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THE BURGESS BIRD BOOK
FOR CHILDREN

BOOKS BY

THORNTON W. BURGESS

BEDTIME STORY-BOOKS

1. THE ADVENTURES OF REDDY Fox

2. THE ADVENTURES OF JOHNNY CHUCK

3. THE ADVENTURES OF PETER COTTONTAIL

4. THE ADVENTURES OF UNC' BILLY POSSUM

5. THE ADVENTURES OF MR. MOCKER

6. THE ADVENTURES OF JERRY MUSKRAT

7. THE ADVENTURES OF DANNY MEADOW MOUSE

8. THE ADVENTURES OF GRANDFATHER FROG

9. THE ADVENTURES OF CHATTERER, THE RED

SQUIRREL

10. THE ADVENTURES OF SAMMY JAY

11. THE ADVENTURES OF BUSTER BEAR

12. THE ADVENTURES OF OLD MR. TOAD

13. THE ADVENTURES OF PRICKLY PORKY

14. THE ADVENTURES OF OLD MAN COYOTE

15. THE ADVENTURES OF PADDY THE BEAVEH

16. THE ADVENTURES OF POOR MRS. QUACK

17. THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY COON

18. THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMY SKUNK

19. THE ADVENTURES OF BOB WHITE.

20. THE ADVENTURES OF OL' MISTAH BUZZARD

OLD MOTHER WEST WIND SERIES

1. OLD MOTHER, WEST Wnro

2. MOTHER WEST WIND 8 CHILDREN

3. MOTHER WEST WIND s ANIMAL FRIENDS

4. MOTHER WEST WIND s NEIGHBOBS

6. MOTHER WEST WIND s "WHY" STORIES

6. MOTHER WEST WIND'S "How" STORIES

7. MOTHER WEST WIND s "WHEN" STORIES

8. MOTHER WEST WIND s "WHERE" STORIES

GREEN MEADOW SERIES

1. HAPPY JACK

2. MRS. PETER RABBIT

CREAKER THE PURPLE CRACKLE. At a distance he appears black
and is called Crow Blackbird.

THE MALE COWBIRD. You may know him by his coffee-brown head.

THE BURGESS BIRD BOOK
FOR CHILDREN

BY

THORNTON W. BURGESS

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BT

LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTE3

BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

Copyright, 1919,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.

All rights reserved
Published, October, 1819

STortBaatJ ftim
Set up and etotrotppcd by J. S. Cushbg Co., Norwood, Mws., U.S.A.

TO THE CHILDREN AND THE BIRDS

OF AMERICA THAT THE BONDS OF LOVE AND

FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN THEM MAY BB

STRENGTHENED
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

PREFACE

THIS book was written to supply a definite need.
Its preparation was undertaken at the urgent
request of booksellers and others who have felt the
lack of a satisfactory medium of introduction to
bird life for little children. As such, and in no
sense whatever as a competitor with the many
excellent books on this subject, but rather to sup-
plement these, this volume has been written.

Its primary purpose is to interest the little child
in, and to make him acquainted with, those
feathered friends he is most likely to see. Because
there is no method of approach to the child mind
equal to the story, this method of conveying in-
formation has been adopted. So far as I am
aware the book is unique in this respect. In its
preparation an earnest effort has been made to
present as far as possible the important facts
regarding the appearance, habits and character-
istics of our feathered neighbors. It is intended to
be at once a story book and an authoritative hand-
book. While it is intended for little children, it
is hoped that children of larger growth may find
in it much of both interest and helpfulness.

Mr. Louis Agassiz Fuertes, artist and naturalist,
[vii]

Preface

has marvelously supplemented such value as may
lie in the text by his wonderful drawings in full
color. They were made especially for this volume
and are so accurate, so true to life, that study of
them will enable any one to identify the species
shown. I am greatly indebted to Mr. Fuertes for
his cooperation in the endeavor to make this book
of real assistance to the beginner in the study of
our native birds.

It is offered to the reader without apologies of
any sort. It was written as a labor of love — love
for little children and love for the birds. If as a
result of it even a few children are led to a keener
interest in and better understanding of our
feathered friends, its purpose will have been ac-
complished.

THOKNTON W. BURGESS

[ viii ]

CONTENTS

PAGE

PREFACE . . . . . " . . vii

I JENNY WREN ARRIVES . ... , . . . 1

Introducing the House Wren.

II THE OLD ORCHARD BULLY . ... 8
The English or House Sparrow.

III JENNY HAS A GOOD WORD FOR SOME

SPARROWS 15

The Song, White-throated and Fox Sparrows.

IV CHIPPY, SWEETVOICE AND DOTTY ... 22
The Chipping, Vesper and Tree Sparrows.

V PETER LEARNS SOMETHING HE HADN'T

GUESSED f30

The Bluebird and the Robin.

VI AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW HOME .-.:', .38
The Phoebe and the Least Flycatcher.

VII THE WATCHMAN OF THE OLD ORCHARD . . 46

The Kingbird and the Great Crested Flycatcher.
VIII OLD CLOTHES AND OLD HOUSES ... 54
The Wood Pewee and Some Nesting Places.

IX LONGBILL AND TEETER . , . . . . 61

The Woodcock and the Spotted Sandpiper,
[ix]

Contents

PACT

X REDWING AND YELLOW WING ... 69
The Red-winged Blackbird and the Golden-
winged Flicker.

XI DRUMMERS AND CARPENTERS ... 76
The Downy, Hairy and Red-headed Wood-
peckers.

XII SOME UNLIKE RELATIVES .... 83
The Cowbird and the Baltimore Oriole.

XIII MORE OF THE BLACKBIRD FAMILY . . 90
The Orchard Oriole and the Bobolink.

XIV BOB WHITE AND CAROL THE MEADOW LARK 98
The So-called Quail and the Meadow Lark.

XV A SWALLOW AND ONE WHO ISN'T . . 106

The Tree Swallow and the Chimney Swift.
XVI A ROBBER IN THE OLD ORCHARD . .113

The Purple Martin and the Barn Swallow.
XVII MORE ROBBERS . . . . .120

The Crow and the Blue Jay.

XVIII SOME HOMES IN THE GREEN FOREST . 128

The Crow, the Oven Bird and the Redtailed
Hawk. | j

XIX A MAKER OF THUNDER AND A FRIEND IN

BLACK 136

The Ruffed Grouse and the Crow Blackbird.

XX A FISHERMAN ROBBED 144

The Osprey and the Bald-headed Eagle. '

XXI A FISHING PARTY 151

The Great Blue Heron and the Kingfisher. t1
[x]

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

XXII SOME FEATHERED DIGGERS . , . 159
The Bank Swallow, the Kingfisher and the
Sparrow Hawk.

XXIII SOME BIG MOUTHS . . S . . . 168
The Nighthawk, the Whip-poor-will and

Chuck-will's-widow.

XXIV THE WARBLERS ARRIVE . . . . 175
The Redstart and the Yellow Warbler. , ,

XXV THREE COUSINS QUITE UNLIKE . . 183
The Black and White Warbler, the Mary-
land Yellow-Throat and the Yellow-
breasted Chat.

XXVI PETER GETS A LAME NECK . . .190
The Parula, Myrtle and Magnolia War-
blers.

XXVII A NEW FRIEND AND AN OLD ONE . . 199
The Cardinal and the Catbird.

XXVIII PETER SEES ROSEBREAST AND FINDS

REDCOAT 206

The Rose-breasted Grosbeak and the Scar-
let Tanager.

XXIX THE CONSTANT SINGERS . . . .215
The Red-eyed, Warbling and Yellow-
throated Vireos.

XXX JENNY WREN'S COUSINS . . ' . .222
The Brown Thrasher and the Mockingbird.

XXXI VOICES OF THE DUSK . "~ . . .229
The Wood, Hermit and Wilson's Thrushes,
[xi]

Contents

XXXII

XXXIII
XXXIV

XXXV
XXXVI

'XXXVII

XXXVIII

XXXIX

XL

XLI

XLII

PETER SAVES A FRIEND AND LEARNS

SOMETHING 237

The Towhee and the Indigo Bunting.

A ROYAL DRESSER AND A LATE NESTBR 245
The Purple Linnet and the Goldfinch.

MOURNER THE DOVE AND CUCKOO . 253
The Mourning Dove and the Yellow-billed
Cuckoo.

A BUTCHER AND A HUMMER . . . 261
The Shrike and the Ruby-throated Hum-
ming-bird.

A STRANGER AND A DANDY . . . 269
The English Starling and the Cedar Wax-
wing.

FAREWELLS AND WELCOMES . . 7". 276
The Chickadee.

HONKER AND DIPPY ARRIVE . . " " . 284
The Canada Goose and the Loon.

PETER DISCOVERS Two OLD FRIENDS . 292
The White-breasted Nuthatch and the
Brown Creeper.

SOME MERRY SEED-EATERS . . . 299
The Tree Sparrow and the Junco.

MORE FRIENDS COME WITH THE SNOW . 306
The Snow Bunting and the Horned Lark.

PETER LEARNS SOMETHING ABOUT SPOOKY 313
The Screech Owl.

[xii]

Contents

CHAPTEB M.WB

XLIII QUEER FEET AND A QUEERER BILL . . 320
The Ruffed Grouse and the Crossbills.

XLIV MORE FOLKS IN RED 587

The Pine Grosbeak and the Redpoll.

XLV PETER SEES Two TERRIBLE FEATHERED

HUNTERS 834

The Goshawk and the Great Horned Owl.

INDEX 343

[an]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Creaker the Purple Grackle, and the Male

Cowbird ...... Frontispiece

PAGE

Jenny Wren 6

Bully the English Sparrow 6

Chippy the Chipping Sparrow 6

Sweet Voice the Vesper Sparrow 16

Little Friend the Song Sparrow 16

Dotty the Tree Sparrow 26

Slaty the Junco 26

Welcome Robin 36

Winsome Blue Bird 36

Chebec the Least Flycatcher 44

Dear Me the Phoebe 44

Scrapper the Kingbird 50

Redeye the Vireo 50

Longbill the Woodcock . . . . . . 62

Bob White 62

Redwing the Blackbird 70

Speckles the Starling 70

Yellow Wing the Flicker 74

Redhead the Woodpecker 80

Downy the Woodpecker 80

Goldie the Baltimore Oriole 88

Sammy Jay 88

Bubbling Bob the Bobolink 94

[XV]

List of Illustrations

PAGE

Carol the Meadow Lark 100

Skimmer the Tree Swallow 114

Forktail the Barn Swallow 114

Redtail the Hawk 134

Strutter the Ruffed Grouse . * . . <• . . .140

King Eagle 148

Plunger the Osprey . . . . . . .148

Rattles the Kingfisher . . ... . .156

Teeter the Spotted Sandpiper 156

Longlegs the Great Blue Heron 156

Boomer the Nighthawk 170

Sunshine the Yellow Warbler 176

Zee-Zee the Redstart 176

Seep-Seep the Brown Creeper 176

Glory the Cardinal 200

Kitty the Catbird 200

Redcoat the Scarlet Tanager 210

Rosebreast the Grosbeak . . ... . .210

Brownie the Thrasher 222

Chewink the Towhee 222

Melody the Wood Thrush 230

Teacher the Oven Bird 230

Chicoree the Goldfinch 248

Hummer the Ruby-throated Hummingbird . . . 248

Mourner the Dove 256

Butcher the Northern Shrike 264

Snipper the Crossbill 264

Dandy the Cedar Waxwing (Cherry Bird) . . .272

Tommy Tit the Chickadee 280

Yank-Yank the White-Breasted Nuthatch . . .280
Snowflake the Snow Bunting . . . . .308

Wanderer the Horned Lark 308

Spooky the Screech Owl . . . ' . . .318

xvi ]

THE BURGESS BIED BOOK
FOR CHILDREN

THE BURGESS BIRD
BOOK FOR CHILDREN

CHAPTER I

JENNY WREN ARRIVES

' LIPPERTY-LIPPERTY-LIP scampered Peter Rabbit
behind the tumble-down stone wall along one side
of the Old Orchard. It was early in the morning,
very early in the morning. In fact, jolly, bright
Mr. Sun had hardly begun his daily climb up in
the blue, blue sky. It was nothing unusual for
Peter to see jolly Mr. Sun get up in the morning.
It would be more unusual for Peter not to see him,
for you know Peter is a great hand to stay out all
night and not go back to the dear Old Briar-patch,
where his home is, until the hour when most folks
are just getting out of bed.

Peter had been out all night this time, but he
wasn't sleepy, not the least teeny, weeny bit.
You see, sweet Mistress Spring had arrived, and
there was so much happening on every side, and
Peter was so afraid he would miss something, that

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

he wouldn't have slept at all if he could have
helped it. Peter had come over to the Old Or-
chard so early this morning to see if there had
been any new arrivals the day before. i

"Birds are funny creatures," said Peter, as he
hopped over a low place in the old stone wall and
was fairly in the Old Orchard.

"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!" cried a rather sharp,
scolding voice. "Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut! You
don't know what you are talking about, Peter
Rabbit. They are not funny creatures at all.
They are the most sensible folks in all the wide
world."

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

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

"Well, if you are so fond of it what did you

leave it for?" demanded Peter. "It is just as

I said before — you birds are funny creatures.

You never stay put; at least a lot of you don't.

[2]

Jenny Wren Arrives

Sammy Jay and Tommy Tit the Chickadee and
Drummer the Woodpecker and a few others have
a little sense; they don't go off on long, foolish
journeys. But the rest of you — "

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

Peter chuckled. "That tongue of yours is
just as sharp as ever," said he. "But just the
same it is good to hear it. We certainly would
miss it. I was beginning to be a little worried
for fear something might have happened to you
so that you wouldn't be back here this summer.
You know me well enough, Jenny Wren, to know
that you can't hurt me with your tongue, sharp
as it is, so you may as well save your breath to
tell me a few things I want to know. Now if
you are as fond of the Old Orchard as you pre-
tend 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
[3]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

the Old Orchard," replied Jenny. "Do give us
birds credit for a little common sense, Peter.
We can't live without eating any more than you
can, and in winter there is no food at all here for
most of us, so we go where there is food. Those
who are lucky enough to eat the kinds of food
that can be found here in winter stay here. They
are lucky. That's what they are — lucky.
Still—" Jenny Wren paused.

"Still what?" prompted Peter.

"I wonder sometimes if you folks who are at
home all the time know just what a blessed place
home is," replied Jenny. "It is only six months
since we went south, but I said it seems ages,
and it does. The best part of going away is
coming home. I don't care if that does sound
rather mixed; it is true just the same. It isn't
home down there in the sunny South, even if we
do spend as much time there as we do here. This
is home, and there's no place like it! What's
that, Mr. Wren? I haven't seen all the Great
World ? Perhaps I haven't, but I've seen enough
of it, let me tell you that ! Any one who travels
a thousand miles twice a year as we do has a
right to express an opinion, especially if they
have used their eyes as I have mine. There is
no place like home, and you needn't try to tease
me by pretending that there is. My dear, I
[4]

Jenny Wren Arrives

know you; you are just as tickled to be back
here as I am."

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

Jenny Wren looked over at Mr. Wren fondly.
"Isn't he a dear to sing to me like that? And
isn't it a perfectly beautiful spring song?" said
she. Then, without waiting for Peter to reply,
her tongue rattled on. "I do wish he would be
careful. Sometimes I am afraid he will overdo.
Just look at him now ! He is singing so hard that
he is shaking all over. He always is that way.
There is one thing true about us Wrens, and this
is that when we do things we do them with all
our might. When we work we work with all
our might. When Mr. Wren sings he sings with
all his might."

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

Jenny Wren opened her mouth for a sharp
reply, but laughed instead. "I suppose I do
scold a good deal," said she, "but if I didn't,
goodness knows who wouldn't impose on us. I
can't bear to be imposed on."

"Did you have a pleasant journey up from the
sunny South?" asked Peter.

"Fairly pleasant," replied Jenny. "We took
it rather easily. Some birds hurry right through
[5]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

without stopping, and I should think they would
be tired to death when they arrive. We rest
whenever we are tired, and just follow along be-
hind Mistress Spring, keeping far enough behind
so that if she has to turn back we will not get
caught by Jack Frost. It gives us time to get
our new suits on the way. You know everybody
expects you to have new things when you return
home. How do you like my new suit, Peter?"
Jenny bobbed and twisted and turned to show it
off. It was plain to see that she was very proud
of it.

"Very much," replied Peter. "I am very fond
of brown. Brown and gray are my favorite
colors." You know Peter's own coat is brown
and gray.

"That is one of the most sensible things I have
heard you say," chattered Jenny Wren. "The
more I see of bright colors the better I like brown.
It always is in good taste. It goes well with almost
everything. It is neat and it is useful. If there
is need of getting out of sight in a hurry you can
do it if you wear brown. But if you wear bright
colors it isn't so easy. I never envy anybody
who happens to have brighter clothes than mine.
I've seen dreadful things happen all because of
wearing bright colors."

