet. They certainlydo like those cherries, but I guess Farmer Brown can stand the loss ofwhat they eat. He may have fewer cherries, but he'll have more applesbecause of them. "

"Bow's that?" demanded Peter. 

"Oh, " replied Jenny Wren, "they were over here a while ago when thoselittle green cankerworms threatened to eat up the whole orchard, and they stuffed themselves on those worms just the same as they arestuffing themselves on cherries now. They are very fond of small fruitsbut most of those they eat are the wild kind which are of no use at allto Farmer Brown or anybody else. Now just look at that performance, willyou?"

There were five of the Waxwings and they were now seated side by sideon a branch of the cherry tree. One of them had a plump cherry whichhe passed to the next one. This one passed it on to the next, and so itwent 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 eachone was stuffed so full that he thought he didn't have room for thatcherry and so passed it along. "

"Well, I think that was politeness just the same, " retorted Peter. "Thefirst one might have dropped the cherry if he couldn't eat it instead ofpassing it along. " Just then the Waxwings flew away. 

It was the very middle of the summer before Peter Rabbit again saw Dandythe Waxwing. Quite by chance he discovered Dandy sitting on the tiptopof an evergreen tree, as if on guard. He was on guard, for in that treewas his nest, though Peter didn't know it at the time. In fact, it wasso late in the summer that most of Peter's friends were through nestingand he had quite lost interest in nests. Presently Dandy flew down toa lower branch and there he was joined by Mrs. Waxwing. Then Peter wastreated to one of the prettiest sights he ever had seen. They rubbedtheir bills together as if kissing. They smoothed each other's feathersand altogether were a perfect picture of two little lovebirds. Petercouldn't think of another couple who appeared quite so gentle andloving. 

Late in the fall Peter saw Mr. And Mrs. Waxwing and their familytogether. They were in a cedar tree and were picking off and eating thecedar berries as busily as the five Waxwings had picked Farmer Brown'scherries in the early summer. Peter didn't know it but because of theirfondness for cedar berries the Waxwings were often called Cedarbirds orCedar Waxwings. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. Farewells and Welcomes. 

All through the long summer Peter Rabbit watched his feathered friendsand learned things in regard to their ways he never had suspected. Ashe saw them keeping the trees of the Old Orchard free of insect pestsworking in Farmer Brown's garden, and picking up the countless seeds ofweeds everywhere, he began to understand something of the wonderfulpart these feathered folks have in keeping the Great World beautiful andworth while living in. 

He had many a hearty laugh as he watched the bird babies learn to flyand to find their own food. All summer long they were going to schoolall about him, learning how to watch out for danger, to use their eyesand 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 gatheringin flocks, roaming here and there. It was one of the first signsthat summer was nearly over, and it gave him just a little feeling ofsadness. He heard few songs now, for the singing season was over. Alsohe discovered that many of the most beautifully dressed of hisfeathered friends had changed their finery for sober traveling suits inpreparation for the long journey to the far South where they would spendthe winter. In fact he actually failed to recognize some of them atfirst. 

September came, and as the days grew shorter, some of Peter's friendsbade him good-by. They were starting on the long journey, planning totake 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 wonderedif he would ever see them again. But some there were who lingered evenafter 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 notbeen that with the departure of the friends he had spent so many happyhours with came the arrival of certain other friends from the Far Northwhere they had made their summer homes. Some of these stopped for a fewdays in passing. Others came to stay, and Peter was kept busy lookingfor and welcoming them. 

A few old friends there were who would stay the year through. Sammy Jaywas one. Downy and Hairy the Woodpeckers were others. And one there waswhom Peter loves dearly. It was Tommy Tit the Chickadee. 

Now Tommy Tit had not gone north in the spring. In fact, he had madehis home not very far from the Old Orchard. It just happened that Peterhadn't found that home, and had caught only one or two glimpses of TommyTit. Now, with household cares ended and his good-sized family properlystarted in life, Tommy Tit was no longer interested in the snug littlehome he had built in a hollow birch-stub, and he and Mrs. Chickadeespent their time flitting about hither, thither, and yon, spreading goodcheer. Every time Peter visited the Old Orchard he found him there, andas Tommy was always ready for a bit of merry gossip, Peter soon ceasedto miss Jenny Wren. 

"Don't you dread the winter, Tommy Tit?" asked Peter one day, as hewatched Tommy clinging head down to a twig as he picked some tiny insecteggs from the under side. 

"Not a bit, " replied Tommy. "I like winter. I like cold weather. Itmakes a fellow feel good from the tips of his claws to the tip of hisbill. I'm thankful I don't have to take that long journey most of thebirds have to. I discovered a secret a long time ago, Peter; shall Itell 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 stomachfilled he will beep his toes warm. "

Peter looked a little puzzled. "I--I--don't just see what your stomachhas 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 willkeep the cold out, and I've found that if a fellow uses his eyes andisn't afraid of a little work, he can find plenty to eat. At leastI can. The only time I ever get really worried is when the trees arecovered with ice. If it were not that Farmer Brown's boy is thoughtfulenough to hang a piece of suet in a tree for me, I should dread thoseice storms more than I do. As I said before, plenty of food keeps afellow 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 warmcoat 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 ownself, Peter. You know you are never really warm in winter unless youhave plenty to eat... "

"That's so, " replied Peter thoughtfully. "I never happened to think ofit before. Just the same, I don't see how you find food enough on thetrees 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, thata lot of different kinds of bugs lay eggs on the twigs and trunks oftrees. Those eggs would stay there all winter and in the spring hatchout into lice and worms if it were not for me. Why, sometimes in asingle day I find and eat almost five hundred eggs of those little greenplant lice that do so much damage in the spring and summer. Then thereare little worms that bore in just under the bark, and there are othercreatures 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 ofthe trees. Downy and Hairy the Woodpeckers, Seep-Seep the Brown Creeperand Yank-Yank the Nuthatch are others. If we didn't stay right here onthe 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 tinyinsect eggs from the under side of it. It didn't seem to make the leastdifference to Tommy whether he was right side up or upside down. He wasa little animated bunch of black and white feathers, not much biggerthan Jenny Wren. The top of his head, back of his neck and coat wereshining black. The sides of his head and neck were white. His back wasashy. His sides were a soft cream-buff, and his wing and tail featherswere edged with white. His tiny bill was black, and his little blackeyes snapped and twinkled in a way good to see. Not one among allPeter's friends is such a merry-hearted little fellow as Tommy Tit theChickadee. Merriment and happiness bubble out of him all the time, nomatter what the weather is. He is the friend of everyone and seems tofeel that everyone is his friend. 

"I've noticed, " said Peter, "that birds who do not sing at any othertime 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 lovecall then which goes like this: Phoe-be! Phoe-be!"