"What?" demanded Peter.
[6]

JENNY WREN. This is the saucy little House Wren wh

BULLY THE ENGLISH SPARROW, the common sparrow of the streets.
CHIPPY THE CHIPPING SPARROW, the smallest of the family.

Jenny Wren Arrives

"I'd rather not talk about them," declared
Jenny in a very emphatic way. " 'Way down
where we spent the winter some of the feathered
folks who live there all the year round wear the
brightest and most beautiful suits I've ever seen.
They are simply gorgeous. But I've noticed that
in times of danger these are the folks dreadful
things happen to. You see they simply can't
get out of sight. For my part I would far rather
be simply and neatly dressed and feel safe than
to wear wonderful clothes and never know a
minute's peace. Why, there are some families
I know of which, because of their beautiful suits,
have been so hunted by men that hardly any are
left. But gracious, Peter Rabbit, I can't sit here
all day talking to you ! I must find out who else
has arrived in the Old Orchard and must look my
old house over to see if it is fit to live in."

[7]

CHAPTER II

THE OLD ORCHARD BULLY

PETER RABBIT'S eyes twinkled when Jenny
Wren said that she must look her old house over
to see if it was fit to live in. "I can save you that
trouble," said he.

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

"Only that your old house is already occupied,"
replied Peter. "Bully the English Sparrow has
been living in it for the last two months. In
fact, he already has a good-sized family there."

"What?" screamed Jenny and Mr. Wren to-
gether. Then without even saying good-by to
Peter, they flew in a great rage to see if he had
told them the truth. Presently he heard them
scolding as fast as their tongues could go, and this
is very fast indeed.

"Much good that will do them," chuckled
Peter. "They will have to find a new house this
year. All the sharp tongues in the world couldn't
budge Bully the English Sparrow. My, my, my,
my, just hear that racket! I think I'll go over
and see what is going on."
[8]

The Old Orchard Bully

So Peter hopped to a place where he could get
a good view of Jenny Wren's old home and still
not be too far from the safety of the old stone
wall. Jenny Wren's old home had been in a
hole in one of the old apple-trees. Looking over
to it, Peter could see Mrs. Bully sitting in the
little round doorway and quite filling it. She
was shrieking excitedly. Hopping and flitting
from twig to twig close by were Jenny and Mr.
Wren, their tails pointing almost straight up to
the sky, and scolding as fast as they could make
their tongues go. Flying savagely at one and
then at the other, and almost drowning their
voices with his own harsh cries, was Bully him-
self. He was perhaps one fourth larger than
Mr. Wren, although he looked half again as big.
But for the fact that his new spring suit was very
dirty, due to his fondness for taking dust baths
and the fact that he cares nothing about his
personal appearance and takes no care of himself,
he would have been a fairly good-looking fellow.
His back was more or less of an ashy color with
black and chestnut stripes. His wings were
brown with a white bar on each. His throat and
breast were black, and below that he was of a
dirty white. The sides of his throat were white
and the back of his neck chestnut.

By ruffling up his feathers and raising his wings
[9]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

slightly as he hopped about, he managed to make
himself appear much bigger than he really was.
He looked like a regular little fighting savage.
The noise had brought all the other birds in the
Old Orchard to see what was going on, and every
one of them was screaming and urging Jenny and
Mr. Wren to stand up for their rights. Not one of
them had a good word for Bully and his wife. It
certainly was a disgraceful neighborhood squabble.

Bully the English Sparrow is a born fighter.
He never is happier than when he is in the midst
of a fight or a fuss of some kind. The fact that
all his neighbors were against him didn't bother
Bully in the least.

Jenny and Mr. Wren are no cowards, but the
two together were no match for Bully. In fact,
Bully did not hesitate to fly fiercely at any of
the onlookers who came near enough, not even
when they were twice his own size. They could
have driven him from the Old Orchard had they
set out to, but just by his boldness and appear-
ance he made them afraid to try.

All the tune Mrs. Bully sat in the little round
doorway, encouraging him. She knew that as
long as she sat there it would be impossible for
either Jenny or Mr. Wren to get in. Truth to
tell, she was enjoying it all, for she is as quarrel-
some and as fond of fighting as is Bully himself.
[10]

The Old Orchard Bully

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

"It may have been your house once, but it is
mine now, you little snip-of -nothing !" cried Bully,
rushing at her like a little fury. "Just try to
put us out if you dare ! You didn't make this
house in the first place, and you deserted it when
you went south last fall. It's mine now, and
there isn't anybody in the Old Orchard who can
put me out."

Peter Rabbit nodded. "He's right there,"
muttered Peter. "I don't like him and never
will, but it is true that he has a perfect right to
that house. People who go off and leave things
for half a year shouldn't expect to find them
just as they left them. My, my, my, what a
dreadful noise ! Why don't they all get together
and drive Bully and Mrs. Bully out of the Old
Orchard ? If they don't, I'm afraid he will drive
them out. No one likes to live with such quarrel-
some neighbors. They don't belong over in this
country, anyway, and we would be a lot better
off if they were not here. But I must say I do
have to admire their spunk."

All the time Bully was darting savagely at
[111

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

this one and that one and having a thoroughly
good time, which is more than could be said of
any one else, except Mrs. Bully.

"I'll teach you folks to know that I am in the
Old Orchard to stay!" shrieked Bully. "If you
don't like it, why don't you fight? I am not
afraid of any of you or all of you together." This
was boasting, plain boasting, but it was effective.
He actually made the other birds believe it. Not
one of them dared stand up to him and fight.
They were content to call him a bully and all the
bad names they could think of, but that did
nothing to help Jenny and Mr. Wren recover
their house. Calling another bad names never
hurts him. Brave deeds and not brave words
are what count.

How long that disgraceful squabble in the Old
Orchard would have lasted had it not been for
something which happened, no one knows. Right
in the midst of it some one discovered Black Pussy,
the cat who lives in Farmer Brown's house, steal-
ing Up through the Old Orchard, her tail twitch-
ing and her yellow eyes glaring eagerly. She had
heard that dreadful racket and suspected that in
the midst of such excitement she might have a
chance to catch one of the feathered folks. You
can always trust Black Pussy to be on hand at a
time like that.

[12]

The Old Orchard Bully

No sooner was she discovered than everything
else was forgotten. With Bully in the lead, and
Jenny and Mr. Wren close behind him, all the
birds turned their attention to Black Pussy.
She was the enemy of all, and they straightway
forgot their own quarrel. Only Mrs. Bully re-
mained where she was, in the little round door-
way of her house. She intended to take no
chances, but she added her voice to the general
racket. How those birds did shriek and scream !
They darted down almost into the face of Black
Pussy, and none went nearer than Bully the
English Sparrow and Jenny Wren.

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

When finally she disappeared towards Farmer
Brown's barn, those angry voices changed. It
was such a funny change that Peter Rabbit
laughed right out. Instead of anger there was
triumph in every note as everybody returned to
[13]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

attend to his own affairs. Jenny and Mr. Wren
seemed to have forgotten all about Bully and his
wife in their old house. They flew to another
part of the Old Orchard, there to talk it all over
and rest and get their breath. Peter Rabbit
waited to see if they would not come over near
enough to him for a little more gossip. But they
didn't, and finally Peter started for his home in
the dear Old Briar-patch. All the way there he
chuckled as he thought of the spunky way in
which Jenny and Mr. Wren had stood up for
their rights.

[14]

CHAPTER III

JENNY HAS A GOOD WORD FOR SOME SPARROWS

THE morning after the fight between Jenny
and Mr. Wren and Bully the English Sparrow
found Peter Rabbit in the Old Orchard again.
He was so curious to know what Jenny Wren
would do for a house that nothing but some very
great danger could have kept him away from
there. Truth to tell, Peter was afraid that not
being able to have their old house, Jenny and Mr.
Wren would decide to leave the Old Orchard
altogether. So it was with a great deal of relief
that as he hopped over a low place in the old stone
wall he heard Mr. Wren singing with all his might.

The song was coming from quite the other side
of the Old Orchard from where Bully and Mrs.
Bully had set up housekeeping. Peter hurried
over. He found Mr. Wren right away, but at
first saw nothing of Jenny. He was just about
to ask after her when he caught sight of her with
a tiny stick in her bill. She snapped her sharp
little eyes at him, but for once her tongue
was still. You see, she couldn't talk and carry
that stick at the same time. Peter watched her
[15]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

and saw her disappear in a little hole in a big
branch of one of the old apple-trees. Hardly had
she popped in than she popped out again. This
time her mouth was free, and so was her tongue.

"You'd better stop singing and help me," she
said to Mr. Wren sharply. Mr. Wren obediently
stopped singing and began to hunt for a tiny little
twig such as Jenny had taken into that hole.

" Well ! " exclaimed Peter. " It didn't take you
long to find a new house, did it?"

"Certainly not," snapped Jenny. "We can't
afford to sit around wasting time like some folks
I know."

Peter grinned and looked a little foolish, but
he didn't resent it. You see he was quite used to
that sort of thing. "Aren't you afraid that
Bully will try to drive you out of that house?"
he ventured.

Jenny Wren's sharp little eyes snapped more
than ever. "I'd like to see him try!" said she.
"That doorway's too small for him to get more
than his head in. And if he tries putting his
head in while I'm inside, I'll peck his eyes out!"
She said this so fiercely that Peter laughed right
out.

"I really believe you would," said he.

"I certainly would," she retorted. "Now I
can't stop to talk to you, Peter Rabbit, because
[16]

SWEET VOICE THE VESPER SPARROW. You can tell him from
other Sparrows by the white outer feathers of his tail.

LITTLE FRIEND THE SONG SPARROW. His tinkling, happy song

can never be

Jenny Has a Good Word for Some Sparrows

I'm too busy. Mr. Wren, you ought to know
that that stick is too big." Jenny snatched it
out of Mr. Wren's mouth and dropped it on the
ground, while Mr. Wren meekly went to hunt for
another. Jenny joined him, and as Peter watched
them he understood why Jenny is so often spoken
of as a feathered busybody.

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

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

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

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

[17]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

^ Once more Peter nodded. "That's right,"
said he. "Everybody does love Little Friend.
It makes me feel sort of all glad inside just to hear
him sing. I guess it makes everybody feel that
way. I wonder why we so seldom see him up
here in the Old Orchard." t

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

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

Jenny chattered on as she hunted for some more

material for her nest. " I suppose you've noticed,"

said she, "that he and his wife dress very much

alike. They don't go in for bright colors any

[18]

Jenny Has a Good Word for Borne Sparrows

more than we Wrens do. They show good taste.
I like the little brown caps they wear, and the
way their breasts and sides are streaked with
brown. Then, too, they are such useful folks.
It is a pity that that nuisance of a Bully doesn't
learn something from them. I suppose they stay
rather later than we do in the fall."

"Yes," replied Peter. "They don't go until
Jack Frost makes them. I don't know of any
one that we miss more than we do them."

"Speaking of the Sparrow family, did you see
anything of Whitethroat ? " asked Jenny Wren,
as she rested for a moment in the doorway of her
new house and looked down at Peter Rabbit.

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

"What?" demanded Jenny.

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

• Jenny nodded in her usual emphatic way. "I

don't know him as well as I do some of the others,"

said she, "but when I have seen him down in

[19]

The Burgess Bird Boole for Children

the South he always has appeared to me to be a
perfect gentleman. He is social too ; he likes to
travel with others."

"I've noticed that," said Peter. "He almost
always has company when he passes through here.
Some of those Sparrows are so much alike that
it is hard for me to tell them apart, but I can
always tell Whitethroat because he is one of
the largest of the tribe and has such a lovely
white throat. He really is handsome with his
black and white cap and that bright yellow spot
before each eye. I am told that he is very dearly
loved up in the North where he makes his home.
They say he sings all the time."

"I suppose Scratcher the Fox Sparrow has
been along too," said Jenny. "He also started
some time before we did."

"Yes," replied Peter. "He spent one night
in the dear Old Briar-patch. He is fine looking,
too, the biggest of all the Sparrow tribe, and how
he can sing ! The only thing I've got against
him is the color of his coat. It always reminds
me of Reddy Fox, and I don't like anything that
reminds me of that fellow. When he visited us
I discovered something about Scratcher which I
don't believe you know."

"What?" demanded Jenny rather sharply.

"That when he scratches among the leaves he
[20]

Jenny Has a Good Word for Some Sparrows

uses both feet at once," cried Peter triumphantly.
"It's funny to watch him."

"Pooh! I knew that," retorted Jenny Wren.
"What do you suppose my eyes are made for?
I thought you were going to tell me something I
didn't know."

Peter looked disappointed.

[21]

CHAPTER IV

CHIPPY, SWEETVOICE, AND DOTTY

FOR a while Jenny Wren was too busy to talk
save to scold Mr. Wren for spending so much
time singing instead of working. To Peter it
seemed as if they were trying to fill that tree trunk
with rubbish. "I should think they had enough
stuff in there for half a dozen nests," muttered
Peter. "I do believe they are carrying it in for
the fun of working." Peter wasn't far wrong in
this thought, as he was to discover a little later
in the season when he found Mr. Wren building
another nest for which he had no use.

Finding that for the time being he could get
nothing more from Jenny Wren, Peter hopped
over to visit Johnny Chuck, whose home was
between the roots of an old apple-tree in the far
corner of the Old Orchard. Peter was still think-
ing of the Sparrow family; what a big family it
was, yet how seldom any of them, excepting
Bully the English Sparrow, were to be found in
the Old Orchard.

"Hello, Johnny Chuck!" cried Peter, as he
discovered Johnny sitting on his doorstep. " You've

Chippy, Sweetvoice, and Dotty

lived in the Old Orchard a long time, so you ought
to be able to tell me something I want to know.
Why is it that none of the Sparrow family except-
ing that noisy nuisance, Bully, build in the trees
of the Old Orchard? Is it because Bully has
driven all the rest out?"

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

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

Johnny grinned. "Listen!" said Johnny.
Peter listened. From a tree just a little way off
came a clear "Chip, chip, chip, chip." Peter
didn't need to be told to look. He knew without
looking who was over there. He knew that voice
for that of one of his oldest and best friends in
the Old Orchard, a little fellow with a red-brown
cap, brown back with feathers streaked with
black, brownish wings and tail, a gray waistcoat
and black bill, and a little white line over each
eye, — altogether as trim a little gentleman as
Peter was acquainted with. It was Chippy, as
everybody calls the Chipping Sparrow, the
smallest of the family.

Peter looked a little foolish. "I forgot all
about Chippy," said he. "Now I think of it,
I have found Chippy here in the Old Orchard
[23]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

ever since I can remember. I never have seen
his nest because I never happened to think about
looking for it. Does he build a trashy nest like
his cousin, Bully?"

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

"What's that?" Peter's voice sounded as if
he suspected that Johnny Chuck was trying to
fool him.

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

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

"Nearly," replied Chippy. "It is all done but
the horsehair. We are on our way up to Farmer
Brown's barnyard now to look for some. You
haven't seen any around anywhere, have you ?"
[24]

Chippy, Sweetvoice, and Dotty

Peter and Johnny shook their heads, and
Peter confessed that he wouldn't know horsehair
if he saw it. He often had found hair from the
coats of Reddy Fox and Old Man Coyote and
Digger the Badger and Lightfoot the Deer, but
hair from the coat of a horse was altogether
another matter.

"It isn't hair from the coat of a horse that we
want," cried Chippy, as he prepared to fly after
Mrs, Chippy. "It is long hair from the tail or
mane of a horse that we must have. It makes
the very nicest kind of lining for a nest."

Chippy and Mrs. Chippy were gone a long time,
but when they did return each was carrying a
long black hair. They had found what they
wanted, and Mrs. Chippy was in high spirits
because, as she took pains to explain to Peter,
that little nest would now soon be ready for the
four beautiful little blue eggs with black spots
on one end she meant to lay in it.

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

"Everybody does," replied Johnny. "Every-
body loves them as much as they hate Bully and
his wife. Did you know that they are sometimes
[25]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

called Tree Sparrows? I suppose it is because
they so often build their nests in trees? "

"No," said Peter, "I didn't. Chippy shouldn't
be called Tree Sparrow, because he has a cousin
by that name."

Johnny Chuck looked as if he doubted that.
"I never heard of him," he grunted.

Peter grinned. Here was a chance to tell
Johnny Chuck something, and Peter never is
happier than when he can tell folks something
they don't know. "You'd know him if you didn't
sleep all winter," said Peter. "Dotty the Tree
Sparrow spends the winter here. He left for his
home in the Far North about the time you took
it into your head to wake up."

"Why do you call him Dotty?" asked Johnny
Chuck.