It was the softest, sweetest little whistle, and Tommy had rightlycalled it a love call. "Why, I've often heard that in the spring anddidn't know it was your voice at all, " cried Peter. "You say Phoebeplainer than does the bird who is named Phoebe, and it is ever so muchsofter and sweeter. I guess that is because you whistle it. "

"I guess you guess right, " replied Tommy Tit. "Now I can't stop to talkany longer. These trees need my attention. I want Farmer Brown's boy tofeel that I have earned that suet I am sure he will put out for me assoon as the snow and ice come. I'm not the least bit afraid of FarmerBrown's boy. I had just as soon take food from his hand as from anywhereelse. He knows I like chopped-up nut-meats, and last winter I usedto feed from his hand every day. " Peter's eyes opened very wide withsurprise. "Do you mean to say, " said he, "that you and Farmer Brown'sboy 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 trustthem? 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. "Iknow Farmer Brown's boy is the friend of all the little people, and I'mnot much afraid of him myself, but just the same I wouldn't dare go nearenough 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 thatyou can trust a friend, and I feel that Farmer Brown's boy is one of thebest 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 beganto drop, a few at first, then more and more every day until all but thespruce-trees and the pine-trees and the hemlock-trees and the fir-treesand the cedar-trees were bare. By this time most of Peter's featheredfriends of the summer had departed, and there were days when Peter hadoh, such a lonely feeling. The fur of his coat was growing thicker. Thegrass of the Green Meadows had turned brown. All these things were signswhich Peter knew well. He knew that rough Brother North Wind and JackFrost were on their way down from the Far North. 

Peter had few friends to visit now. Johnny Chuck had gone to sleep forthe winter 'way down in his little bedroom under ground. GrandfatherFrog had also gone to sleep. So had Old Mr. Toad. Peter spent agreat deal of time in the dear Old Briar-patch just sitting still andlistening. What he was listening for he didn't know. It just seemed tohim that there was something he ought to hear at this time of year, andso he sat listening and listening and wondering what he was listeningfor. Then, late one afternoon, there came floating down to him from highup in the sky, faintly at first but growing louder, a sound unlike anyPeter 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 andhis friends are coming. Oh, I do hope they will stop where I can paythem a call. "

He hopped out to the edge of the dear Old Briar-patch that he mightsee better, and looked up in the sky. High up, flying in the shape ofa letter V, he saw a flock of great birds flying steadily from thedirection of the Far North. By the sound of their voices he knew thatthey had flown far that day and were tired. One bird was in the lead andthis he knew to be his old friend, Honker. Straight over his head theypassed and as Peter listened to their voices he felt within him thevery spirit of the Far North, that great, wild, lonely land which he hadnever seen but of which he had so often heard. 

As Peter watched, Honker suddenly turned and headed in the direction ofthe Big River. Then he began to slant down, his flock following him. Andpresently they disappeared behind the trees along the bank of the GreatRiver. Peter gave a happy little sigh. "They are going to spend thenight there, " thought he. "When the moon comes up, I will run overthere, for they will come ashore and I know just where. Now that theyhave arrived I know that winter is not far away. Honker's voice is assure a sign of the coming of winter as is Winsome Bluebird's that springwill soon be here. "

Peter could hardly wait for the coming of the Black Shadows, and just assoon as they had crept out over the Green Meadows he started for theBig River. He knew just where to go, because he knew that Honker andhis friends would rest and spend the night in the same place they hadstopped at the year before. He knew that they would remain out in themiddle of the Big River until the Black Shadows had made it quite safefor them to swim in. He reached the bank of the Big River just as sweetMistress Moon was beginning to throw her silvery light over the GreatWorld. There was a sandy bar in the Great River at this point, and Petersquatted on the bank just where this sandy bar began. 

It seemed to Peter that he had sat there half the night, but really itwas only a short time, before he heard a low signal out in the BlackShadows which covered the middle of the Big River. It was the voiceof Honker. Then Peter saw little silvery lines moving on the water andpresently a dozen great shapes appeared in the moonlight. Honker and hisfriends were swimming in. The long neck of each of those great birdswas stretched to its full height, and Peter knew that each bird waslistening for the slightest suspicious sound. Slowly they drew near, Honker in the lead. They were a picture of perfect caution. When theyreached the sandy bar they remained quiet, looking and listening forsome time. Then, sure that all was safe, Honker gave a low signal andat once a low gabbling began as the big birds relaxed their watchfulnessand 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 rushesgrowing in the water very near to where Peter was sitting and began tofeed. Others sat on the sandy bar and dressed their feathers. Honkerhimself came ashore close to where Peter was sitting. 

"Oh, Honker, " cried Peter, "I'm so glad you're back here safe andsound. "

Honker gave a little start, but instantly recognizing Peter, came overclose 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. Therest of his head and long, slim neck were black. His short tail was alsoblack. His back, wings, breast and sides were a soft grayish-brown. Hewas 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 withterrible guns have been at almost every one of our resting places, andit has been hard work to get enough to eat. It is a relief to find oneplace where there are no terrible guns. "

"Have you come far?" asked Peter. 

"Very far, Peter; very far, " replied Honker. "And we still have very farto go. I shall be thankful when the journey is over, for on me dependsthe 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, " repliedHonker. "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. Forthe first part of the journey we kept only just ahead of the snow andice, but as we drew near to where men make their homes we were forced tomake longer journeys each day, for the places where it is safe to feedand rest are few and far between. Now we shall hurry on until we reachthe place in the far-away South where we will make our winter home. "

Just then Honker was interrupted by wild, strange sounds from the middleof the Great River. It sounded like crazy laughter. Peter jumped at thesound, but Honker merely chuckled. "It's Dippy the Loon, " said he. "Hespent the summer in the Far North not far from us. He started south justbefore we did. "

"I wish he would come in here so that I can get a good look at him andmake his acquaintance, " said Peter. 

"He may, but I doubt it, " replied Honker. "He and his mate are greatpeople to keep by themselves. Then, too, they don't have to come ashorefor food. You know Dippy feeds altogether on fish. He really has aneasier time on the long journey than we do, because he can get his foodwithout running so much risk of being shot by the terrible hunters. Hepractically lives on the water. He's about the most awkward fellow onland of any one I know. "

"Why should he be any more awkward on land then you?" asked Peter, hiscuriosity aroused at once. 

"Because, " replied Honker, "Old Mother Nature has given him very shortlegs and has placed them so far back on his body that he can't keep hisbalance to walk, and has to use his wings and bill to help him over theground. 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 homeunder water as on top. My, how that fellow can dive! When he sees theflash 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, andhe can go so fast under water that he can catch a fish. It is becausehis legs have been placed so far back that he can swim so fast. You knowhis feet are nothing but big paddles. Another funny thing is that he cansink right down in the water when he wants to, with nothing but his headout. I envy him that. It would be a lot easier for us Geese to escapethe 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 onfish? How do you suppose he would hold on to his slippery fish if he hada 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 greenishappearance in the sun. His back and wings are spotted with white, andthere 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 getacquainted 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 canI? I guess I will have to be content to know him just by his voice. Icertainly never will forget that. It's about as crazy sounding as thevoice 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 flyfrom 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 foodon land. When it is safe to do so we visit the grain fields and pick upthe grain that has been shaken out during harvest. Of course we couldn'tdo that if we couldn't fly from the land. We can rise from either landor 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 themin 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 theGoose. In a night Peter Rabbit's world was transformed. It had becomea new world, a world of pure white. The last laggard among Peter'sfeathered friends who spend the winter in the far-away South had hurriedaway. Still Peter was not lonely. Tommy Tit's cheery voice greeted Peterthe very first thing that morning after the storm. Tommy seemed to be injust as good spirits as ever he had been in summer. 

Now Peter rather likes the snow. He likes to run about in it, and sohe followed Tommy Tit up to the Old Orchard. He felt sure that he wouldfind company there besides Tommy Tit, and he was not disappointed. Downyand Hairy the Woodpeckers were getting their breakfast from a pieceof suet Farmer Brown's boy had thoughtfully fastened in one of theapple-trees for them. Sammy Jay was there also, and his blue coat neverhad 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 OldOrchard, and so you can guess how pleased he was as he hopped over theold stone wall to hear the voice of one whom he had almost forgotten. Itwas the voice of Yank-Yank the Nuthatch, and while it was far from beingsweet there was in it something of good cheer and contentment. At oncePeter hurried in the direction from which it came. 

On the trunk of an apple-tree he caught sight of a gray and black andwhite bird about the size of Downy the Woodpecker. The top of his headand upper part of his back were shining black. The rest of his back wasbluish-gray. The sides of his head and his breast were white. The outerfeathers 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 torecognize him. Peter would have known him if he had been so far awaythat the colors of his coat did not show at all. You see, Yank-Yank wasdoing a most surprising thing, something no other bird can do. He waswalking head first down the trunk of that tree, picking tiny eggs ofinsects from the bark and seemingly quite as much at home and quite asunconcerned in that queer position as if he were right side up. 

As Peter approached, Yank-Yank lifted his head and called a greetingwhich sounded very much like the repetition of his own name. Then heturned around and began to climb the tree as easily as he had come downit. 

"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 eyestwinkled 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 knowhome is where you raise your children, and my home is in the Great Woodsfarther north. There is too much ice and snow up there, so I have comedown here to spend the winter. "

"Well anyway, it's a kind of home; it's your winter home, " protestedPeter, "and I certainly am glad to see you back. The Old Orchardwouldn'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 whatit 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 lotbetter than some folks I know, if I do say it. As to our nest, it wasmade of leaves and feathers and it was in a hole in a certain old stumpthat not a soul knows of but Mrs. Yank-Yank and myself. Now is thereanything else you want to know?"

"Yes, " retorted Peter promptly. "I want to know how it is that you canwalk head first down the trunk of a tree without losing your balance andtumbling off. "

Yank-Yank chuckled happily. "I discovered a long time ago, Peter, " saidhe, "that the people who get on best in this world are those who makethe most of what they have and waste no time wishing they couldhave what other people have. I suppose you have noticed that allthe Woodpecker family have stiff tail feathers and use them to bracethemselves when they are climbing a tree. They have become so dependenton them that they don't dare move about on the trunk of a tree withoutusing 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 gaveme a very good pair of feet with three toes in front and one behindand when I was a very little fellow I learned to make the most of thosefeet. Each toe has a sharp claw. When I go up a tree the three frontclaws on each foot hook into the bark. When I come down a tree I simplytwist one foot around so that I can use the claws of this foot to keepme from falling. It is just as easy for me to go down a tree as it isto go up, and I can go right around the trunk just as easily andcomfortably. " Suiting action to the word, Yank-Yank ran around the trunkof the apple-tree just above Peter's head. When he reappeared Peter hadanother 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 beechnutsand certain kinds of seeds. "

"I don't see how such a little fellow as you can eat such hard things asacorns and beechnuts, " protested Peter a little doubtfully. 

Yank-Yank laughed right out. "Sometime when I see you over in the GreenForest I'll show you, " said he. "When I find a fat beechnut I take itto a little crack in a tree that will just hold it; then with this stoutbill of mine I crack the shell. It really is quite easy when you knowhow. Cracking a nut open that way is sometimes called hatching, andthat is how I come by the name of Nuthatch. Hello! There's Seep-Seep. Ihaven't seen him since we were together up North. His home was not farfrom mine. "

As Yank-Yank spoke, a little brown bird alighted at the very foot of thenext tree. He was just a trifle bigger than Jenny Wren but not at alllike Jenny, for while Jenny's tail usually is cocked up in the sauciestway, 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 familyuse theirs. He was dressed in grayish-brown above and grayish-whitebeneath. Across each wing was a little band of buffy-white, and his billwas 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 toeat from under the bark. His way of climbing that tree was very likecreeping, and Peter thought to himself that Seep-Seep was well named theBrown Creeper. He knew it was quite useless to try to get Seep-Seep totalk, 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 reachedthe top at once flew down to the bottom of the next tree and withouta pause started up that. He wasted no time exploring the branches, butstuck 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 feltthat on him alone depended the job of getting all the insect eggs andgrubs 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 stubwith a piece of loose bark hanging to it. In behind this he tucks hisnest made of twigs, strips of bark and moss. He's a funny little fellowand I don't know of any one in all the great world who more strictlyattends to his own business than does Seep-Seep the Brown Creeper. Bythe 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 youreminded 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 becamepossessed of a great desire to find this little friend of the coldmonths and learn how he had fared through the summer. 

He was at a loss just where to look for Dotty until he remembered acertain weedy field along the edge of which the bushes had been leftgrowing. "Perhaps I'll find him there, " thought Peter, for he rememberedthat Dotty lives almost wholly on seeds, chiefly weed seeds, and that hedearly loves a weedy field with bushes not far distant in which he canhide. 

So Peter hurried over to the weedy field and there, sure enough, hefound Dotty with a lot of his friends. They were very busy getting theirbreakfast. Some were clinging to the weed-stalks picking the seeds outof the tops, while others were picking up the seeds from the ground. Itwas cold. Rough Brother North Wind was doing his best to blow up anothersnow-cloud. It wasn't at all the kind of day in which one would expectto find anybody in high spirits. But Dotty was. He was even singingas Peter came up, and all about Dotty's friends and relatives weretwittering as happily and merrily as if it were the beginning of springinstead of winter. 