"Because he has a little round black dot right
in the middle of his breast," replied Peter. "I
don't know why they call him Tree Sparrow;
he doesn't spend his tune in the trees the way
Chippy does, but I see him much oftener in low
bushes or on the ground. I think Chippy has
much more right to the name of Tree Sparrow
than Dotty has. Now I think of it, I've heard
Dotty called* the Winter Chippy."

"Gracious, what a mix-up !" exclaimed Johnny
Chuck. "With Chippy being called a Tree Spar-
[26]

DOTTY THE TREE SPARROW. The reddish-brown cap and dark spot
in the middle of his breast are all you need to look for.

SLATY THE JUNCO. The little slate-colored and white ground bird of

winter.

Chippy, Sweetvoice, and Dotty

row and a Tree Sparrow called Chippy, I should
think folks would get all tangled up."

"Perhaps they would," replied Peter, "if both
were here at the same time, but Chippy comes
just as Dotty goes, and Dotty comes as Chippy
goes. That's a pretty good arrangement, espe-
cially as they look very much alike, excepting that
Dotty is quite a little bigger than Chippy and
always has that black dot, which Chippy does not
have. Goodness gracious, it is time I was back
in the dear Old Briar-patch ! Good-by, Johnny
Chuck."

Away went Peter Rabbit, lipperty-lipperty-lip,
heading for the dear Old Briar-patch. Out of
the grass just ahead of him flew a rather pale,
streaked little brown bird, and as he spread his
tail Peter saw two white feathers on the outer
edges. Those two white feathers were all Peter
needed to recognize another little friend of whom
he is very fond. It was Sweet voice the Vesper
Sparrow, the only one of the Sparrow family with
white feathers in his tail.

"Come over to the dear Old Briar-patch and
sing to me," cried Peter.

Sweetvoice dropped down into the grass again,

and when Peter came up, was very busy getting

a mouthful of dry grass. "Can't," mumbled

Sweetvoice. "Can't do it now, Peter Rabbit.

[27]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

I'm too busy. It is high time our nest was finished,
and Mrs. Sweetvoice will lose her patience if I
don't get this grass over there pretty quick."

"Where is your nest; in a tree?" asked Peter
innocently.

"That's telling," declared Sweetvoice. "Not
a living soul knows where that nest is, excepting
Mrs. Sweetvoice and myself. This much I will
tell you, Peter: it isn't in a tree. And I'll tell
you this much more : it is in a hoofprint of Bossy
the Cow."

"In a what?" cried Peter.

"In a hoofprint of Bossy the Cow," repeated
Sweetvoice, chuckling softly. "You know when
the ground was wet and soft early this spring,
Bossy left deep footprints wherever she went.
One of these makes the nicest kind of a place for
a nest. I think we have picked out the very
best one on all the Green Meadows. Now run
along, Peter Rabbit, and don't bother me any
more. I've got too much to do to sit here talking.
Perhaps I'll come over to the edge of the dear
Old Briar-patch and sing to you a while just
after jolly, round, red Mr. Sun goes to bed behind
the Purple Hills. I just love to sing then."

"I'll be watching for you," replied Peter.
"You don't love to sing any better than I love
to hear you. I think that is the best time of all
[28]

Chippy, Sweetvoice, and Dotty

the day in which to sing. I mean, I think it's
the best time to hear singing," for of course Peter
himself does not sing at all.

That night, sure enough, just as the Black
Shadows came creeping out over the Green
Meadows, Sweetvoice, perched on the top of a
bramble-bush over Peter's head, sang over and
over again the sweetest little song and kept on
singing even after it was quite dark. Peter didn't
know it, but it is this habit of singing in the
evening which has given Sweetvoice his name of
Vesper Sparrow.

t«9]

CHAPTER V

PETER LEARNS SOMETHING HE HADN'T GUESSED

RUNNING over to the Old Orchard very early
in the morning for a little gossip with Jenny Wren
and his other friends there had become a regular
thing with Peter Rabbit. He was learning a
great many things, and some of them were most
surprising. '

Now two of Peter's oldest and best friends in
the Old Orchard were Winsome Bluebird and
Welcome Robin. Every spring they arrived pretty
nearly together, though Winsome Bluebird usually
was a few days ahead of Welcome Robin. This
year Winsome had arrived while the snow still
lingered in patches. He was, as he always is,
the herald of sweet Mistress Spring. And when
Peter had heard for the first time Winsome's
soft, sweet whistle, which seemed to come from
nowhere in particular and from everywhere in
general, he had kicked up his long hind legs from
pure joy. Then, when a few days later he had
heard Welcome Robin's joyous message of " Cheer-
up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer!"

Peter Learns Something He Hadn*t Guessed

from the tiptop of a tall tree, he had known that
Mistress Spring really had arrived.

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

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

"What cousins ?" demanded Peter, staring very
hard in the direction in which Jenny Wren was
looking.

"Those two sitting on the fence over there.
Where are your eyes, Peter?" replied Jenny
rather sharply.

Peter stared harder than ever. On one post
sat Winsome Bluebird, and on another post sat
Welcome Robin. "I don't see anybody but
Winsome and Welcome, and they are not even
related," replied Peter with a little puzzled frown.

"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut, Peter!" exclaimed
Jenny Wren. "Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut! Who
told you any such nonsense as that? Of course
they are related. They are cousins. I thought
everybody knew that. They belong to the same
family that Melody the Thrush and all the other
[31]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

Thrushes belong to. That makes them all
cousins."

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

Then Jenny lost her temper, a thing she does
very easily. "If you don't believe me, go ask
one of them," she snapped, and disappeared
inside her house, where Peter could hear her
scolding away to herself.

The more he thought of it, the more this struck
Peter as good advice. So he hopped over to the
foot of the fence post on which Winsome Blue-
bird was sitting. "Jenny Wren says that you
and Welcome Robin are cousins. She doesn't
know what she is talking about, does she?" asked
Peter.

Winsome chuckled. It was a soft, gentle
chuckle. "Yes," said he, nodding his head,
"we are. You can trust that little busybody to
know what she is talking about, every time. I
sometimes think she knows more about other
people's affairs than about her own. Welcome
and I may not look much alike, but we are
cousins just the same. Don't you think Welcome
is looking unusually fine this spring ? "

"Not a bit finer than you are yourself, Win-
[32]

Peter Learns Something He Hadn't Guessed

some," replied Peter politely. "I just love that
sky-blue coat of yours. What is the reason that
Mrs. Bluebird doesn't wear as bright a coat as
you do?"

"Go ask Jenny Wren," chuckled Winsome
Bluebird, and before Peter could say another
word he flew over to the roof of Farmer Brown's
house.

Back scampered Peter to tell Jenny Wren that
he was sorry he had doubted her and that he
never would again. Then he begged Jenny to
tell him why it was that Mrs. Bluebird was not
as brightly dressed as was Winsome.

"Mrs. Bluebird, like most mothers, is alto-
gether too busy to spend much time taking care
of her clothes; and fine clothes need a lot of
care," replied Jenny. "Besides, when Winsome
is about he attracts all the attention and that
gives her a chance to slip in and out of her nest
without being noticed. I don't believe you know,
Peter Rabbit, where Winsome's nest is."

Peter had to admit that he didn't, although
he had tried his best to find out by watching
Winsome. "I think it's over in that little house
put up by Farmer Brown's boy," he ventured.
"I saw both Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird go in it when
they first came, and I've seen Winsome around
it a great deal since, so I guess it is there."
[33]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

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

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

"Building their nest, of course, stupid," re-
torted Jenny, "Welcome Robin, with that black
F341

Peter Learns Something He Hadn't Guessed

head, beautiful russet breast, black and white
throat and yellow bill, not to mention the proud
way in which he carries himself, certainly is a
handsome fellow, and Mrs. Robin is only a little
less handsome. How they can be content to
build the kind of a home they do is more than I
can understand. People think that Mr. Wren
and I use a lot of trash in our nest. Perhaps we
do, but I can tell you one thing, and that is it is
clean trash. It is just sticks and clean straws,
and before I lay my eggs I see to it that my nest
is lined with feathers. More than this, there isn't
any cleaner housekeeper than I am, if I do say it.

"Welcome Robin is a fine looker and a fine
singer, and everybody loves him. But when it
comes to housekeeping, he and Mrs. Robin are
just plain dirty. They make the foundation of
their nest of mud, — plain, common, ordinary
mud. They cover this with dead grass, and some-
times there is mighty little of this over the inside
walls of mud. I know because I've seen the in-
side of their nest often. Anybody with any eyes
at all can find their nest. More than once I've
known them to have their nest washed away in a
heavy rain, or have it blown down in a high wind.
Nothing like that ever happens to Winsome
Bluebird or to me."

Jenny disappeared inside her house, and Peter
[35]

The Burgess Bird Boole for Children

waited for her to come out again. Welcome
Robin flew down on the ground, ran a few steps,
and then stood still with his head on one side as
if listening. Then he reached down and tugged
at something, and presently out of the ground
came a long, wriggling angleworm. Welcome
gulped it down and ran on a few steps, then once
more paused to listen. This time he turned and
ran three or four steps to the right, where he
pulled another worm out of the ground.

"He acts as if he heard those worms in the
ground," said Peter, speaking aloud without think-
ing.

"He does," said Jenny Wren, poking her head
out of her doorway just as Peter spoke. "How
do you suppose he would find them when they
are in the ground if he didn't hear them ?"

" Can you hear them ? " asked Peter.

"I've never tried, and I don't intend to waste
my time trying," retorted Jenny. "Welcome
Robin may enjoy eating them, but for my part I
want something smaller and daintier, young grass-
hoppers, tender young beetles, small caterpillars,
bugs and spiders."

Peter had to turn his head aside to hide the
wry face he just had to make at the mention of
such things as food. "Is that all Welcome
Robin eats ? " he asked innocently.
[361

\

WELCOME ROBIN. No other bird has a russet breast like his.

WINSOME BLUEBIRD. His blue back, wings and tail leave no doubt as to
who he is.

Peter Learns Something He Hadn't Guessed

"I should say not," laughed Jenny. "He eats
a lot of other kinds of worms, and he just dearly
loves fruit like strawberries and cherries and all
sorts of small berries. Well, I can't stop here
talking any longer. I'm going to tell you a secret,
Peter, if you'll promise not to tell."

Of course Peter promised, and Jenny leaned
so far down that Peter wondered how she could
keep from falling as she whispered, "I've got
seven eggs in my nest, so if you don't see much of
me for the next week or more, you'll know why.
I've just got to sit on those eggs and keep them
warm."

37]

CHAPTER VI

' AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW HOME

EVERY day brought newcomers to the Old
Orchard, and early in the morning there were so
many voices to be heard that perhaps it is no
wonder if for some time Peter Rabbit failed to
miss that of one of his very good friends. Most
unexpectedly he was reminded of this as very
early one morning he scampered, lipperty-lipperty-
Hp, across a little bridge over the Laughing Brook.

"Dear me! Dear me! Dear me!" cried rather
a plaintive voice. Peter stopped so suddenly
that he all but fell heels over head. Sitting on
the top of a tall, dead, mullein stalk was a very
soberly dressed but rather trim little fellow, a
very little larger than Bully the English Sparrow.
Above, his coat was of a dull olive-brown, while
underneath he was of a grayish-white, with faint
tinges of yellow in places. His head was dark,
and his bill black. The feathers on his head
were lifted just enough to make the tiniest kind
of crest. His wings and tail were dusky, little
bars of white showing very faintly on his wings,
while the outer edges of his tail were distinctly
[381

An Old Friend in a New Home

white. He sat with his tail hanging straight down,
as if he hadn't strength enough to hold it up.

"Hello, Dear Me!" cried Peter joyously.
"What are you doing way down here? I haven't
seen you since you first arrived, just after Win-
some Bluebird got here." Peter started to say
that he had wondered what had become of Dear
Me, but checked himself, for Peter is very honest
and he realized now that in the excitement of
greeting so many friends he hadn't missed Dear
Me at aU.

Dear Me the Phcebe did not reply at once,
but darted out into the air, and Peter heard a
sharp click of that little black bill. Making a
short circle, Dear Me alighted on the mullein
stalk again.

"Did you catch a fly then ?" asked Peter.

"Dear me! Dear me! Of course I did," was
the prompt reply. And with each word there was
a jerk of that long hanging tail. Peter almost
wondered if in some way Dear Me's tongue and
tail were connected. "I suppose," said he, "that
it is the habit of catching flies and bugs in the air
that has given your family the name of Fly-
catchers."

Dear Me nodded and almost at once started
into the air again. Once more Peter heard the
click of that little black bill, then Dear Me was
[391

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

back on his perch. Peter asked again what he
was doing down there.

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

Peter looked all around, this way, that way,
every way, with the funniest expression on his
face. He didn't see anything of 'Mrs. Phoebe
and he didn't see any place in which he could
imagine Mr. and Mrs. Phoebe building a nest.
"What are you looking for?" asked Dear Me.

"For Mrs. Phoebe and your home," declared
Peter quite frankly. "I didn't suppose you and
Mrs. Phoebe ever built a nest on the ground, and
I don't see any other place around here for one."

Dear Me chuckled. "I wouldn't tell any one
but you, Peter," said he, "but I've known you so
long that I'm going to let you into a little secret.
Mrs. Phoebe and our home are under the very
bridge you are sitting on."

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

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

So Peter lay flat on his stomach and tried to

stretch his head over the edge of the bridge so as

to see under it. But his neck wasn't long enough,

or else he was afraid to lean over as far as he might

[40]

An Old Friend in a New Home

have. Finally he gave up and at Mr. Phoebe's
suggestion crept down the bank to the very edge
of the Laughing Brook. Dear Me darted out to
catch another fly, then flew right in under the
bridge and alighted on a little ledge of stone just
beneath the floor. There, sure enough, was a
nest, and Peter could see Mrs. Phoebe's bill and
the top of her head above the edge of it. It was
a nest with a foundation of mud covered with
moss and lined with feathers.
[ "That's perfectly splendid!" cried Peter, as
Dear Me resumed his perch on the old mullein
stalk. "How did you ever come to think of such
a place ? And why did you leave the shed up at
Farmer Brown's where you have built your home
for the last two or three years ?"

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

[41]

t The Burgess Bird Book for Children

"I suppose," said Peter, "that as usual you
were the first of your family to arrive."

" Certainly. Of course," replied Dear Me. " We
always are the first. Mrs. Phoebe and I don't
go as far south in winter as the other members
of the family do. They go clear down into the
Tropics, but we manage to pick up a pretty good
living without going as far as that. So we get
back here before the rest of them, and usually
have begun housekeeping by the time they arrive.
My cousin, Chebec the Least Flycatcher, should
be here by this time. Haven't you heard any-
thing of him up in the Old Orchard?"

"No," replied Peter, "but to tell the truth I
haven't looked for him. I'm on my way to the
Old Orchard now, and I certainly shall keep my
ears and eyes open for Chebec. I'll tell you if
I find him. Good-by."

" Dear me ! Dear me ! Good-by, Peter. Dear
me ! " replied Mr. Phcebe as Peter started off
for the Old Orchard.

Perhaps it was because Peter was thinking of
him that almost the first voice he heard when he
reached the Old Orchard was that of Chebec,
repeating his own name over and over as if he
loved the sound of it. It didn't take Peter long
to find him. He was sitting out on the tip of one
of the upper branches of an apple-tree where he
[42]

An Old Friend in a New Home

could watch for flies and other winged insects.
He looked so much like Mr. Phoebe, save that
he was smaller, that any one would have known
they were cousins. "Chebec! Chebec! Che-
bee !" he repeated over and over, and with every
note jerked his tail. Now and then he would dart
out into the air and snap up something so small
that Peter, looking up from the ground, couldn't
see it at all.

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

"Of course I am," replied Chebec promptly.
"Mrs. Chebec and I have built here for the last
two or three years, and we wouldn't think of
going anywhere else. Mrs. Chebec is looking for
a place now. I suppose I ought to be helping
her, but I learned a long time ago, Peter Rabbit,
that in matters of this kind it is just as well not
to have any opinion at all. When Mrs. Chebec
has picked out just the place she wants, I'll help
her build the nest. It certainly is good to be back
here in the Old Orchard and planning a home once
more. We've made a terribly long journey, and
I for one am glad it's over."

"I just saw your cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Phcebe,
and they already have a nest and eggs," said
Peter,

[43]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

"The Phoebes are a funny lot," replied Chebec.
"They are the only members of the family that
can stand cold weather. What pleasure they
get out of it I don't understand. They are queer
anyway, for they never build their nests in trees
as the rest of us do." ,

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

Chebec nodded. "I'm the smallest," said he.
"That's why they call me Least Flycatcher. I
may be least in size, but I can tell you one thing,
Peter Rabbit, and that is that I can catch just as
many bugs and flies as any of them." Suiting
action to the word, he darted out into the air.
His little bill snapped and with a quick turn he
was back on his former perch, jerking his tail and
uttering his sharp little cry of, " Chebec ! Chebec !
Chebec!" until Peter began to wonder which he
was the most fond of, catching flies, or the sound
of his own voice.