Dotty was very nearly the size of Little Friend the Song Sparrow andlooked somewhat like him, save that his breast was clear ashy-gray, allbut a little dark spot in the middle, the little dot from which he getshis name. He wore a chestnut cap, almost exactly like that of Chippythe Chipping Sparrow. It reminded Peter that Dotty is often called theWinter 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 beback. Certainly, it is good to know that an old friend is glad to seeme. "

"Are you going to stay all winter, Dotty?" asked Peter. 

"I hope so, " replied Dotty. "I certainly shall if the snow does not getso deep that I cannot get enough to eat. Some of these weeds are so tallthat it will take a lot of snow to cover them, and as long as the topsare above the snow I will have nothing to worry about. You know a lot ofseeds remain in these tops all winter. But if the snow gets deep enoughto cover these I shall have to move along farther south. "

"Then I hope there won't be much snow, " declared Peter veryemphatically. "There are few enough folks about in winter at best, goodness knows, and I don't know of any one I enjoy having for aneighbor more than I do you. "

"Thank you again, Peter, " cried Dotty, "and please let me return thecompliment. I like cold weather. I like winter when there isn't too muchice and bad weather. I always feel good in cold weather. That is onereason 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 reallya ground bird although I am called a Tree Sparrow. Most of us Sparrowsspend our time on or near the ground. "

"I know, " replied Peter. "Do you know I'm very fond of the Sparrowfamily. I just love your cousin Chippy, who nests in the Old Orchardevery spring. I wish he would stay all winter. I really don't see why hedoesn't. I should think he could if you can. "

Dotty laughed. It was a tinkling little laugh, good to hear. "CousinChippy 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 chieflyon worms and bugs and I live almost wholly on seeds, and that is whatmakes the difference. Cousin Chippy must go where he can get plenty toeat. I can get plenty here and so I stay. "

"Did you and your relatives come down from the Far North alone?" askedPeter. 

"No, " replied Dotty promptly. "Slaty the Junco and his relatives camealong 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 wasso unexpected that it made Peter jump. He turned to find Slaty himselfchuckling merrily as he picked up seeds. He was very nearly the samesize as Dotty but trimmer. In fact he was one of the trimmest, neatestappearing of all of Peter's friends. There was no mistaking Slaty theJunco for any other bird. His head, throat and breast were clear slatecolor. Underneath he was white. His sides were grayish. His outer tailfeathers 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 badweather to drive me away from here. If the snow gets too deep I'll justgo up to Farmer Brown's barnyard. I can always pick up a meal there, forFarmer Brown's boy is a very good friend of mine. I know he won't let mestarve, no matter what the weather is. I think it is going to snow somemore. I like the snow. You know I am sometimes called the Snowbird. "

Peter nodded. "So I have heard, " said he, "though I think that namereally belongs to Snowflake the Snow Bunting. "

"Quite right, Peter, quite right, " replied Slaty. "I much prefer my ownname of Junco. My, these seeds are good!" All the time he was busilypicking 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?" inquiredPeter. 

"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 theFar North?" demanded Peter. 

"Not exactly cold, " replied Slaty, "but a lot cooler than it is downhere. I don't go as far north to nest as Snowflake does, but I go farenough to be fairly comfortable. I don't see how some folks can standhot weather. "

"It is a good thing they can, " interrupted Dotty. "If everybody likedthe same things it wouldn't do at all. Just suppose all the birds atenothing but seeds. There wouldn't be seeds enough to go around, and alot of us would starve. Then, too, the worms and the bugs would eat upeverything. So, take it all together, it is a mighty good thing thatsome birds live almost wholly on worms and bugs and such things, leavingthe seeds to the rest of us. I guess Old Mother Nature knew what she wasabout when she gave us different tastes. "

Peter nodded his head in approval. "You can always trust Old MotherNature to know what is best, " said he sagely. "By the way, Slaty, whatdo you make your nest of and where do you put it?"

"My nest is usually made of grasses, moss and rootlets. Sometimes it islined with fine grasses, and when I am lucky enough to find them I uselong hairs. Often I put my nest on the ground, and never very far aboveit. I am like my friend Dotty in this respect. It always seems to meeasier to hide a nest on the ground than anywhere else. There is nothinglike having a nest well hidden. It takes sharp eyes to find my nest, Ican 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 asDotty and his relatives and Slaty sought the shelter of the bushes alongthe edge of the field. Peter sat up very straight and looked this wayand looked that way. At first he saw nothing suspicious. Then, crouchingflat among the weeds, he got a glimpse of Black Pussy, the cat fromFarmer Brown's house. She had been creeping up in the hope of catchingone of those happy little seedeaters. Peter stamped angrily. Thenwith long jumps he started for the dear Old Briar-patch, lipperty-lipperty-lip, for truth to tell, big as he was, he was a littleafraid of Black Pussy. 

CHAPTER XLI. More Friends Come With the Snow. 

Slaty the Junco had been quite right in thinking it was going to snowsome more. Rough Brother North Find hurried up one big cloud afteranother, and late that afternoon the white feathery flakes came driftingdown out of the sky. 

Peter Rabbit sat tight in the dear Old Briar-patch. In fact Peter did nomoving about that night, but remained squatting just inside the entranceto an old hole Johnny Chuck's grandfather had dug long ago in the middleof the clear Old Briar-patch. Some time before morning the snow stoppedfalling and then rough Brother North Wind worked as hard to blow awaythe 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 everylittle snowflake twinkled back at every little sunbeam. It was all verylovely, and Peter Rabbit rejoiced as he scampered forth in quest of hisbreakfast. 

He started first for the weedy field where the day before he had foundDotty 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 ofthe weeds which showed above the snow. Almost at once Peter discoveredthat they were not the only seekers for seeds. Walking about on thesnow, and quite as busy seeking seeds as were Dotty and Slaty, was abird very near their size the top of whose head, neck and back were asoft rusty-brown. There was some black on his wings, but the latterwere mostly white and the outer tail feathers were white. His breast andunder parts were white. It was Snowflake the Snow Bunting in his wintersuit. Peter knew him instantly. There was no mistaking him, for, asPeter well knew, there is no other bird of his size and shape who is solargely white. He had appeared so unexpectedly that it almost seemed asif 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 atonce. Peter noticed that he did not hop, but walked or ran. Presently hepaused long enough to reply to Peter's question. "If the snow has cometo 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 snowbegins to disappear, I just naturally fly back farther north, " repliedSnowflake. "It isn't that I don't like bare ground, because I do, andI'm always glad when the snow is blown off in places so that I can huntfor seeds on the ground. But when the snow begins to melt everywhere Ifeel uneasy. I can't understand how folks can be contented where thereis 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 seasoncomes around, I chase Jack Frost clear 'way up to where he spends thesummer. I nest 'way up on the shore of the Polar Sea, but of course youdon'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 theyear around?" demanded Peter. 