Presently they both heard Mrs. Chebec calling
from somewhere in the middle of the Old Orchard.
"Excuse me, Peter," said Chebec, "I must go at
once. Mrs. Chebec says she has found just the
place for our nest, and now we've got a busy time
ahead of us. We are very particular how we build
a nest."

[44]

CHEBEC THE LEAST FLYCATCHER. He will tell you his name.
DEAR ME THE PHOEBE. Look for him around an old bridge or shed.

An Old Friend in a New Home

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

"Mud!" cried Chebec scornfully. "Mud! I
should say not ! I would have you understand,
Peter, that we are very particular about what
we use in our nest. We use only the finest of
rootlets, strips of soft bark, fibers of plants, the
brown cotton that grows on ferns, and perhaps a
little hair when we can find it. We make a dainty
nest, if I do say it, and we fasten it securely in
the fork made by two or three upright little
branches. Now I must go because Mrs. Chebec
is getting impatient. Come see me when I'm
not so busy, Peter."

CHAPTER VII

THE WATCHMAN OF THE OLD ORCHARD

A FEW days after Chebec and his wife started
building their nest in the Old Orchard Peter
dropped around as usual for a very early call.
He found Chebec very busy hunting for materials
for that nest, because, as he explained to Peter,
Mrs. Chebec is very particular indeed about what
her nest is made of. But he had time to tell
Peter a bit of news.

"My fighting cousin and my handsomest cousin
arrived together yesterday, and now our family is
very well represented in the Old Orchard," said
Chebec proudly.

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

"That's what I said," replied Chebec. "He
is Scrapper the Kingbird, as of course you know.
The rest of us always feel safe when he is about."
[46]

The Watchman of the Old Orchard

"Of course I know him," declared Peter, his
face clearing. " Where is he now ?" •*

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

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

He was just a little smaller than Welcome Robin,
and in comparison with him Redtail was a perfect
giant. But this seemed to make no difference to
Scrapper, for that is who it was. He wasn't afraid,
and he intended that everybody should know it,
especially Redtail. It is because of his fearless-
ness that he is called Kingbird. All the time he was
screaming at the top of his lungs, calling Redtail a
robber and every other bad name he could think of.
All the other birds joined him in calling Redtail
[47]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

bad names. But none, not even Bully the Eng-
lish Sparrow, was brave enough to join him in
attacking big Redtail.

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

As Peter looked up at Scrapper he saw that,
like all the rest of the flycatchers, there was just
the tiniest of hooks on the end of his bill. Scrap-
per's slightly raised cap seemed all black, but if
Peter could have gotten close enough, he would
have found that hidden in it was a patch of
orange-red. While Peter sat staring up at him
Scrapper suddenly darted out into the air, and
his bill snapped in quite the same way Chebec's
did when he caught a fly. But it wasn't a fly
that Scrapper had. It was a bee. Peter saw it
very distinctly just as Scrapper snapped it up.
It reminded Peter that he had often heard Scrap-
per called the Bee Martin, and now he understood
why.

[481

The Watchman of the Old Orchard

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

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

Peter knew better than to waste any effort
trying to see that fly. He knew that he couldn't
have seen it had it been only one fourth that dis-
tance away. But if he couldn't see the fly he
could hear the sharp click of Scrapper's bill, and
he knew by the way Scrapper kept opening and
shutting his mouth after his return that he had
caught that fly and it had tasted good.

"Are you going to build in the Old Orchard
this year?" asked Peter.

"Of course I am," declared Scrapper. "I — "
[49]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

Just then he spied Blacky the Crow and dashed
out to meet him. Blacky saw him coming and
was wise enough to suddenly appear to have no
interest whatever in the Old Orchard, turning
away towards the Green Meadows instead.

Peter didn't wait for Scrapper to return. It
was getting high time for him to scamper home
to the dear Old Briar-patch and so he started
along, lipperty-lipperty-lip. Just as he was leav-
ing the far corner of the Old Orchard some one
called him. "Peter! Oh, Peter Rabbit!" called
the voice. Peter stopped abruptly, sat up very
straight, looked this way, looked that way and
looked the other way, every way but the right way.

"Look up over your head," cried the voice,
rather a harsh voice. Peter looked, then all in
a flash it came to him who it was Chebec had
meant by the handsomest member of his family.
It was Cresty the Great Crested Flycatcher.
He was a wee bit bigger than Scrapper the King-
bird, yet not quite so big as Welcome Robin, and
more slender. His throat and breast were gray,
shading into bright yellow underneath. His back
and head were of a grayish-brown with a tint of
olive-green. A pointed cap was all that was
needed to make him quite distinguished looking.
He certainly was the handsomest as well as the
largest of the Flycatcher family,

[50]

SCRAPPER THE KINGBIRD. Look in the Old Orchard for a bird with
white breast, dark head and back, and with a white tip to his tail.

REDEYE THE VIREO. The only Vireo with ted eyes.

The Watchman of the Old Orchard

"You seem to be in a hurry, so don't let me
detain you, Peter," said Cresty, before Peter
could find his tongue. "I just want to ask one
little favor of you."

"What is it?" asked Peter, who is always
glad to do any one a favor. . s

"If in your roaming about you run across an
old cast-off suit of Mr. Black Snake, or of any
other member of the Snake family, I wish you
would remember me and let me know. Will you,
Peter?" said Cresty.

"A — a — a — what ? " stammered Peter. r

"A cast-off suit of clothes from any member of
the Snake family," replied Cresty somewhat im-
patiently. "Now don't forget, Peter. I've got
to go house hunting, but you'll find me here or
hereabouts, if it happens that you find one of
those cast-off Snake suits." - *

Before Peter could say another word Cresty
had flown away. Peter hesitated, looking first
towards the dear Old Briar-patch and then
towards Jenny Wren's house. He just couldn't
understand about those cast-off suits of the Snake
family, and he felt sure that Jenny Wren could
tell him. Finally curiosity got the best of him,
and back he scampered, lipperty-lipperty-lip, to
the foot of the tree in which Jenny Wren had her
home.

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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

"Jenny!" called Peter. "Jenny Wren ! Jenny
Wren!" No one answered him. He could hear
Mr. Wren singing in another tree, but he couldn't
see him. "Jenny! Jenny Wren ! Jenny Wren!"
called Peter again. This time Jenny popped her
head out, and her little eyes fairly snapped.
"Didn't I tell you the other day, Peter Rabbit,
that I'm not to be disturbed ? Didn't I tell you
that I've got seven eggs in here, and that I can't
spend any time gossiping? Didn't I, Peter
Rabbit? Didn't I? Didn't I?"

"You certainly did, Jenny. You certainly did,
and I'm sorry to disturb you," replied Peter
meekly. "I wouldn't have thought of doing such
a thing, but I just didn't know who else to go to."

"Go to for what?" snapped Jenny Wren.
"What is it you've come to me for?"

"Snake skins," replied Peter.

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

"You don't understand," cried Peter hurriedly.
"What I want to know is, why should Cresty
the Flycatcher ask me to please let him know if I
found any cast-off suits of the Snake family. He
flew away before I could ask him why he wants
[52]

The Watchman of the Old Orchard

them, and so I came to you, because I know you
know everything, especially everything concern-
ing your neighbors."

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

[53]

CHAPTER VIII

OLD CLOTHES AND OLD HOUSES

"I CAN'T stop to talk to you any longer now,
Peter Rabbit," said Jenny Wren, "but if you will
come over here bright and early to-morrow morn-
ing, while I am out to get my breakfast, I will tell
you about Cresty the Flycatcher and why he
wants the cast-off clothes of some of the Snake
family. Perhaps I should say what he wants of
them instead of why he wants them, for why any
one should want anything to do with Snakes is
more then I can understand."

With this Jenny Wren disappeared inside her
house, and there was nothing for Peter to do but
once more start for the dear Old Briar-patch.
On his way he couldn't resist the temptation to
run over to the Green Forest, which was just
beyond the Old Orchard. He just had to find out
if there was anything new over there. Hardly
had he reached it when he heard a plaintive voice
crying, "Pee-wee! Pee-e ! Pee-wee!" Peter
chuckled happily. "I declare, there's Pewee,"
he cried. "He usually is one of the last of the
Flycatcher family to arrive. I didn't expect to
[54]

Old Clothes and Old Houses

find him yet. I wonder what has brought him
up so early."

It didn't take Peter long to find Pewee. He
just followed the sound of that voice and presently
saw Pewee fly out and make the same kind of a
little circle as the other members of his family
make when they are hunting flies. It ended just
where it had started, on a dead twig of a tree in
a shady, rather lonely part of the Green Forest.
Almost at once he began to call his name in a
rather sad, plaintive tone, "Pee-wee! Pee-wee !
Pee-wee!" But he wasn't sad, as Peter well
knew. It was his way of expressing how happy
he felt. He was a little bigger than his cousin,
Chebec, but looked very much like him. There
was a little notch in the end of his tail. The upper
half of his bill was black, but the lower half was
light. Peter could see on each wing two whitish
bars, and he noticed that Pewee's wings were
longer than his tail, which wasn't the case with
Chebec. But no one could ever mistake Pewee
for any of his relatives, for the simple reason that
he keeps repeating his own name over and over.

"Aren't you here early?" asked Peter.

Pewee nodded. "Yes," said he. "It has been
unusually warm this spring, so I hurried a little
and came up with my cousins, Scrapper and
Cresty. That is something I don't often do."
[55]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

"If you please," Peter inquired politely, "why
do folks call you Wood Pewee ? "

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

"You won't mind if I come to see you once in a
while, will you?" asked Peter as he prepared to
start on again for the dear Old Briar-patch.

"Come as often as you like," replied Pewee.
"The oftener the better."

Back in the Old Briar-patch Peter thought over
all he had learned about the Flycatcher family,
and as he recalled how they were forever catch-
ing all sorts of flying insects it suddenly struck
him that they must be very useful little people
in helping Old Mother Nature take care of her
trees and other growing things which insects so
dearly love to destroy.

But most of all Peter thought about that queer
request of Cresty's, and a dozen times that day
he found himself peeping under old logs in the
hope of finding a cast-off coat of Mr. Black Snake.
It was such a funny thing for Cresty to ask for
that Peter's curiosity would allow him no peace,
and the next morning he was up in the Old Orchard
before jolly Mr. Sun had kicked his bedclothes off.
[56]

Old Clothes and Old Houses

Jenny Wren was as good as her word. While
she flitted and hopped about this way and that
way in that fussy way of hers, getting her break-
fast, she talked. Jenny couldn't keep her tongue
still if she wanted to.

"Did you find any old clothes of the Snake
family?" she demanded. Then as Peter shook
his head her tongue ran on without waiting for
him to reply. "Cresty and his wife always insist
upon having a piece of Snake skin in their nest,"
said she. "Why they want it, goodness knows!
But they do want it and never can seem to settle
down to housekeeping unless they have it. Per-
haps they think it will scare robbers away. As
for me, I should have a cold chill every time I
got into my nest if I had to sit on anything like
that. I have to admit that Cresty and his wife
are a handsome couple, and they certainly have
good sense in choosing a house, more sense than
any other member of their family to my way of
thinking. But Snake skins ! Ugh !"

"By the way, where does Cresty build?" asked
Peter.

"In a hole in a tree, like the rest of us sensible
people," retorted Jenny Wren promptly.

Peter looked quite as surprised as he felt.
"Does Cresty make the hole?" he asked.

"Goodness gracious, no!" exclaimed Jenny
[57]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

Wren. "Where are your eyes, Peter? Did you
ever see a Flycatcher with a bill that looked as
if it could cut wood?" She didn't wait for a
reply, but rattled on. 5<It is a good thing for a
lot of us that the Woodpecker family are so fond
of new houses. Look! There is Downy the
Woodpecker hard at work on a new house this
very minute. That's good. I like to see that.
It means that next year there will be one more
house for some one here in the Old Orchard. For
myself I prefer old houses. I've noticed there
are a number of my neighbors who feel the same
way about it. There is something settled about
an old house. It doesn't attract attention the
way a new one does. So long as it has got reason-
ably good walls, and the rain and the wind can't
get in, the older it is the better it suits me. But
the Woodpeckers seem to like new houses best,
which, as I said before, is a very good thing for
the rest of us."

"Who is there besides you and Cresty and Bully
the English Sparrow who uses these old Wood-
pecker houses?" asked Peter.

"Winsome Bluebird, stupid!" snapped Jenny
Wren.

|> Peter grinned and looked foolish. "Of course,"
said he. "I forgot all about Winsome." f

"And Skimmer the Tree Swallow," added Jenny.
[58]

Old Clothes and Old Houses

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

Again Jenny Wren nodded. "Yank-Yank the
Nuthatch uses an old house, I'm told, but he
usually goes up North for his nesting," said she.
"Tommy Tit the Chickadee sometimes uses an
old house. Then again he and Mrs. Chickadee
get fussy and make a house for themselves.
Yellow Wing the Flicker, who really is a Wood-
pecker, often uses an old house, but quite
often makes a new one. Then there are Killy
the Sparrow Hawk and Spooky the Screech
Owl." ., '

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

"They certainly do, more's the pity!" snapped
Jenny. "It would be a good thing for the rest
of us if they didn't nest at all. But they do, and
an old house of Yellow Wing the Flicker suits
either of them. Killy always uses one that is
high up, and comes back to it year after year.
Spooky isn't particular so long as the house is
big enough to be comfortable. He lives in it
more or less the year around. Now I must get
back to those eggs of mine. I've talked quite
enough for one morning."
[59]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

"Oh, Jenny," cried Peter, as a sudden thought
struck him.

Jenny paused and jerked her tail impatiently.
"Well, what is it now?" she demanded.

"Have you got two homes?" asked Peter.

"Goodness gracious, no!" exclaimed Jenny.
"What do you suppose I want of two homes?
One is all I can take care of."

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

Jenny Wren's eyes twinkled, and she laughed
softly. "Mr. Wren just has to be busy about
something, bless his heart," said she. "He hasn't
a lazy feather on him. He's building that nest
to take up his time and keep out of mischief.
Besides, if he fills that hollow up nobody else will
take it, and you know we might want to move
some time. Good-by, Peter." With a final jerk
of her tail Jenny Wren flew to the little round
doorway of her house and popped inside.

CHAPTER IX

LONGBILL AND TEETER

FROM the decided way in which Jenny Wren
had popped into the little round doorway of her
home, Peter knew that to wait in the hope of more
gossip with her would be a waste of time. He
wasn't ready to go back home to the dear Old
Briar-patch, yet there seemed nothing else ,to
do, for everybody in the Old Orchard was too busy
for idle gossip. Peter scratched a long ear with a
long hind foot, trying to think of some place to
go. Just then he heard the clear "peep, peep,
peep" of the Hylas, the sweet singers of the
Smiling Pool.

"That's where I'll go!" exclaimed Peter. "I
haven't been to the Smiling Pool for some time.
I'll just run over and pay my respects to Grand-
father Frog, and to Redwing the Blackbird.
Redwing was one of the first birds to arrive, and
I've neglected him shamefully."

When Peter thinks of something to do he wastes

no time. Off he started, lipperty-lipperty-lip, for

the Smiling Pool. He kept close to the edge of

the Green Forest until he reached the place where

[61]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

the Laughing Brook comes out of the Green
Forest on its way to the Smiling Pool in the Green
Meadows. Bushes and young trees grow along
the banks of the Laughing Brook at this point.
The ground was soft in places, quite muddy.
Peter doesn't mind getting his feet damp, so he
hopped along carelessly. From right under his
very nose something shot up into the air with a
whistling sound. It startled Peter so that he
stopped short with his eyes popping out of his
head. He had just a glimpse of a brown form
disappearing over the tops of some tall bushes.
Then Peter chuckled. "I declare," said he, "I
had forgotten all about my old friend, Longbill
the Woodcock. He scared me for a second."

"Then you are even," said a voice close at hand.
"You scared him. I saw you coming, but Long-
bill didn't."

Peter turned quickly. There was Mrs. Wood-
cock peeping at him from behind a tussock of
grass.

"I didn't mean to scare him," apologized Peter.
"I really didn't mean to. Do you think he was
really very much scared?"

"Not too scared to come back, anyway," said
Longbill himself, dropping down just in front of
Peter. "I recognized you just as I was disap-
pearing over the tops of the bushes, so I came right
[62]

LONGBILL THE WOODCOCK. Look for him in damp, wooded pi.

•

BOB WHITE. No other bird is shaped like him.

Longbill and Teeter

back. I learned when I was very young that
when startled it is best to fly first and find out
afterwards whether or not there is real danger.
I am glad it is no one but you, Peter, for I was
having a splendid meal here, and I should have
hated to leave it. You'll excuse me while I go
on eating, I hope. We can talk between bites."

"Certainly I'll excuse you," replied Peter,
staring around very hard to see what it could be
Longbill was making such a good meal of. But
Peter couldn't see a thing that looked good to eat.
There wasn't even a bug or a worm crawling on
the ground. Longbill took two or three steps in
rather a stately fashion. Peter had to hide a
smile, for Longbill had such an air of importance,
yet at the same time was such an odd looking
fellow. He was quite a little bigger than Welcome
Robin, his tail was short, his legs were short, and
his neck was short. But his bill was long enough
to make up. His back was a mixture of gray,
brown, black and buff, while his breast and under
parts were a beautiful reddish-buff. It was his
head that made him look queer. His eyes were
very big and they were set so far back that Peter
wondered if it wasn't easier for him to look be-
hind him than in front of him.

Suddenly Longbill plunged his bill into the
ground. He plunged it in for the whole length.
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

Then he pulled it out and Peter caught a glimpse
of the tail end of a worm disappearing down Long-
bill's throat. Where that long bill had gone into
the ground was a neat little round hole. For the
first time Peter noticed that there were many such
little round holes all about. "Did you make all
those little round holes?" exclaimed Peter.

"Not all," replied Longbill. "Mrs. Woodcock
made some of them."

"And was there a worm in every one?" asked
Peter, his eyes very wide with interest.

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

Peter remembered how he had watched Wel-
come Robin listen and then suddenly plunge his
bill into the ground and pull out a worm. But the
worms Welcome Robin got were always close to
the surface, while these worms were so deep in
the earth that Peter couldn't understand how it
was possible for any one to know that they were
there. Welcome Robin could see when he got
hold of a worm, but Longbill couldn't. "Even
if you know there is a worm down there in the
ground, how do you know when you've reached
him ? And how is it possible for you to open your
bill down there to take him in?" asked Peter.
[64]

Longbill and Teeter

Longbill chuckled. "That's easy," said he.
"I've got the handiest bill that ever was. See
here !" Longbill suddenly thrust his bill straight
out in front of him and to Peter's astonishment he
lifted the end of the upper half without opening
the rest of his bill at all. "That's the way I get
them," said he. "I can feel them when I reach
them, and then I just open the tip of my bill and
grab them. I think there is one right under my
feet now ; watch me get him." Longbill bored
into the ground until his head was almost against
it. When he pulled his bill out, sure enough,
there was a worm. "Of course," explained Long-
bill, "it is only in soft ground that I can do this.
That is why I have to fly away south as soon as
the ground freezes at all."

"It's wonderful," sighed Peter. "I don't sup-
pose any one else can find hidden worms that way."

"My cousin, Jack Snipe, can," replied Long-
bill promptly. "He feeds the same way I do,
only he likes marshy meadows instead of brushy
swamps. Perhaps you know him."

Peter nodded. "I do," said he. "Now you
speak of it, there is a strong family resemblance,
although I hadn't thought of him as a relative of
yours before. Now I must be running along.
I'm ever so glad to have seen you, and I'm com-
ing over to call again the first chance I get."
[65]

' The Burgess Bird Book for Children

So Peter said good-by and kept on down the
Laughing Brook to the Smiling Pool. Right
where the Laughing Brook entered the Smiling
Pool there was a little pebbly beach. Running
along the very edge of the water was a slim, trim
little bird with fairly long legs, a long slender
bill, brownish-gray back with black spots and
markings, and a white waistcoat neatly spotted
with black. Every few steps he would stop to
pick up something, then stand for a second bobbing
up and down in the funniest way, as if his body
was so nicely balanced on his legs that it teetered
back and forth like a seesaw. It was Teeter the
Spotted Sandpiper, an old friend of Peter's. Peter
greeted him joyously.

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

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

"Thank goodness!" exclaimed Teeter, still
[66]

Longbill and Teeter

bobbing and bowing. "If you had taken another
step, Peter Rabbit, you would have stepped
right on our eggs. You gave me a dreadful
start."

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

Mrs. Teeter stood up and stepped aside. Then
Peter saw right in a little hollow in the sand, with
just a few bits of grass for a lining, four white
eggs with big dark blotches on them. They looked
so much like the surrounding pebbles that he never
would have seen them in the world but for Mrs.
Teeter. Peter hastily backed away a few steps.
Mrs. Teeter slipped back on the eggs and settled
herself comfortably. It suddenly struck Peter
that if he hadn't seen her do it, he wouldn't have
known she was there. You see she looked so
much like her surroundings that he never would
have noticed her at all.

"My!" he exclaimed. " I certainly would have
stepped on those eggs if you hadn't warned me,"
said he. "I'm so thankful I didn't. I don't
see how you dare lay them in the open like
this."

Mrs. Teeter chuckled softly. "It's the safest
place in the world, Peter," said she. "They look
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

so much like these pebbles around here that no
one sees them. The only time they are in danger
is when somebody comes along, as you did, and
is likely to step on them without seeing them.
But that doesn't happen often."

[68]

CHAPTER X

REDWING AND YELLOW WING

PETER had come over to the Smiling Pool
especially to pay his respects to Redwing the
Blackbird, so as soon as he could, without being
impolite, he left little Mrs. Teeter sitting on her
eggs, and Teeter himself bobbing and bowing in
the friendliest way, and hurried over to where
the bulrushes grow. In the very top of the Big
Hickory-tree, a little farther along on the bank
of the Smiling Pool, sat some one who at that
distance appeared to be dressed all in black. He
was singing as if there were nothing but joy in all
the great world. " Quong-ka-reee ! Quong-ka-
reee ! Quong-ka-reee!" he sang. Peter would
have known from this song alone that it was Red-
wing the Blackbird, for there is no other song
quite like it.

As soon as Peter appeared in sight Redwing
left his high perch and flew down to light among
the broken-down bulrushes. As he flew, Peter
saw the beautiful red patch on the bend of each
wing, from which Redwing gets his name. "No
one could ever mistake him for anybody else,"
[69]

The Burgess EM Book for Children

thought Peter, "for there isn't anybody else with
such beautiful shoulder patches." |

"What's the news, Peter Rabbit?" cried Red-
wing, coming over to sit very near Peter.

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

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

Peter looked a little disappointed, because there
is nothing he likes better than to be the bearer of
news. "I suppose," said he politely, "that you
will be building a nest pretty soon yourself, Red-
wing."

Redwing chuckled softly. It was a happy,
contented sort of chuckle. "No, Peter," said
he. "I am not going to build a nest."

"What?" exclaimed Peter, and his two long
ears stood straight up with astonishment.

"No," replied Redwing, still chuckling. "I'm
not going to build a nest. You see, Mrs. Red-
wing and I already have a nest, and if you want
to know a little secret, we have four as pretty eggs
as ever were laid."

[70]

REDWING THE BLACKBIRD. His shoulders are brilliant red with a mar-
gin of yellow.

SPECKLES THE STARLING. He looks something like a Blackbird speckled
with tiny light spots.

Redwing and Yellow Wing

Peter fairly bubbled over with interest and
curiosity. "How splendid!" he cried. "Where
is your nest, Redwing? I would just love to see
it. I suppose it is because she is sitting on those
eggs that I haven't seen Mrs. Redwing. It was
very stupid of me not to guess that folks who
come as early as you do would be among the first
to build a home. Where is it, Redwing? Do
tell me."

Redwing's eyes twinkled.

"A secret which is known by three

Full soon will not a secret be,"
said he. "It isn't that I don't trust you, Peter.
I know that you wouldn't intentionally let my
secret slip out. But you might do it by accident.
What you don't know, you can't tell."

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

Peter couldn't help thinking that Old Mother
Nature had been very unfair indeed in dressing
Mrs. Redwing. She was, if anything, a little
bit smaller than her handsome husband, and such
a plain, not to say homely, little body that it was
hard work to realize that she was a Blackbird
at all. In the first place she wasn't black. She
was dressed all over in grayish-brown with streaks
of darker brown which in places were almost
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

black. She wore no bright-colored shoulder
patches. In fact, there wasn't a bright feather
on her anywhere. Peter wanted to ask why it
was that she was so plainly dressed, but he was
too polite and decided to wait until he should see
Jenny Wren. She would be sure to know. In-
stead, he exclaimed, "How do you do, Mrs. Red-
wing? 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. Red-
wing demurely. "And if I do say it, it is the
best home we've ever had."

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

"This much I will tell you, Peter," said Red-
wing; "our nest is somewhere in these bulrushes,
and if you can find it we won't say a word, even
if you don't keep the secret."

Then Redwing chuckled again and Mrs. Red-
wing chuckled with him. You see, they knew
that Peter doesn't like water, and that nest was
hidden in a certain clump of brown, broken-down
rushes, with water all around. Suddenly Red-
wing flew up in the air with a harsh cry. "Run,
Peter! Run!" he screamed. "Here comes
ReddyFox!"

[72]

Redwing and Yellow Wing

Peter didn't wait for a second warning. He
knew by the sound of Redwing's voice that Red-
wing wasn't joking. There was just one place of
safety, and that was an old hole of Grandfather
Chuck's between the roots of the Big Hickory-
tree. Peter didn't waste any time getting there,
and he was none too soon, for Reddy was so close
at his heels that he pulled some white hairs out of
Peter's tail as Peter plunged headfirst down that
hole. It was a lucky thing for Peter that that
hole was too small for Reddy to follow and the
roots prevented Reddy from digging it any bigger.

For a long time Peter sat in Grandfather Chuck's
old house, wondering how soon it would be safe
for him to come out. For a while he heard Mr.
and Mrs. Redwing scolding sharply, and by this
he knew that Reddy Fox was still about. By
and by they stopped scolding, and a few minutes
later he heard Redwing's happy song. "That
means," thought Peter, "that Reddy Fox has
gone away, but I think I'll sit here a while longer
to make sure."

Now Peter was sitting right under the Big
Hickory -tree. After a while he began to hear faint
little sounds, little taps, and scratching sounds as
of claws. They seemed to come from right over
his head, but he knew that there was no one in that
hole but himself. He couldn't understand it at all.
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

Finally Peter decided it would be safe to peek
outside. Very carefully he poked his head out.
Just as he did so, a little chip struck him right on
the nose. Peter pulled his head back hurriedly
and stared at the little chip which lay just in front
of the hole. Then two or three more little chips
fell. Peter knew that they must come from up
in the Big Hickory -tree, and right away his curi-
osity was aroused. Redwing was singing so hap-
pily that Peter felt sure no danger was near, so
he hopped outside and looked up to find out where
those little chips had come from. Just a few
feet above his head he saw a round hole in the
trunk of the Big Hickory-tree. While he was look-
ing at it, a head with a long stout bill was thrust
out and in that bill were two or three little chips.
Peter's heart gave a little jump of glad surprise.

"Yellow Wing!" he cried. "My goodness, how
you startled me!"

The chips were dropped and the head was ftlrust
farther out. The sides and throat were a soft
reddish-tan and on each side at the beginning of the
bill was a black patch. The top of the head was
gray and just at the back was a little band of bright
red. There was no mistaking that head. It be-
longed to Yellow Wing the Flicker beyond a doubt.

"Hello, Peter!" exclaimed Yellow Wing, his
eyes twinkling. "What are you doing here?"

YELLOW WING THE FLICKER. The bright yellow of the underside of
each wing, the black crescent across his breast and his spotted underparts make
him easy to identify.

Redwing and Yellow Wing

"Nothing," replied Peter, "but I want to know
what you are doing. What are all those chips ? "

"I'm fixing up this old house of mine," replied
Yellow Wing promptly. "It wasn't quite deep
enough to suit me, so I am making it a little
deeper. Mrs. Yellow Wing and I haven't been
able to find another house to suit us, so we have
decided to live here again this year." He came
wholly out and flew down on the ground near
Peter. When his wings were spread, Peter saw
that on the under sides they were a beautiful
golden-yellow, as were the under sides of his tail
feathers. Around his throat was a broad, black
collar. From this, clear to his tail, were black
dots. When his wings were spread, the upper
part of his body just above the tail was pure white.

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

Yellow Wing looked pleased. Perhaps he felt
a little flattered. "I am glad you think so, Peter,"
said he. "I am rather proud of my suit, myself.
I don't know of any member of my family with
whom I would change coats."

A sudden thought struck Peter. "What family
do you belong to?" he asked abruptly.

"The Woodpecker family," replied Yellow Wing
proudly.

[75]

CHAPTER XI

DRUMMERS AND CARPENTERS

PETER RABBIT was so full of questions that he
hardly knew which one to ask first. But Yellow
Wing the Flicker didn't give him a chance to ask
any. From the edge of the Green Forest there
came a clear, loud call of, "Pe-ok! Pe-ok !
Pe-ok!"

"Excuse me, Peter, there's Mrs. Yellow Wing
calling me," exclaimed Yellow Wing, and away
he went. Peter noticed that as he flew he went
up and down. It seemed very much as if he
bounded through the air just as Peter bounds over
the ground. "I would know him by the way he
flies just as far as I could see him," thought Peter,
as he started for home in the dear Old Briar-
patch. "Somehow he doesn't seem like a Wood-
pecker because he is on the ground so much. I
must ask Jenny Wren about him."

It was two or three days before Peter had a
chance for a bit of gossip with Jenny Wren.
When he did the first thing he asked was if Yellow
Wing is a true Woodpecker.
[761

Drummers and Carpenters

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

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

"Tut, tut, tut, tut!" scolded Jenny. "Think
a minute, Peter ! Think a minute ! Haven't you
ever seen Redhead on the ground?"

Peter blinked his eyes. "Ye-e-s," he said
slowly. "Come to think of it, I have. I've seen
him picking up beechnuts in the fall. The Wood-
peckers are a funny family. I don't understand
them."

Just then a long, rolling rat-a-tat-tat rang out
just over their heads. "There's another one of
them," chuckled Jenny. "That's Downy, the
smallest of the whole family. He certainly makes
an awful racket for such a little fellow. He is a
splendid drummer and he's just as good a car-
penter. He made the very house I am occupying
now."

Peter was sitting with his head tipped back
trying to see Downy. At first he couldn't make
him out. Then he caught a little movement on
top of a dead limb. It was Downy 's head flying
back and forth as he beat his long roll. He was
.[77]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

dressed all in black and 'white. On the back of
his head was a little scarlet patch. He was mak-
ing a tremendous racket for such a little chap,
only a little bigger than one of the Sparrow family.

"Is he making a hole for a nest up there ? " asked
Peter eagerly.

" Gracious, Peter, what a question ! What a
perfectly silly question!" exclaimed Jenny Wren
scornfully. "Do give us birds credit for a little
common sense. If he were cutting a hole for a
nest, everybody within hearing would know just
where to look for it. Downy has too much sense
in that little head of his to do such a silly thing
as that. When he cuts a hole for a nest he doesn't
make any more noise than is absolutely necessary.
You don't see any chips flying, do you?"

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

Jenny laughed right out. "Hardly, Peter,
hardly," said she. "He's just drumming, that's
all. That hollow limb makes the best kind of a
drum and Downy is making the most of it. Just
listen to that! There isn't a better drummer
anywhere."

But Peter wasn't satisfied. Finally he ventured
another question. "What's he doing it for?"

"Good land, Peter!" cried Jenny. "What do
[78]

Drummers and Carpenters

you run and jump for in the spring ? What is Mr.
Wren singing for over there? Downy is drum-
ming for precisely the same reason — happiness.
He can't run and jump and he can't sing, but
he can drum. By the way, do you know that
Downy is one of the most useful birds in the Old
Orchard?"

Just then Downy flew away, but hardly had he
disappeared when another drummer took his
place. At first Peter thought Downy had re-
turned until he noticed that the newcomer was
just a bit bigger than Downy. Jenny Wren's
sharp eyes spied him at once-

"Hello!" she exclaimed. "There's Hairy. Did
you ever see two cousins look more alike? If it
were not that Hairy is bigger than Downy it would
be hard work to tell them apart. Do you see any
other difference, Peter ? "

Peter stared and blinked and stared again,
then slowly shook his head. "No," he confessed,

"i don't." ;

"That shows you haven't learned to use your
eyes, Peter," said Jenny rather sharply. "Look
at the outside feathers of his tail; they are all
white. Downy's outside tail feathers have little
bars of black. Hairy is just as good a carpenter
as is Downy, but for that matter I don't know of
a member of the Woodpecker family who isn't a
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The Burgess EM Book for Children

good carpenter. Where did you say Yellow Wing
the Flicker is making his home this year?"

"Over in the Big Hickory -tree by the Smiling
Pool," replied Peter. "I don't understand yet
why Yellow Wing spends so much "time on the
ground."

"Ants," replied Jenny Wren. "Just ants. He's
as fond of ants as is Old Mr. Toad, and that is
saying a great deal. If Yellow Wing keeps on
he'll become a ground bird instead of a tree bird.
He gets more than half his living on the ground
now. Speaking of drumming, did you ever hear
Yellow Wing drum on a tin roof?"

Peter shook his head.