"Because, Peter, " replied Snowflake, twittering merrily, "like everybodyelse, I have to eat in order to live. When you see me down here you mayknow that the snows up north are so deep that they have covered all theseeds. I always keep a weather eye out, as the saying is, and the minuteit looks as if there would be too much snow for me to get a living, Imove along. I hope I will not have to go any farther than this, but ifsome morning you wake up and find the snow so deep that all the heads ofthe weeds are buried, don't expect to find me. "

"That's what I call good, sound common sense, " said another voice, anda bird a little bigger than Snowflake, and who at first glance seemed tobe dressed almost wholly in soft chocolate brown, alighted in the snowclose by and at once began to run about in search of seeds. It wasWanderer the Horned Lark. Peter hailed him joyously, for there wassomething of mystery about Wanderer, and Peter, as you know, lovesmystery. 

Peter had known him ever since his first winter, yet did not feelreally acquainted, for Wanderer seldom stayed long enough for a realacquaintance. Every winter he would come, sometimes two or three times, but seldom staying more than a few days at a time. Quite often he andhis relatives appeared with the Snowflakes, for they are the best offriends and travel much together. 

Now as Wanderer reached up to pick seeds from a weed-top, Peter hada good look at him. The first things he noticed were the two littlehorn-like tufts of black feathers above and behind the eyes. It is fromthese that Wanderer gets the name of Horned Lark. No other bird hasanything quite like them. His forehead, a line over each eye, and histhroat were yellow. There was a black mark from each corner of thebill curving downward just below the eye and almost joining a blackcrescent-shaped band across the breast. Beneath this he was soiled whitewith dusky spots showing here and there. His back was brown, in placeshaving almost a pinkish tinge. His tail was black, showing a littlewhite on the edges when he flew. All together he was a handsome littlefellow. 

"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. Youshould see me when I have my summer suit. "

"Is it so very different from this?" asked Peter. "I think your presentsuit is pretty enough. "

"Well said, Peter, well said, " interrupted Snowflake. "I quite agreewith 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 sovery different, but it is brighter, and those black markings are muchstronger and show up better. You see, Wanderer is one of my neighbors inthe 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 abetter neighbor. You should hear him sing, Peter. He sings up in theair, 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 orderto get enough to eat. "

"I don't see, " said Peter, "why, when you get here, you don't stay inone place. "

"Because it is easier to get a good living by moving about, " repliedWanderer promptly. "Besides, I like to visit new places. I shouldn'tenjoy being tied down in just one place like some birds I know. Wouldyou, Snowflake?"

Snowflake promptly replied that he wouldn't. Just then Peter discoveredsomething 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 askmore about it when Wanderer suddenly spied a flock of his relativessome distance away and flew to join them. Probably this saved him someembarrassment, for it is doubtful if he himself knew why Old MotherNature 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 goodthing that he does, for he might grow too fat to keep out of the way ofReddy Fox. You see when the snow is deep Peter is forced to eat whateverhe can, and very often there isn't much of anything for him but the barkof young trees. It is at such times that Peter gets into mischief, forthere is no bark he likes better than that of young fruit trees. Nowyou know what happens when the bark is taken off all the way around thetrunk of a tree. That tree dies. It dies for the simple reason that itis up the inner layer of bark that the life-giving sap travels in thespring and summer. Of course, when a strip of bark has been taken offall the way around near the base of a tree, the sap cannot go up and thetree 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 manytimes in the summer. Then there had been plenty of sweet clover andother green things to eat, and Peter had never been so much as temptedto sample the bark of those young trees. But now things were verydifferent, and it was very seldom that Peter knew what it was to have afull stomach. He kept thinking of that young orchard. He knew that if hewere wise he would keep away from there. But the more he thought of itthe more it seemed to him that he just must have some of that tenderyoung bark. So just at dusk one evening, Peter started for the youngorchard. 

Peter got there in safety and his eyes sparkled as he hopped over tothe nearest young tree. But when he reached it, Peter had a dreadfuldisappointment. All around the trunk of that young tree was wirenetting. Peter couldn't get even a nibble of that bark. He tried thenext 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'sliking for the bark of young fruit trees, and he had been wise enough toprotect his young orchard. 

At last Peter gave up and hopped over to the Old Orchard. As he passed acertain 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 hewould he couldn't see anybody. Of course there wasn't a leaf on thattree, 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 brancheshe couldn't have helped seeing him. 

"Don't look so high, Peter; don't look so high, " said the voice with achuckle. This time it sounded as if it came right out of the trunk ofthe 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, andpoking his head out of it was a funny little fellow with big eyes and ahooked beak. 

"You certainly did fool me that time, Spooky, " cried Peter. "I ought tohave recognized your voice, but I didn't. "

Spooky the Screech Owl, for that is who it was, came out of the hole inthe tree and without a sound from his wings flew over and perched justabove 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 helooked very much like a small copy of Hooty the Great Horned Owl, somuch so that Peter felt a little cold shiver run over him, although hehad nothing in the world to fear from Spooky. 

His head seemed to be almost as big around as his body, and he seemedto leave no neck at all. He was dressed in bright reddish-brown, withlittle streaks and bars of black. Underneath he was whitish, with littlestreaks and bars of black and brown. On each side of his head was a tuftof 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 hungrylook in them. His bill was small and almost hidden among the feathers ofhis face, but it was hooked just like the bill of Hooty. As he settledhimself he turned his head around until he could look squarely behindhim, then brought it back again so quickly that to Peter it looked asif it had gone clear around. You see Spooky's eyes are fixed in theirsockets and he cannot move them from side to side. He has to turn hiswhole 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?" retortedPeter 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 thereis a fat Mouse waiting for me. "

Just then Peter remembered what Jenny Wren had told him early in thespring of how Spooky the Screech Owl lives all the year around in ahollow tree, and curiosity made him forget for the time being that hewas hungry. "Did you live in that hole all summer, Spooky?" he asked. 

Spooky nodded solemnly. "I've lived in that hollow summer and winter forthree 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 offour as fine looking youngsters as you ever have seen. They've gone outinto the Great World to make their own living now. Two were dressed justlike me and two were gray. "

"What's that?" exclaimed Peter. 

"I said that two were dressed just like me and two were gray, " repliedSpooky 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 hisbill sharply with a little cracking sound. "We Screech Owls believe invariety. Some of us are gray and some of us are reddish-brown. It isa case of where you cannot tell a person just by the color of hisclothes. "

Peter nodded as if he quite understood, although he couldn't understandat 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'tsee 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 formy daily food, " retorted Spooky. "I catch a Sparrow now and then, tobe sure, but usually it is an English Sparrow, and I consider that I amdoing the Old Orchard a good turn every time I am lucky enough to catchone of the family of Bully the English Sparrow. But I live mostly onMice and Shrews in winter and in summer I eat a lot of grasshoppers andother insects. If it wasn't for me and my relatives I guess Mice wouldsoon overrun the Great World. Farmer Brown ought to be glad I've come tolive in the Old Orchard and I guess he is, for Farmer Brown's boy knowsall about this house of mine and never disturbs me. Now if you'll excuseme I think I'll fly over to Farmer Brown's young orchard. I ought tofind a fat Mouse or two trying to get some of the bark from those youngtrees. "

"Huh!" exclaimed Peter. "They can try all they want to, but they won'tget any; I can tell you that. "

Spooky's round yellow eyes twinkled. "It must be you have been trying toget some of that bark yourself, " said he. 

Peter didn't say anything but he looked guilty, and Spooky once morechuckled as he spread his wings and flew away so soundlessly that heseemed more like a drifting shadow than a bird. Then Peter started fora certain swamp he knew of where he would be sure to find enough bark tostay 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 infinding Jumper's tracks in the snow, and by following these he at lengthcame up with Jumper. The fact is, Peter almost bumped into Jumper beforehe saw him, for Jumper was wearing a coat as white as the snow itself. Squatting under a little snow-covered hemlock-tree he looked likenothing more than a little mound of snow. 

"Oh!" cried Peter. "How you startled me! I wish I had a winter coat likeyours. It must be a great help in avoiding your enemies. "

"It certainly is, Cousin Peter, " cried Jumper. "Nine times out of tenall I have to do is to sit perfectly still when there was no wind tocarry my scent. I have had Reddy Fox pass within a few feet of me andnever suspect that I was near. I hope this snow will last all winter. Itis only when there isn't any snow that I am particularly worried. ThenI am not easy for a minute, because my white coat can be seen a longdistance against the brown of the dead leaves. "

Peter chuckled, "that is just when I feel safest, " he replied. "Ilike the snow, but this brown-gray coat of mine certainly does show upagainst it. Don't you find it pretty lonesome over here in the GreenForest 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!" heexclaimed. "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. Presentlythey came to some tracks in the snow. At first glance they remindedPeter of the queer tracks Farmer Brown's ducks made in the mud on theedge of the Smiling Pool in summer. "What funny tracks those are!" heexclaimed. "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 ofthem, they saw Strutter the Grouse. Peter opened his eyes with surprisewhen he discovered that those queer tracks were made by Strutter. 

"Cousin Peter wants to see your snowshoes, Strutter, " said Jumper asthey came up with him. 

Strutter's bright eyes sparkled. "He's just as curious as ever, isn'the?" said he. "Well, I don't mind showing him my snowshoes because Ithink myself that they are really quite wonderful. " He held up one footwith the toes spread apart and Peter saw that growing out from the sidesof each toe were queer little horny points set close together. Theyquite filled the space between his toes. Peter recalled that when hehad seen Strutter in the summer those toes had been smooth and that histracks on soft ground had shown the outline of each toe clearly. "Howfunny!" exclaimed Peter. 

"There's nothing funny about them, " retorted Strutter. "If Old MotherNature hadn't given me something of this kind I certainly would have ahard time of it when there is snow on the ground. If my feet were justthe same as in summer I would sink right down in when the snow is softand wouldn't be able to walk about at all. Now, with these snowshoes Iget along very nicely. You see I sink in but very little. "

He took three or four steps and Peter saw right away how very usefulthose snowshoes were. "My!" he exclaimed. "I wish Old Mother Naturewould give me snowshoes too. " Strutter and Jumper both laughed and aftera second Peter laughed with them, for he realized how impossible itwould be for him to have anything like those snowshoes of Strutter's. 

"Cousin Peter was just saying that he should think I would find itlonesome 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 whospent the summer here have left, there are others who come down from theFar North to take their place. "

"Who, for instance?" demanded Peter. 

"Snipper the Crossbill, " replied Jumper promptly. "I haven't seen himyet this winter, but I know he is here because only this morning I foundsome pine seeds on the snow under a certain tree. "

"Huh!" Peter exclaimed. "That doesn't prove anything. Those seeds mighthave just fallen, or Chatterer the Red Squirrel might have droppedthem. "

"This isn't the season for seeds to just fall, and I know by the signsthat Chatterer hasn't been about, " retorted Jumper. "Let's go over therenow and see what we will see. "

Once more he led the way and Peter followed. As they drew near thatcertain pine-tree, a short whistled note caused them to look up. Busilyat work on a pine cone near the top of a tree was a bird about the sizeof Bully the English Sparrow. He was dressed wholly in dull red withbrownish-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 inwhat a funny way they climb about among the branches. They don't flitor hop, but just climb around. I don't know of any other bird anywherearound here that does that. "

Just then a seed dropped and landed on the snow almost in front ofPeter's nose. Almost at once Snipper himself followed it, picking it upand eating it with as much unconcern as if Peter and Jumper were a mileaway instead of only a foot or so. The very first thing Peter noticedwas Snipper's bill. The upper and lower halves crossed at the tips. That bill looked very much as if Snipper had struck something hard andtwisted 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. "Whateverput 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 OldMother Nature made it, and I really don't know what I'd do if it wereany different. "

Peter scratched one long ear, as is his way when he is puzzled. "I don'tsee, " said he, "how it is possible for you to pick up food with a billlike that. "

"And I don't see how I would get my food if I didn't have a bill likethis, " retorted Snipper. Then, seeing how puzzled Peter really was, hewent on to explain. "You see, I live very largely on the seeds that growin pine cones and the cones of other trees. Of course I eat some otherfood, such as seeds and buds of trees. But what I love best of all arethe seeds that grow in the cones of evergreen trees. If you've everlooked at one of those cones, you will understand that those seeds arenot very easy to get at. But with this kind of a bill it is no troubleat all. I can snip them out just as easily as birds with straightbills can pick up seeds. You see my bill is very much like a pair ofscissors. "

"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 Wandererthe Horned Lark and some others I might name, " replied Snipper. "Give methe Far North every time. I would stay there the year through but thatsometimes food gets scarce up there. That is why I am down here now. Ifyou'll excuse me, I'll go finish my breakfast. "

Snipper flew up in the tree where the other Crossbills were at work andPeter and Jumper watched them. 

"I suppose you know, " said Jumper, "that Snipper has a cousin who looksalmost exactly like him with the exception of two white bars on eachwing. He is called the White-winged Crossbill. "

"I didn't know it, " replied Peter, "but I'm glad you've told me. Icertainly 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 elsenow 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 questionwhen Peter asked if there was any one else besides the Crossbills whohad 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 startledsurprise. Then they turned to see who had spoken. There sat a bird justa little smaller than Welcome Robin, who at first glance seemed to bedressed in strawberry-red. However, a closer look showed that there wereslate-gray markings about his head, under his wings and on his legs. Histail was brown. His wings were brown, marked with black and white andslate. 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 allput out by Peter's bluntness. 