"Well, if there's a tin roof anywhere around,
and Yellow Wing can find it, he will be perfectly
happy. He certainly does love to make a noise,
and tin makes the finest kind of a drum."

Just then Jenny was interrupted by the arrival,
on the trunk of the very next tree to the one on
which she was sitting, of a bird about the size
of Sammy Jay. His whole head and neck were a
beautiful, deep red. His breast was pure white,
and his back was black to nearly the beginning of
his tail, where it was white.

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

[80]

REDHEAD THE WOODPECKER. You will know him instantly by his
all-red head.

DOWNY THE WOODPECKER. His smaller size and the black bars on the
white outer feathers of his tail distinguish him.

Drummers and Carpenters

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

Jenny Wren started to become indignant and
scold, then thought better of it. "I was talking
for Peter's benefit," said she, trying to look digni-
fied, a thing quite impossible for any member of
the Wren family to do. " Peter has always had
the idea that true Woodpeckers never go down
on the ground. I was explaining to him that
Yellow Wing is a true Woodpecker, yet spends
half his time on the ground."

Redhead nodded. "It's all on account of ants/*
said he. "I don't know of any one quite so fond
of ants unless it is Old Mr. Toad. I like a few of
them myself, but Yellow Wing just about lives
on them when he can. You may have noticed
that I go down on the ground myself once in a
while. I am rather fond of beetles, and an oc-
casional grasshopper tastes very good to me. I
like a variety. Yes, sir, I certainly do like a
variety — cherries, blackberries, raspberries, straw-
berries, grapes. In fact most kinds of fruit taste
good to me, not to mention beechnuts and acorns
when there is no fruit."

Jenny Wren tossed her head. "You didn't
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

mention the eggs of some of your neighbors," said
she sharply.

Redhead did his best to look innocent, but
Peter noticed that he gave a guilty start and very
abruptly changed the subject, and a moment
later flew away.

"Is it true," asked Peter, "that Redhead does
such a dreadful thing?"

Jenny bobbed her head rapidly and jerked her
tail. "So I am told," said she. "I've never
seen him do it, but I know others who have.
They say he is no better than Sammy Jay or
Blacky the Crow. But gracious, goodness! I
can't sit here gossiping forever." Jenny twitched
her funny little tail, snapped her bright eyes at
Peter, and disappeared in her house.

82]

CHAPTER XII

SOME UNLIKE RELATIVES

HAVING other things to attend to, or rather
having other things to arouse his curiosity, Peter
Rabbit did not visit the Old Orchard for several
days. When he did it was to find the entire
neighborhood quite upset. There was an indig-
nation meeting in progress in and around the tree
in which Chebec and his modest little wife had
their home. How the tongues did clatter ! Peter
knew that something had happened, but though
he listened with all his might he couldn't make
head or tail of it.

Finally Peter managed to get the attention of
Jenny Wren. "What's happened?" demanded
Peter. " What's all this fuss about ? "

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

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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

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

"Sally Sly," snapped Jenny Wren. "Sally Sly
the Cowbird. I hoped she wouldn't disgrace the
Old Orchard this year, but she has. When Mr.
and Mrs. Chebec returned from getting their
breakfast this morning they found one of Sally
Sly's eggs in their nest. They are terribly upset,
and I don't blame them. If I were in their place
I simply would throw that egg out. That's what
I'd do, I'd throw that egg out !"

Peter was puzzled. He blinked his eyes and
stroked his whiskers as he tried to understand
what it all meant. "Who is Sally Sly, and what
did she do that for?" he finally ventured.

"For goodness' sake, Peter Rabbit, do you
mean to tell me you don't know who Sally Sly
is?" Then without waiting for Peter to reply,
Jenny rattled on. "She's a member of the Black-
bird family and she's the laziest, most good-for-
nothing, sneakiest, most unfeeling and most self-
ish wretch I know of!" Jenny paused long
enough to get her breath. "She laid that egg in
Chebec's nest because she is too lazy to build a
nest of her own and too selfish to take care of her
own children. Do you know what will happen,
Peter Rabbit ? Do you know what will happen ? "
[84]

Some Unlike Relatives

Peter shook his head and confessed that he
didn't. "When that egg hatches out, that young
Cowbird will be about twice as big as Chebec's
own children," sputtered Jenny. "He'll be so
big that he'll get most of the food. He'll just rob
those little Chebecs in spite of all their mother and
father can do. And Chebec and his wife will be
just soft-hearted enough to work themselves to
skin and bone to feed the young wretch because he
is an orphan and hasn't anybody to look after
him. The worst of it is, Sally Sly is likely to play
the same trick on others. She always chooses
the nest of some one smaller than herself. She's
terribly sly. No one has seen her about. She
just sneaked into the Old Orchard this morning
when everybody was busy, laid that egg and
sneaked out again."

"Did you say that she is a member of the Black-
bird family?" asked Peter.

Jenny Wren nodded vigorously. "That's what
she is," said she. "Thank goodness, she isn't a
member of my family. If she were I never would
be able to hold my head up. Just listen to Goldy
the Oriole over in that big elm. I don't see how
he can sing like that, knowing that one of his
relatives has just done such a shameful deed.
It's a queer thing that there can be two members
of the same family so unlike. Mrs. Goldy builds
[851

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

one of the most wonderful nests of any one I know,
and Sally Sly is too lazy to build any. If I were
in Goldy's place I — "

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

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

Peter gasped. "I — I — hadn't the least idea
that any of these folks were related," stammered
Peter.

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

Peter caught a glimpse of a brownish-gray bird
who reminded him somewhat of Mrs. Redwing.
She was about the same size and looked very
much like her. It was plain that she was trying
to keep out of sight, and the instant she knew that
she had been discovered she flew away in the
direction of the Old Pasture. It happened that
late that afternoon Peter visited the Old Pasture
and saw her again. She and some of her friends
[86]

Some Unlike Relatives

were busily walking about close to the feet of the
cows, where they seemed to be picking up food.
One had a brown head, neck and breast ; the rest
of his coat was glossy black. Peter rightly guessed
that this must be Mr. Cowbird. Seeing them on
such good terms with the cows he understood why
they are called Cowbirds.

Sure that Sally Sly had left the Old Orchard, the
feathered folks settled down to their personal
affairs and household cares, Jenny Wren among
them. Having no one to talk to, Peter found a
shady place close to the old stone wall and there
sat down to think ovey* the surprising things he had
learned. Presently Goldy the Baltimore Oriole
alighted in the nearest apple-tree, and it seemed
to Peter that never had he seen any one more
beautifully dressed. His head, neck, throat and
upper part of his back were black. The lower
part of his back and his breast were a beautiful
deep orange color. There was a dash of orange
on his shoulders, but the rest of his wings were
black with an edging of white. His tail was black
and orange. Peter had heard him called the
Firebird, and now he understood why. His song
was quite as rich and beautiful as his coat.

Shortly he was joined by Mrs. Goldy. Com-
pared with her handsome husband she was very
modestly dressed. She wore more brown than
[87]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

black, and where the orange color appeared it was
rather dull. She wasted no time in singing.
Almost instantly her sharp eyes spied a piece of
string caught in the bushes almost over Peter's
head. With a little cry of delight she flew down
and seized it. But the string was caught, and
though she tugged and pulled with all her might
she couldn't get it free. Goldy saw the trouble
she was having and cutting his song short, flew
down to help her. Together they pulled and
tugged and tugged and pulled, until they had to
stop to rest and get their breath.

"We simply must have this piece of string,"
said Mrs. Goldy. "I've been hunting everywhere
for a piece, and this is the first I've found. It is
just what we need to bind our nest fast to the
twigs. With this I won't have the least bit cf
fear that that nest will ever tear loose, no matter
how hard the wind blows."

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

[881

GOLDIE THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE. He is almost wholly black and
orange and nearly the size of a Robin.

SAMMY JAY. His blue and gray coat with black and white markings makes
the Blue Jay one of the easiest of all birds to recognize.

Some Unlike Relatives

"Gracious!" said Peter. "They must get ter-
ribly tossed about when the wind blows. I should
think their babies would be thrown out."

"Don't you worry about them," said a voice.

Peter looked up to find Welcome Robin just
over him. "Mrs. Goldy makes one of the most
wonderful nests I know of," continued Welcome
Robin. "It is like a deep pocket made of grass,
string, hair and bark, all woven together like a
piece of cloth. It is so deep that it is quite safe
for the babies, and they seem to enjoy being rocked
by the wind. I shouldn't care for it myself be-
cause I like a solid foundation for my home, but
the Goldies like it. It looks dangerous but it
really is one of the safest nests I know of. Snakes
and cats never get 'way up there and there are few
feathered nest-robbers who can get at those eggs
so deep down in the nest. Goldy is sometimes
called Golden Robin. He isn't a Robin at all,
but I would feel very proud if he were a member
of my family. He's just as useful as he is hand-
some, and that's saying a great deal. He just
dotes on caterpillars. There's Mrs. Robin calling
me. Good-by, Peter."

With this Welcome Robin flew away and Peter
once more settled himself to think over all he had
learned.

[89]

CHAPTER XIII

MORE OF THE BLACKBIRD FAMILY

PETER RABBIT was dozing. Yes, sir, Peter was
dozing. He didn't mean to doze, but whenever
Peter sits still for a long time and tries to think,
he is pretty sure to go to sleep. By and by he
wakened with a start. At first he didn't know
what had wakened him, but as he sat there blink-
ing his eyes, he heard a few rich notes from the
top of the nearest apple-tree. "It's Goldy the
Oriole," thought Peter, and peeped out to see.
L But though he looked and looked he couldn't
see Goldy anywhere, but he did see a stranger.
It was some one of about Goldy's size and shape.
In fact he was so like Goldy, but for the color of
his suit, that at first Peter almost thought Goldy
had somehow changed his clothes. Of course he
knew that this couldn't be, but it seemed as if it
must be, for the song the stranger was singing was
something like that of Goldy. The stranger's
head and throat and back were black, just like
Goldy's, and his wings were trimmed with white
in just the same way. But the rest of his suit,

[90];

More of the Blackbird Family

instead of being the beautiful orange of which
Goldy is so proud, was a beautiful chestnut
color.

Peter blinked and stared very hard. "Now
who can this be ? " said he, speaking aloud without
thinking.

"Don't you know him?" asked a sharp voice
so close to Peter that it made him jump. Peter
whirled around. There sat Striped Chipmunk
grinning at him from the top of the old stone wall.
"That's Weaver the Orchard Oriole," Striped
Chipmunk rattled on. "If you don't know him
you ought to, because he is one of the very nicest
persons in the Old Orchard. I just love to hear
him sing."

"Is — is — he related to Goldy?" asked Peter
somewhat doubtfully.

"Of course," retorted Striped Chipmunk. "I
shouldn't think you would have to look at him
more than once to know that. He's first cousin
to Goldy. There comes Mrs. Weaver. I do hope
they've decided to build in the Old Orchard this
year."

"I'm glad you told me who she is because I
never would have guessed it," confessed Peter as
he studied the newcomer. She did not look at
all like Weaver. She was dressed in olive-green
and dull yellow, with white markings on her wings.
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

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

As he watched she flew down to the ground and
picked up a long piece of grass. "They are build-
ing here, as sure as you live!" cried Striped
Chipmunk. "I'm glad of that. Did you ever
see their nest, Peter? Of course you haven't,
because you said you had never seen them before.
Their nest is a wonder, Peter. It really is. It is
made almost wholly of fine grass and they weave
it together in the most wonderful way."

"Do they have a hanging nest like Goldy's?"
asked Peter a bit timidly.

"Not such a deep one," replied Striped Chip-
munk. "They hang it between the twigs near
the end of a branch, but they bind it more closely
to the branch and it isn't deep enough to swing as
Goldy's does."

Peter had just opened his mouth to ask another
question when there was a loud sniffing sound
farther up along the old stone wall. He didn't
wait to hear it again. He knew that Bowser the
Hound was coming.

"Good-by, Striped Chipmunk! This is no

place for me," whispered Peter and started for

the dear Old Briar-patch. He was in such a

hurry to get there that on his way across the Green

[92]

More of the Blackbird Family

Meadows he almost ran into Jimmy Skunk before
he saw him.

"What's your hurry, Peter?" demanded
Jimmy.

"Bowser the Hound almost found me up in the
Old Orchard," panted Peter. "It's a wonder he
hasn't found my tracks. I expect he will any
minute. I'm glad to see you, Jimmy, but I guess
I'd better be moving along."

"Don't be in such a hurry, Peter. Don't be
in such a hurry," replied Jimmy, who himself
never hurries. "Stop and talk a bit. That old
nuisance won't bother you as long as you are
with me."

Peter hesitated. He wanted to gossip, but he
still felt nervous about Bowser the Hound. How-
ever, as he heard nothing of Bowser's great voice,
telling all the world that he had found Peter's
tracks, he decided to stop a few minutes. "What
are you doing down here on the Green Meadows ?"
he demanded.

'Jimmy grinned. "I'm looking for grasshoppers
and grubs, if you must know," said he. "And
I've just got a notion I may find some fresh eggs.
I don't often eat them, but once in a while one
tastes good."

"If you ask me, it's a funny place to be looking
for eggs down here on the Green Meadows," re-
[93]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

plied Peter. "When I want a thing I look for it
where it is likely to be found."

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

Peter looked puzzled. He was puzzled. But
before he could ask another question a rollicking
song caused both of them to look up. There on
quivering wings in mid-air was the singer. He
was dressed very much like Jimmy Skunk him-
self, in black and, white, save that in places
the white had a tinge of yellow, especially
on the back of his neck. It was Bubbling
Bob the Bobolink. And how he did sing ! It
seemed as if the notes fairly tumbled over each
other.

Jimmy Skunk raised himself on his hind-legs a
little to see just where Bubbling Bob dropped down
in the grass. Then Jimmy began to move in that
direction. Suddenly Peter understood. He re-
membered that Bubbling Bob's nest is always on
the ground. It was his eggs that Jimmy Skunk
was looking for.

"You don't happen to have seen Mrs. Bob
anywhere around here, do you, Peter?" asked
Jimmy, trying to speak carelessly.

"No," replied Peter. "If I had I wouldn't
tell you where. You ought to be ashamed,
[94]

BUBBLING BOB THE BOBOLINK,
white.

He is dressed in black and yellowish

More of the Blackbird Family

Jimmy Skunk, to think of robbing such a beautiful
singer as Bubbling Bob."

"Pooh!" retorted Jimmy. "What's the
harm? If I find those eggs he and Mrs. Bob
could simply build another nest and lay some
more. They won't be any the worse off, and I
will have had a good breakfast."

"But think of all the work they would have to
do to build another nest," replied Peter.

"I should worry," retorted Jimmy Skunk.
"Any one who can spend so much time singing
can afford to do a little extra work."

"You're horrid, Jimmy Skunk. You're just
horrid," said Peter. "I hope you won't find a
single egg, so there !"

With this, Peter once more headed for the dear
Old Briar-patch, while Jimmy Skunk continued
toward the place where Bubbling Bob had disap-
peared in the long grass. Peter went only a short
distance and then sat up to watch Jimmy Skunk.
Just before Jimmy reached the place where Bub-
bling Bob had disappeared, the latter mounted
into the air again, pouring out his rollicking song
as if there were no room in his heart for anything
but happiness. Then he saw Jimmy Skunk and
became very much excited. He flew down in
the grass a little farther on and then up again*
and began to scold.

195]

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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.
Then Bubbling Bob did the same thing all over
again. Peter grew anxious. He knew just how
patient Jimmy Skunk could be, and he very much
feared that Jimmy would find that nest. Pres-
ently he grew tired of watching and started on
for the dear Old Briar-patch. Just before he
reached it a brown bird, who reminded him some-
what of Mrs. Redwing and Sally Sly the Cowbird,
though she was smaller, ran across the path in
front of him and then flew up to the top of a last
year's mullein stalk. It was Mrs. Bobolink.
Peter knew her well, for he and she were very good
friends.

"Oh!" cried Peter. "What are you doing
here? Don't you know that Jimmy Skunk is
hunting for your nest over there? Aren't you
worried to death ? I would be if I were in your
place."

Mrs. Bob chuckled. "Isn't he a dear? And
isn't he smart?" said she, meaning Bubbling Bob,
of course, and not Jimmy Skunk. "Just see him
lead that black-and-white robber away."

Peter stared at her for a full minute. "Do
you mean to say," said he, "that your nest isn't
over there at all?"

More of the Blackbird Family

Mrs. Bob chuckled harder than ever. "Of
course it isn't over there," said she.

"Then where is it?" demanded Peter.

"That's telling," replied Mrs. Bob. "It isn't
over there, and it isn't anywhere near there. But
where it is is Bob's secret and mine, and we mean
to keep it. Now I must go get something to eat,"
and with a hasty farewell Mrs. Bobolink flew over
to the other side of the dear Old Briar-patch.

Peter remembered that he had seen Mrs. Bob
running along the ground before she flew up to
the old mullein stalk. He went back to the spot
where he had first seen her and hunted all around
in the grass, but without success. You see, Mrs.
Bobolink had been quite as clever in fooling Peter
as Bubbling Bob had been m_fooling Jimmy
Skunk. ,

97

CHAPTER XIV

BOB WHITE AND CAROL THE MEADOW LARK

"Bos — BOB WHITE! Bob — Bob White!
Bob — Bob White!" clear and sweet, that call
floated over to the dear Old Briar-patch until
Peter could stand it no longer. He felt that he
just had to go over and pay an early morning call
on one of his very best friends, who at this season
of the year delights in whistling his own name —
Bob White, j

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

Peter left the Old Briar-patch and started off
over the Green Meadows towards the Old Pasture.
As he drew near the fence between the Green
Meadows and the Old Pasture he saw Bob White
sitting on one of the posts, whistling with all his
might. On another post near him sat another
[98]

Bob White and Carol the Meadow Lark

bird very near the size of Welcome Robin. He
also was telling all the world of his happiness.
It was Carol the Meadow Lark.

Peter was so intent watching these two friends
of his that he took no heed to his footsteps. Sud-
denly there was a whirr from almost under his
very nose and he stopped short, so startled that
he almost squealed right out. In a second he
recognized Mrs. Meadow Lark. He watched her
fly over to where Carol was singing. Her stout
little wings moved swiftly for a moment or two,
then she sailed on without moving them at all.
Then they fluttered rapidly again until she was
flying fast enough to once more sail on them out-
stretched. The white outer feathers of her tail
showed clearly and reminded Peter of the tail of
Sweetvoice the Vesper Sparrow, only of course
it was ever so much bigger.

Peter sat still until Mrs. Meadow Lark had
alighted on the fence near Carol. Then he pre-
pared to hurry on, for he was anxious for a bit of
gossip with these good friends of his. But just
before he did this he just happened to glance down
and there, almost at his very feet, he caught sight
of something that made him squeal right out.
It was a nest with four of the prettiest eggs Peter
ever had seen. They were white with brown spots
all over them. Had it not been for the eggs he

Tlie Burgess Bird Book for Children

never would have seen that nest, never in the
world. It was made of dry, brown grass and was
cunningly hidden in a little clump of dead grass
which fell over it so as to almost completely hide
it. But the thing that surprised Peter most was
the clever way in which the approach to it was
hidden. It was by means of a regular little tunnel
of grass.

"Oh!" cried Peter, and his eyes sparkled with
pleasure. "This must be the nest of Mrs. Meadow
Lark. No wonder I have never been able to find
it when I have looked for it. It is just luck and
nothing else that I have found it this time. I
think it is perfectly wonderful that Mrs. Meadow
Lark can hide her home in such a way. I do hope
Jimmy Skunk isn't anywhere around."

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

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

"I hope not. I certainly hope not," cried Mrs.
Meadow Lark in an anxious tone. "I never
would have another single easy minute if I thought
[100]

CAROL THE MEADOW LARK. You will know him by the black cres-
cent on his yellow breast, and the white outer feathers of his rather short tail
when he flies.

Bob White and Carol the Meadow Lark

you would tell a living soul about my nest.
Promise that you won't, Peter. Cross your heart
and promise that you won't."

Peter promptly crossed his heart and promised
that he wouldn't tell a single soul. Mrs. Meadow
Lark seemed to feel better. Right away she
flew back and Peter turned to watch her. He
saw her disappear in the grass, but it wasn't
where he had found the nest. Peter waited a
few minutes, thinking that he would see her rise
into the air again and fly over to the nest. But
he waited in vain. Then with a puzzled look on
his face, he turned to look up at Carol.

Carol's eyes twinkled. "I know what you're
thinking, Peter," he chuckled. "You are think-
ing that it is funny Mrs. Meadow Lark didn't
go straight back to our nest when she seemed so
anxious about it. I would have you to know that
she is too clever to do anything so foolish as that.
She knows well enough that somebody might see
her and so find our secret. She has walked there
from the place where you saw her disappear in
the grass. That is the way we always do when
we go to our nest. One never can be too careful
these days."

Then Carol began to pour out his happiness
once more, quite as if nothing had interrupted
his song.

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The Burgess Bird Book for Children '

Somehow Peter never before had realized how
handsome Carol the Meadow Lark was. As he
faced Peter, the latter saw a beautiful yellow
throat and waistcoat, with a broad black crescent
on his breast. There was a yellow line above each
eye. His back was of brown with black mark-
ings. His sides were whitish, with spots and
streaks of black. The outer edges of his tail were
white. Altogether he was really handsome, far
handsomer than one would suspect, seeing him
at a distance.

Having found out Carol's secret, Peter was
doubly anxious to find Bob White's home, so he
hurried over to the post where Bob was whistling
with all his might. "Bob!" cried Peter. "I've
just found Carol's nest and I've promised to keep
it a secret. Won't you show me your nest, too,
if I'll promise to keep that a secret?"

Bob threw back his head and laughed joyously.
"You ought to know, Peter, by this time," said
he, "that there are secrets never to be told to
anybody. My nest is one of these. If you find
it, all right; but I wouldn't show it to my very
best friend, and I guess I haven't any better friend
than you, Peter." Then from sheer happiness he
whistled, "—Bob White! Bob — Bob White!"
with all his might.

Peter was disappointed and a little put out.
[102]

Bob White and Carol the Meadow Lark

"I guess," said he, "I could find it if I wanted to.
I guess it isn't any better hidden than Mrs. Meadow
Lark's, and I found that. Some folks aren't as
smart as they think they are."

Bob White, who is sometimes called Quail and
sometimes called Partridge, and who is neither,
chuckled heartily. " Go ahead, old Mr. Curiosity,
go ahead and hunt all you please," said he. "It's
funny to me how some folks think themselves
smart when the truth is they simply. have been
lucky. You know well enough that you just
happened to find Carol's nest. If you happen to
find mine, I won't have a word to say."

Bob White took a long breath, tipped his head
back until his bill was pointing right up in the
blue, blue sky, and with all his might whistled his
name, "Bob — Bob White ! Bob — Bob White !"

As Peter looked at him it came over him that
Bob White was the plumpest bird of his acquaint-
ance. He was so plump that his body seemed
almost round. The shortness of his tail added
to this effect, for Bob has a very short tail. The
upper part of his coat was a handsome reddish-
brown with dark streaks and light edgings. His
sides and the upper part of his breast were of the
same handsome reddish-brown, while underneath
he was whitish with little bars of black. His
throat was white, and above each eye was a broad
[103]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

white stripe. His white throat was bordered with
black, and a band of black divided the white of
the throat from the white line above each eye.
The top of his head was mixed black and brown.
Altogether he was a handsome little fellow in a
modest way.

Suddenly Bob White stopped whistling and
looked down at Peter with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Why don't you go hunt for that nest, Peter?"
said he.

"I'm going," replied Peter rather shortly, for
he knew that Bob knew that he hadn't the least
idea where to look. It might be somewhere on
the Green Meadows or it might be in the Old
Pasture ; Bob hadn't given the least hint. Peter
had a feeling that that nest wasn't far away and
that it was on the Green Meadows, so he began
to hunt, running aimlessly this way and that way,
all the time feeling very foolish, for of course he
knew that Bob White was watching him and
chuckling down inside.

It was very warm down there on the Green
Meadows, and Peter grew hot and tired. Finally
he decided to run up in the Old Pasture to rest
in the shade of an old bramble-tangle there. Just
the other side of the fence was a path made by
the cows and often used by Farmer Brown's boy
and Reddy Fox and others who visited the Old
[104]

Bob White and Carol the Meadow Lark

Pasture. Along this Peter scampered, lipperty-
lipperty-lip, on his way to the bramble-tangle.
He didn't look either to right or left. It didn't
occur to him that there would be any use at all,
for of course no one would build a nest near a path
where people passed to and fro every day.

And so it was that in his happy-go-lucky way
Peter scampered right past 'a clump of tall weeds
close beside the path without the least suspicion
that cleverly hidden in it was the very thing he
was looking for. With laughter in her eyes, shrewd
little Mrs. Bob White, with sixteen white eggs
under her, watched him pass. She had chosen
that very place for her nest because she knew that
it was the last place any one would expect to find
it. The very fact that it seemed the most danger-
ous place she could have chosen made it the safest.

[105]

CHAPTER XV

A SWALLOW AND ONE WHO ISN*T

JOHNNY and Polly Chuck had made their home
between the roots of an old apple-tree in the far
corner of the Old Orchard. You know they have
their bedroom way down in the ground, and it is
reached by a long hall. They had dug their home
between the roots of that old apple-tree because
they had discovered that there was just room
enough between those spreading roots for them to
pass in and out, and there wasn't room to dig
the entrance any larger. So they felt quite safe
from Reddy Fox and Bowser the Hound, either
of whom would have delighted to dig them out
but for those roots.

Right in front of their doorway was a very nice
doorstep of shining sand where Johnny Chuck
delighted to sit when he had a full stomach and
nothing else to do. Johnny's nearest neighbors
had made their home only about five feet above
Johnny's head when he sat up on his doorstep.
They were Skimmer the Tree Swallow and his
trim little wife, and the doorway of their home
was a little round hole in the trunk of that apple-
[106]

A Swallow and One Who Isn't ]

tree, a hole which had been cut some years before
by one of the Woodpeckers. I

Johnny and Skimmer were the best of friends.
Johnny used to delight in watching Skimmer dart
out from beneath the branches of the trees and
wheel and turn and glide, now sometimes high in
the blue, blue sky, and again just skimming the
tops of the grass, on wings which seemed never
to tire. But he liked still better the bits of
gossip when Skimmer would sit in his doorway
and chat about his neighbors of the Old Orchard
and his adventures out in the Great World during
his long journeys to and from the far-away South.

To Johnny Chuck's way of thinking, there was
no one quite so trim and neat appearing as Skim-
mer with his snowy white breast and blue-green
back and wings. Two things Johnny always
used to wonder at, Skimmer's small bill and short
legs. Finally he ventured to ask Skimmer about
them.

"Gracious, Johnny!" exclaimed Skimmer. "I
wouldn't have a big bill for anything. I wouldn't
know what to do with it ; it would be in the way.
You see, I get nearly all my food in the air when
I am flying, mosquitoes and flies and all sorts of
small insects with wings. I don't have to pick
them off trees and bushes or from the ground and
so I don't need any more of a bill than I have.
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

It's the same way with my legs. Have you ever
seen me walking on the ground?"

Johnny thought a moment. "No," said he,
"now you speak of it, I never have."

"And have you ever seen me hopping about in
the branches of a tree?" persisted Skimmer.

Again Johnny Chuck admitted that he never
had.

"The only use I have for feet," continued Skim-
mer, "is for perching while I rest. I don't need
long legs for walking or hopping about, so Mother
Nature has made my legs very short. You see I
spend most of my time in the air."

"I suppose it's the same way with your cousin,
Sooty the Chimney Swallow," said Johnny.

"That shows just how much some people know ! "
twittered Skimmer indignantly. "The idea of
calling Sooty a Swallow ! The very idea ! I'd
have you to know, Johnny Chuck, that Sooty isn't
even related to me. He's a Swift, and not a
Swallow."

"He looks like a Swallow," protested Johnny
Chuck.

"He doesn't either. You just think he does
because he happens to spend most of his time in
the air the way we Swallows do," sputtered Skim-
mer. "The Swallow family never would admit
such a homely looking fellow as he is as a member.
[ 108 1 '

A Swallow and One Who Isn't

"Tut, tut, tut, tut ! I do believe Skimmer is
jealous," cried Jenny Wren, who had happened
along just in time to hear Skimmer's last remarks.

"Nothing of the sort," declared Skimmer,
growing still more indignant. "I'd like to know
what there is about Sooty the Chimney Swift
that could possibly make a Swallow jealous."

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

"The way he can fly!" sputtered Skimmer.
"The way he can fly ! Why, there never was a
day in his life that he could fly like a Swallow.
There isn't any one more graceful on the wing
than I am, if I do say so. And there isn't any one
more ungraceful than Sooty."

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

"He can use first one wing and then the other,
while you have to use both wings at once," per-
sisted Jenny Wren. "You couldn't, to save your
[109]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

life, go straight down into a chimney, and you
know it, Skimmer. He can do things with his
wings which you can't do, nor any other bird."

"That may be true, but just the same I'm not
the least teeny weeny bit jealous of him," said
Skimmer, and darted away to get beyond the
reach of Jenny's sharp tongue.

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

Jenny nodded. "It's quite true, Johnny,"
said she. "Sooty belongs to another family alto-
gether. He's a funny fellow. Did you ever in
your life see such narrow wings? And his tail
is hardly worth calling a tail."

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

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

"But I've never seen Sooty on the trunk of a
tree," protested Johnny Chuck. "In fact, I've
never seen him anywhere but in the air."
[110]

A Swallow and One Who Isn't

"And you never will," snapped Jenny. "The
only place he ever alights is inside a chimney or
inside a hollow tree. There he clings to the side
just as Downy the Woodpecker clings to the
trunk of a tree."

Johnny looked as if he didn't quite believe this.
"If that's the case where does he nest?" he de-
manded. "And where does he sleep?" ;

"In a chimney, stupid. In a chimney, of
course," retorted Jenny Wren. "He fastens his
nest right to the inside of a chimney. He makes
a regular little basket of twigs and fastens it to
the side of the chimney."

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

Jenny Wren's sharp little eyes snapped. "If
you half used your eyes you wouldn't have to
ask me how he gets those little sticks," she sput-
tered. "If you had watched him when he was
flying close to the tree tops you would have seen
him clutch little dead twigs in his claws and snap
them off without stopping. That's the way he
gets his little sticks, Mr. Smarty. He fastens

[in]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

them together with a sticky substance he has in
his mouth, and he fastens the nest to the side of
the chimney in the same way. You can believe
it or not, but it's so."

"I believe it, Jenny, I believe it," replied
Johnny Chuck very humbly. "If you please,
Jenny, does Sooty get all his food in the air too ? "

"Of course," replied Jenny tartly. "He eats
nothing but insects, and he catches them flying.
Now I must get back to my duties at home."

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

"He hasn't any one nearer than some sort of
second cousins, Boomer the Nighthawk, Whip-
poorwill, and Hummer the Hummingbird."

"What?" cried Johnny Chuck, quite as if he
couldn't believe he had heard aright. "Did you
say Hummer the Hummingbird?" But he got
no reply, for Jenny Wren was already beyond
hearing.

CHAPTER XVI

A ROBBER IN THE OLD ORCHARD

"I DON'T believe it," muttered Johnny Chuck
out loud. "I don't believe Jenny Wren knows
what she's talking about."

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

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

"Well, it's so, if you don't believe it," declared
Skimmer. "I don't see that that is any harder
to believe than that you are cousin to Striped
Chipmunk and Happy Jack the Gray Squirrel.
To look at you no one would ever think you are a
member of the Squirrel family, but you must ad-
mit that you are."

Johnny Chuck nodded his head thoughtfully.
"Yes," said he, "I am, even if I don't look it.
This is a funny world, isn't it ? You can't always
tell by a person's looks who he may be related to.
Now that I've found out that Sooty isn't related
to you and is related to Hummer, I'll never dare
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

guess again about anybody's relatives. I always
supposed Twitter the Martin to be a relative of
yours, but now that I've learned that Sooty isn't,
I suspect that Twitter isn't either."

"Oh, yes, he is," replied Skimmer promptly.
"He's the largest of the Swallow family, and we all
feel very proud of him. Everybody loves him."

"Is he as black as he looks, flying round up in
the air ? " asked Johnny Chuck. "He never comes
down here as you do where a fellow can get a good
look at him."

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

"How about me?" demanded a new voice,
[114]

SKIMMER THE TREE SWALLOW. When you see a Swallow with pure
white breast and blue-green back it is Skimmer.

FORKTAIL THE BARN SWALLOW. His long forked tail is all you
need to see to know him.

A Robber in" the Old Orchard

as a graceful form skimmed over Johnny Chuck's
head, and turning like a flash, came back. It was
Forktail the Barn Swallow, the handsomest and
one of the most graceful of all the Swallow family.
He passed so close to Johnny that the latter had
a splendid chance to see and admire his glistening
steel-blue back and the beautiful chestnut-brown
of his forehead and throat with its narrow black
collar, and the brown to buff color of his under
parts. But the thing that was most striking about
him was his tail, which was so deeply forked as to
seem almost like two tails.

"I would know him as far as I could see him
just by his tail alone," exclaimed Johnny. "I
don't know of any other tail at all like it."

"There isn't any other like it," declared Skim-
mer. "If Twitter the Martin is the largest of
our family, Forktail is the handsomest."