"Oh, " said Peter. "Are you related to Rosebreast the Grosbeak who nestedlast summer in the Old Orchard?"

"I certainly am, " replied Piny. "He is my very own cousin. I've neverseen him because he never ventures up where I live and I don't go downwhere he spends the winter, but all members of the Grosbeak family arecousins. "

"Rosebreast is very lovely and I'm very fond of him, " said Peter. "Weare very good friends. "

"Then I know we are going to be good friends, " replied Piny. As he saidthis he turned and Peter noticed that his tail was distinctly forkedinstead of being square across like that of Welcome Robin. Pinywhistled, and almost at once he was joined by another bird who in shapewas just like him, but who was dressed in slaty-gray and olive-yellow, instead of the bright red that he himself wore. Piny introduced thenewcomer as Mrs. Grosbeak. 

"Lovely weather, isn't it?" said she. "I love the snow. I wouldn't feelat home with no snow about. Why, last spring I even built my nest beforethe snow was gone in the Far North. We certainly hated to leave upthere, but food was getting so scarce that we had to. We have justarrived. Can you tell me if there are any cedar-trees or ash-trees orsumacs near here?"

Peter hastened to tell her just where she would find these trees andthen rather timidly asked why she wanted to find them. 

"Because they hold their berries all winter, " replied Mrs. Grosbeakpromptly, "and those berries make very good eating. I rather thoughtthere must be some around here. If there are enough of them we certainlyshall stay a while. "

"I hope you will, " replied Peter. "I want to get better acquainted withyou. You know, if it were not for you folks who come down from the FarNorth the Green Forest would be rather a lonely place in winter. Thereare times when I like to be alone, but I like to feel that there issomeone I can call on when I feel lonesome. Did you and Piny come downalone?"

"No, indeed, " replied Mrs. Grosbeak. "There is a flock of our relativesnot far away. We came down with the Crossbills. All together we madequite a party. "

Peter and Jumper stayed a while to gossip with the Grosbeaks. Then Peterbethought him that it was high time for him to return to the dear OldBriar-patch, and bidding his new friends good-by, he started off throughthe Green Forest, lipperty-lipperty-lip. When he reached the edge ofthe Green Forest he decided to run over to the weedy field to see if theSnowflakes 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 weedwhich stood above the snow, was a bird very little bigger than Chicoreethe 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 myeyes so that I am seeing red. I've already seen two birds dressed in redand now there's another. It certainly must be my eyes. There's Dottythe Tree Sparrow over there; I hear his voice. I wonder if he will lookred. "

Peter hopped near enough to get a good look at Dotty and found himdressed just as he should be. That relieved Peter's mind. His eyes werequite as they should be. Then he returned to look at the happy littlestranger still busily picking seeds from that weed-top. 

The top of his head was bright red. There was no doubt about it. Hisback was toward Peter at the time and but for that bright red cap Petercertainly would have taken him for one of his friends among the Sparrowfamily. You see his back was grayish-brown. Peter could think of severalSparrows with backs very much like it. But when he looked closely he sawthat just above his tail this little stranger wore a pinkish patch, andthat was something no Sparrow of Peter's acquaintance possesses. 

Then the lively little stranger turned to face Peter and a pair ofbright eyes twinkled mischievously. "Well, " said he, "how do you likemy appearance? Anything wrong with me? I was taught that it is veryimpolite to stare at any one. I guess your mother forgot to teach youmanners. "

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 waswhite. The middle of his throat was black and his sides were streakedwith 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 itvery much indeed. I suppose you've already seen my friends, Snipper theCrossbill and Piny the Grosbeak. "

Peter promptly bobbed his head. "I've just come from making theiracquaintance, " said he. "By the way you speak, I presume you also arefrom the Far North. I am just beginning to learn that there are morefolks who make their homes in the Far North than I had dreamed of. Ifyou please, I don't believe I know you at all. "

"I'm Redpoll, " was the prompt response. "I am called that because of myred cap. Yes, indeed, I make my home in the Far North. There is no placelike it. You really ought to run up there and get acquainted with thefolks 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 loveto go. "

Redpoll laughed harder than ever. "Yes, " said he, "it is. I am afraidyou 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 uswho get down here once in awhile. "

Redpoll called softly and almost at once was joined by anotherred-capped bird but without the pink breast, and with sides more heavilystreaked. "This is Mrs. Redpoll, " announced her lively little mate. Thenhe turned to her and added, "I've just been telling Peter Rabbit thatas long as he cannot visit our beautiful Far North he must becomeacquainted with those of us who come down here in the winter. I'm surehe'll find us very friendly folks. "

"I'm sure I shall, " said Peter. "If you please, do you live altogetheron these weed seeds?"

Redpoll laughed his usual happy laugh. "Hardly, Peter, " replied he. "Welike the seeds of the birches and the alders, and we eat the seeds ofthe evergreen trees when we get them. Sometimes we find them in conesSnipper 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 toeat. 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 jointheir friends. Suddenly, as if a signal had been given, all spread theirwings at the same instant and flew up in a birch-tree not far away. Allseemed to take wing at precisely the same instant. Up in the birch-treethey sat for a minute or so and then, just as if another signal had beengiven, all began to pick out the tiny seeds from the birch tassels. Noone bird seemed to be first. It was quite like a drill, or as if eachhad thought of the same thing at the same instant. Peter chuckled overit all the way home. And somehow he felt better for having made theacquaintance of the Redpolls. It was the feeling that everybody sofortunate 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 thatlife is anything but easy for him that season. In the first place he hasto travel about a great deal to get sufficient food, and that means thathe must run more risks. There isn't a minute of day or night that he isoutside of the dear Old Briar-patch when he can afford not to watch andlisten for danger. You see, at this season of the year, Reddy Fox oftenfinds 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 andno leaves on the bushes and young trees, it is not easy for Peter tohide. So, as he travels about, the thought of Reddy Fox is always in hismind. 

But there are others whom Peter fears even more, and these wear feathersinstead of fur coats. One of these is Terror the Goshawk. Peter isnot alone in his fear of Terror. There is not one among his featheredfriends who will not shiver at the mention of Terror's name. Peter willnot soon forget the day he discovered that Terror had come down from theFar North, and was likely to stay for the rest of the winter. Peter wenthungry all the rest of that day. 

You see it was this way: Peter had gone over to the Green Forest veryearly that morning in the hope of getting breakfast in a certain swamp. He was hopping along, lipperty-lipperty-lip, with his thoughts chieflyon that breakfast he hoped to get, but at the same time with ears andeyes alert for possible danger, when a strange feeling swept over him. It was a feeling that great danger was very near, though he saw nothingand 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 afeeling as that is to seek safety first and investigate afterwards. At the instant he felt that strange feeling of fear he was passing acertain 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 hollowlog, 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 asecond. 

With his heart thumping as if it were trying to pound its way throughhis ribs, Peter peeped out of that hollow log. Terror had alighted ona tall stump only a few feet away. To Peter in his fright he seemed thebiggest bird he ever had seen. Of course he wasn't. Actually he was verynear the same size as Redtail the Hawk, whom Peter knew well. He washandsome. There was no denying the fact that he was handsome. 

His back was bluish. His head seemed almost black. Over and behind eacheye was a white line. Underneath he was beautifully marked with wavybars of gray and white. On his tail were four dark bands. Yes, he washandsome. But Peter had no thought for his beauty. He could see nothingbut the fierceness of the eyes that were fixed on the entrance to thathollow log. Peter shivered as if with a cold chill. He knew that inTerror 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 thana member of the Grouse family. 

Terror did not sit on that stump long. He knew that Peter was not likelyto come out in a hurry. Presently he flew away, and Peter suspected fromthe direction in which he was headed that Terror was going over to visitFarmer Brown's henyard. Of all the members of the Hawk family there isnone more bold than Terror the Goshawk. He would not hesitate to seizea hen from almost beneath Farmer Brown's nose. He is well named, for themere suspicion that he is anywhere about strikes terror to the heart ofall the furred and feathered folks. He is so swift of wing that few canescape 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 isforgiven by the little people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows, but to kill needlessly is unpardonable. This is why Terror the Goshawkis universally hated and has not a single friend. 

All that day Peter remained hidden in that hollow log. He did not dareput foot outside until the Black Shadows began to creep through theGreen Forest. Then he knew that there was nothing more to fear fromTerror the Goshawk, for he hunts only by day. Once more Peter's thoughtswere chiefly of his stomach, for it was very, very empty. 

But it was not intended that Peter should fill his stomach at once. Hehad gone but a little way when from just ahead of him the silence ofthe 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 offierceness that Peter had all he could do to keep from jumping andrunning for dear life. But he knew that voice and he knew, too, thatsafety lay in keeping perfectly still. So with his heart thumping madly, as when he had escaped from Terror that morning, Peter sat as still asif he could not move. 

It was the hunting call of Hooty the Great Horned Owl, and it had beenintended to frighten some one into jumping and running, or at least intomoving ever so little. Peter knew all about that trick of Hooty's. Heknew that in all the Green Forest there are no ears so wonderful asthose of Hooty the Owl, and that the instant he had uttered that fiercehunting call he had strained those wonderful ears to catch the faintestsound which some startled little sleeper of the night might make. Therustle of a leaf would be enough to bring Hooty to the spot on his greatsilent wings, and then his fierce yellow eyes, which are made for seeingin the dusk, would find the victim. 

So Peter sat still, fearful that the very thumping of his heart mightreach 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'tjump, and a few minutes later, as he sat staring at a certain tall, deadstub of a tree, wondering just where Hooty was, the top of thatstub seemed to break off, and a great, broad-winged bird flew awaysoundlessly like a drifting shadow. It was Hooty himself. Sittingperfectly straight on the top of that tall, dead stub he had seemed apart of it. Peter waited some time before he ventured to move. Finallyhe heard Hooty's hunting call in a distant part of the Green Forest, andknew 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 surprisingdiscovery. He was over in a certain lonely part of the Green Forest whenhe happened to remember that near there was an old nest which had oncebelonged to Redtail the Hawk. Out of idle curiosity Peter ran over for alook at that old nest. Imagine how surprised he was when just as hecame 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 itseemed, for he recognized Mrs. Hooty. 

Of course Peter stopped right where he was and took the greatest carenot to move or make a sound. Presently Hooty himself appeared andperched 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 couldsee him clearly. As he sat bolt upright he seemed to be of the sameheight as Terror the Goshawk, but with a very much bigger body. If Peterhad but known it, his appearance of great size was largely due to thefluffy feathers in which Hooty was clothed. Like his small cousin, Spooky the Screech Owl, Hooty seemed to have no neck at all. He lookedas if his great head was set directly on his shoulders. From each sideof 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 withlittle buff and black markings, and on his throat was a white patch. Hislegs 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 hisown eyes. He had always thought of Hooty as being able to see only inthe dusk of evening or on moonlight nights, but somehow he had a feelingthat even now in broad daylight Hooty could see perfectly well, and hewas quite right. 

For a long time Peter sat there without moving. He dared not do anythingelse. After he had recovered from his first fright he began to wonderwhat Hooty and Mrs. Hooty were doing at that old nest. His curiosity wasaroused. He felt that he simply must find out. By and by Hooty flew awayvery carefully, so as not to attract the attention of Mrs. Hooty. Peterstole back the way he had come. 

When he was far enough away to feel reasonably safe, he scampered asfast as ever he could. He wanted to get away from that place, and hewanted to find some one of whom he could ask questions. 

Presently he met his cousin, Jumper the Hare, and at once in a mostexcited 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, CousinPeter. From what you tell me it is quite clear to me that the Hootieshave begun nesting. "

"Nesting!" exclaimed Peter. "Nesting! Why, gentle Mistress Spring willnot get here for a month yet!"

"I said NESTING, " retorted Jumper, speaking rather crossly, for you seehe did not like to have his word doubted. "Hooty the Great Horned Owldoesn't wait for Mistress Spring. He and Mrs. Hooty believe in gettinghousehold cares out of the way early. Along about this time of year theyhunt up an old nest of Redtail the Hawk or Blacky the Crow or Chattererthe Red Squirrel, for they do not take the trouble to build a nestthemselves. Then Mrs. Hooty lays her eggs while there is still snow andice. Why their youngsters don't catch their death from cold when theyhatch out is more than I can say. But they don't. I'm sorry to hear thatthe Hooties have a nest here this year. It means a bad time for a lotof little folks in feathers and fur. I certainly shall keep away in fromthat part of the Green Forest, and I advise you to. "

Peter said that he certainly should, and then started on for the dearOld Briar-patch to think things over. The discovery that already thenesting season of a new year had begun turned Peter's thoughts towardsthe coming of sweet Mistress Spring and the return of his many featheredfriends who had left for the far-away South so long before. A greatlonging to hear the voices of Welcome Robin and Winsome Bluebird andLittle Friend the Song Sparrow swept over him, and a still greaterlonging for a bit of friendly gossip with Jenny Wren. In the past yearhe had learned much about his feathered neighbors, but there were stillmany things he wanted to know, things which only Jenny Wren could tellhim. He was only just beginning to find out that no one knows all thereis to know, especially about the birds. And no one ever will.