"How about my usefulness?" demanded Fork-
tail, as he came skimming past again. "Cousin
Twitter certainly does catch a lot of flies and in-
sects but I'm willing to go against him any day
to see who can catch the most."

With this he darted away. Watching him they
saw him alight on the top of Farmer Brown's barn.
"It's funny," remarked Johnny Chuck, "but as
long as I've known Forktail, and I've known him
ever since I was big enough to" know anybody,
[1151

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

I've never found out where he builds his nest.
I've seen him skimming over the Green Meadows
times without number, and often he comes here
to the Old Orchard as he did just now, but I've
never seen him stop anywhere except over on
that barn."

"That's where he nests," chuckled Skimmer.

" What ? " cried Johnny Chuck. "Do you mean
to say he nests on Farmer Brown's barn?"

"No," replied Skimmer. "He nests in it.
That's why he is called the Barn Swallow, and
why you never have seen his nest. If you'll just
go over to Farmer Brown's barn and look up in
the roof, you'll see Forktail's nest there some-
where."

! "Me go over to Farmer Brown's barn!" ex-
claimed Johnny Chuck. "Do you think I'm
crazy?"

Skimmer chuckled. "Forktail isn't crazy," said
he, "and he goes in and out of that barn all day
long. I must say I wouldn't care to build in such
a place myself, but he seems to like it. There's
one thing about it, his home is warm and dry and
comfortable, no matter what the weather is. I
wouldn't trade with him, though. No, sir, I
wouldn't trade with him for anything. Give me
a hollow in a tree well lined with feathers to a nest
made of mud and straw, even if it is feather-lined."
[116]

A Robber in the Old Orchard

"Do you mean that such a neat-looking, hand-
some fellow as Forktail uses mud in his nest?"
cried Johnny.

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

But Johnny Chuck never knew what Skimmer
was going to say next, for Skimmer happened at
that instant to glance up. For an instant he sat
motionless with horror, then with a shriek he
darted out into the air. At the sound of that
shriek Mrs. Skimmer, who all the time had been
sitting on her eggs inside the hollow of the tree,
darted out of the doorway, also shrieking. For
a moment Johnny Chuck couldn't imagine what
could be the trouble. Then a slight rustling drew
his eyes to a crotch in the tree a little above the
doorway of Skimmer's home. There, partly coiled
around a branch, with head swaying to and fro,
eyes glittering and forked tongue darting out and
in, as he tried to look down into Skimmer's nest,
was Mr. Blacksnake.

It seemed to Johnny as if in a minute every bird
in the Old Orchard had arrived on the scene.
Such a shrieking and screaming as there was !
First one and then another would dart at Mr.
Blacksnake, only to lose courage at the last second
and turn aside. Poor Skimmer and his little wife
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

were frantic. They did their utmost to distract
Mr. Blacksnake's attention, darting almost into
his very face and then away again before he could
strike. But Mr. Blacksnake knew that they were
powerless to hurt him, and he knew that there were
eggs in that nest. There is nothing he loves
better than eggs unless it is a meal of baby birds.
Beyond hissing angrily two or three times he paid
no attention to Skimmer or his friends, but con-
tinued to creep nearer the entrance to that nest.
At last he reached a position where he could
put his head in the doorway. As he did so,
Skimmer and Mrs. Skimmer each gave a little
cry of hopelessness and despair. But no sooner
had his head disappeared in the hole in the old
apple-tree than Scrapper the Kingbird struck him
savagely. Instantly Mr. Blacksnake withdrew
his head, hissing fiercely, and struck savagely
at the birds nearest him. Several times the same
thing happened. No sooner would his head
disappear in that hole than Scrapper or one of
the other of Skimmer's friends, braver than the
rest, would dart in and peck at him viciously, and
all the time all the birds were screaming as only
excited feathered folk can. Johnny Chuck was
quite as excited as his feathered friends, and so
intent watching the hated black robber that he
had eyes for nothing else. Suddenly he heard
[1181

A Robber in the Old Orchard

a step just behind him. He turned his head and
then frantically dived head first down into his
hole. He had looked right up into the eyes of
Farmer Brown's boy !

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

No sooner had Mr. Blacksnake disappeared
than all the birds set up such a rejoicing that you
would have thought they, and not Farmer Brown's
boy, had saved the eggs of Mr. and Mrs. Skimmer.
Listening to them, Johnny Chuck just had to
smile.

'[119]

CHAPTER XVII

MORE ROBBERS

BY the sounds of rejoicing "among the feathered
folks of the Old Orchard Johnny Chuck knew that
it was quite safe for him to come out. He was
eager to tell Skimmer the Tree Swallow how glad
he was that Mr. Blacksnake had been driven
away before he could get Skimmer's eggs. As
he poked his head out of his doorway he became
aware that something was still wrong in the Old
Orchard. Into the glad chorus there broke a
note of distress and sorrow. Johnny instantly
recognized the voices of Welcome Robin and
Mrs. Robin. There is not one among his feathered
neighbors who can so express worry and sorrow
as can the Robins.

Johnny was just in time to see all the birds
hurrying over to that part of the Old Orchard
where the Robins had built their home. The
rejoicing suddenly gave way to cries of indigna-
tion and anger, and Johnny caught the words,
"Robber! Thief! Wretch!" It appeared that
there was just as much excitement over there as
there had been when Mr. Blacksnake had been
[120]

M ore Robbers

discovered trying to rob Skimmer and Mrs. Skim-
mer. It couldn't be Mr. Blacksnake again, be-
cause Farmer Brown's boy had chased him in
quite another direction.

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

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

Johnny Chuck waited patiently. The excite-
ment among the birds seemed to increase, and
the chattering and angry cries grew louder.
Only the voices of Welcome and Mrs. Robin were
not angry. They were mournful, as if Welcome
and Mrs. Robin were heartbroken. Presently
Skimmer came back to tell Mrs. Skimmer the
news.

"The Robins have lost their eggs!" he cried
excitedly. "All four have been broken and eaten.
Mrs. Robin left them to come over here to help
drive away Mr. Blacksnake, and while she was
here some one ate those eggs. Nobody knows
who it could have been, because all the birds of
the Old Orchard were over here at that time. It
might have been Chatterer the Red Squirrel,
or it might have been Sammy Jay, or it might
have been Creaker the Grackle, or it might have
been Blacky the Crow. Whoever it was just took
[ 121 ] •

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

that chance to sneak over there and rob that nest
when there was no one to see him."

Just then from over towards the Green Forest
sounded a mocking "Caw, caw, caw!" In-
stantly the noise in the Old Orchard ceased for a
moment. Then it broke out afresh. There wasn't
a doubt now in any one's mind. Blacky the Crow
was the robber. How those tongues did go !
There was nothing too bad to say about Blacky.
And such dreadful things as those birds promised
to do to Blacky the Crow if ever they should
catch him in the Old Orchard.

"Caw, caw, caw!" shouted Blacky from the
distance, and his voice sounded very much as if
he thought he had done something very smart.
It was quite clear that at least he was not sorry
for what he had done.

All the birds were so excited and so angry, as
they gathered around Welcome and Mrs. Robin
trying to comfort them, that it was some time
before 'their indignation meeting broke up and
they returned to their own homes and duties.
Almost at once there was another cry of distress.
Mr. and Mrs. Chebec had been robbed of their
eggs ! While they had been attending the in-
dignation meeting at the home of the Robins, a
thief had taken the chance to steal their eggs and
get away.

[122] •

More Robbers

Of course right away all the birds hurried over
to sympathize with the Chebecs and to repeat
against the unknown thief all the threats they
had made against Blacky the Crow. They knew
it couldn't have been Blacky this time because they
had heard Blacky cawing over on the edge of the
Green Forest. In the midst of the excited dis-
cussion as to who the thief was, Weaver the
Orchard Oriole spied a blue and white feather on
the ground just below Chebec's nest.

"It was Sammy Jay ! There is no doubt about
it, it was Sammy Jay !" he cried. •

At the sight of that telltale feather all the birds
knew that Weaver was right, and led by Scrapper
the Kingbird they began a noisy search of the
Old Orchard for the sly robber. But Sammy
wasn't to be found, and they soon gave up the
search, none daring to stay longer away from his
own home lest something should happen there.
Welcome and Mrs. Robin continued to cry mourn-
fully, but little Mr. and Mrs. Chebec bore their
trouble almost silently.

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

"That's true," said she. "There is no use
crying over what can't be helped. It is a waste
[123]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

of time to sit around crying. Come on, Chebec,
let's look for a place to build another nest. Next
time I won't leave the eggs unwatched for a
minute."

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

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

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

"For goodness' sake, Peter!" exclaimed Jenny,
"do you mean to say that you don't know that?
Of course they're cousins. They don't look much
alike, but they belong to the same family. I
would expect almost anything bad of any one as
black as Blacky the Crow. But how such a
handsome fellow as Sammy Jay can do such dread-
ful things I don't understand. He isn't as bad
as Blacky, because he does do a lot of good. He
destroys a lot of caterpillars and other pests.

" There are no sharper eyes anywhere than those
of Sammy Jay, and I'll have to say this for him,
that whenever he discovers any danger he always
[ 124 J

More Robbers

gives us warning. He has saved the lives of a
good many of us feathered folks in this way. If
it wasn't for this habit of stealing our eggs I
wouldn't have a word to say against him, but at
that, he isn't as bad as Blacky the Crow. They
say Blacky does some good by destroying white
grubs and some other harmful pests but he's a
regular cannibal, for he is just as fond of young
birds as he is of eggs, and the harm he does in
this way is more than the good he does in other
ways. He's bold, black, and bad, if you ask
me."

Remembering her household duties, Jenny Wren
disappeared inside her house in her usual abrupt
fashion. Peter hung around for a while but
finding no one who would take the time to talk to
him he suddenly decided to go over to the Green
Forest to look for some of his friends there. He
had gone but a little way in the Green Forest
when he caught a glimpse of a blue form stealing
away through the trees. He knew it in an in-
stant, for there is no one with such a coat but
Sammy Jay. Peter glanced up in the tree from
which Sammy had flown and there he saw a nest
in a crotch halfway up. "I wonder," thought
Peter, "if Sammy was stealing eggs there, or if
that is his own nest." Then he started after
Sammy as fast as he could go, lipperty-lipperty-
[125]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

lip. As he ran he happened to look back and
was just in time to see Mrs. Jay slip on to the nest.
Then Peter knew that he had discovered Sammy's
home. He chuckled as he ran.

"I've found out your secret, Sammy Jay!"
cried Peter when at last he caught up with Sammy.

"Then I hope you'll be gentleman enough to
keep it," grumbled Sammy, looking not at all
pleased.

"Certainly," replied Peter with dignity. "I
wouldn't think of telling any one. My, what a
handsome fellow you are, Sammy."

Sammy looked pleased. He is a little bit vain,
is Sammy Jay. There is no denying that he is
handsome. He is just a bit bigger than Welcome
Robin. His back is grayish-blue. His tail is a
bright blue crossed with little black bars and
edged with white. His wings are blue with white
and black bars. His throat and breast are a soft
grayish-white, and he wears a collar of black.
On his head he wears a pointed cap, a very con-
venient cap, for at times he draws it down so that
it is not pointed at all.

"Why did you steal Mrs. Chebec's eggs?"
demanded Peter abruptly.

Sammy didn't look the least bit put out. "Be-
cause I like eggs," he replied promptly. "If
people will leave their eggs unguarded they must
[126]

More Robbers

expect to lose them. How did you know I took
those eggs?" :•>

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

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

Peter dived headlong under a great pile of brush.
There he was quite safe. While he waited for
Reddy Fox to go away he thought about Sammy
Jay. "It's funny," he mused, "how so much
good and so much bad can be mixed together.
Sammy Jay stole Chebec's eggs, and then he saved
my life. I just know he would have done as
much for Mr. and Mrs. Chebec, or for any other
feathered neighbor. He can only steal eggs for a
little while in the spring. I guess on the whole
he does more good than harm. I'm going to
think so anyway."

Peter was quite right. Sammy Jay does do
more good than harm.

[127

CHAPTER XVIII

SOME HOMES IN THE GREEN FOREST

REDDY Fox wasted very little time waiting for
Peter Rabbit to come out from under that pile
of brush where he had hidden at Sammy Jay's
warning. After making some terrible threats
just to try to frighten Peter, he trotted away to
look for some Mice. Peter didn't mind those
threats at all. He was used to them. He knew
that he was safe where he was, and all he had to
do was to stay there until Reddy should be so
far away that it would be safe to come out.

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

"Reddy Fox has gone back to the Old Pasture
and Blacky has discovered him there," he thought
happily. You see, he understood what Blacky
was saying. To you or me Blacky would have
been saying simply, "Caw! N Caw!" But to all
[128]

Some Homes in the Green Forest

the little people of the Green Forest and Green
Meadows within hearing he was shouting, "Fox!
Fox!"

"I wonder," thought Peter, "where Blacky is
nesting this year. Last year his nest was in a
tall pine-tree not far from the edge of the Green
Forest. I believe I'll run over there and see if
he has a new nest near the old one."

So Peter scampered over to the tall pine in
which was Blacky's old nest. As he sat with his
head tipped back, staring up at it, it struck him
that that nest didn't look so old, after all. In
fact, it looked as if it had recently been fixed up
quite like new. He was wondering about this
and trying to guess what it meant, when Blacky
himself alighted close to the edge of it.

There was something in his bill, though what it
was Peter couldn't see. Almost at once a black
head appeared above the edge of the nest and a
black bill seized the thing which Blacky had
brought. Then the head disappeared and Blacky
silently flew away.

"As sure as I live," thought Peter, "that was
Mrs. Blacky, and Blacky brought her some food
so that she would not have to leave those eggs
she must have up there. He may be the black-
hearted robber every one says he is, but he cer-
tainly is a good husband. He's a better husband
[129]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

than some others I know, of whom nothing but
good is said. It just goes to show that there is
some good in the very worst folks. Blacky is a
sly old rascal. Usually he is as noisy as any one
I know, but he came and went without making
a sound. Now I think of it, I haven't once heard
his voice near here this spring. I guess if Farmer
Brown's boy could find this nest he would get even
with Blacky for pulling up his corn. I know a lot
of clever people, but no one quite so clever as
Blacky the Crow. With all his badness I can't
help liking him."

Twice, while Peter watched, Blacky returned
with food for Mrs. Blacky. Then, tired of keep-
ing still so long, Peter decided to run over to a
certain place farther in the Green Forest which
was seldom visited by any one. It was a place
Peter usually kept away from. It was pure
curiosity which led him to go there now. The
discovery that Blacky the Crow was using his
old nest had reminded Peter that Redtail the
Hawk uses his old nest year after year, and he
wanted to find out if Redtail had come back to it
this year.

Halfway over to that lonesome place in the

Green Forest a trim little bird flew up from the

ground, hopped from branch to branch of a tree,

walked along a limb, then from pure happiness

[130]

Some Homes in the Green Forest

threw back his head and cried, "Teacher, teacher,
teacher, teacher, teacher !" each time a little louder
than before. It was Teacher the Oven Bird.

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

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

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

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

"It is why you are called Oven Bird," said
Peter.

"Is that all?" asked Teacher. Then without
waiting for a reply he added, "It is because of
the way Mrs. Teacher and I build our nest.
Some people think it is like an oven and so they
call us Oven Birds. I think that is a silly name
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

myself, quite as silly as Golden Crowned Thrush,
which is what some people call me. I'm not a
Thrush. I'm not even related to the Thrush
family. I'm a Warbler, a Wood Warbler."

"I suppose," said Peter, looking at Teacher
thoughtfully, "they've given you that name be-
cause you are dressed something like the Thrushes.
That olive-green coat, and white waistcoat all
streaked and spotted with black, certainly does
remind me of the Thrush family. If you were
not so much smaller than any of the Thrushes
I should almost think you were one myself. Why,
you are not very much bigger than Chippy the
Chipping Sparrow, only you've got longer legs. I
suppose that's because you spend so much time
on the ground. I think that just Teacher is the
best name for you. No one who has once heard
you could ever mistake you for any one else.
By the way, Teacher, where did you say your
nest is?" ft

"I didn't say," retorted Teacher. "What's
more, I'm not going to say."

"Won't you at least tell me if it is in a tree?"
begged Peter.

Teacher's eyes twinkled. "I guess it won't

do any harm to tell you that much," said he.

"No, it isn't in a tree. It is on the ground and,

if I do say it, it is as well hidden a nest as anybody

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Some Homes in the Green Forest

can build. Oh, Peter, watch your step ! Watch
your step ! " Teacher fairly shrieked this warning.

Peter, who had just started to hop off to his
right, stopped short in sheer astonishment. Just
in front of him was a tiny mound of dead leaves,
and a few feet beyond Mrs. Teacher was flutter-
ing about on the ground as if badly hurt. Peter
simply didn't know what to make of it. Once
more he made a movement as if to hop. Teacher
flew right down in front of him. "You'll step
on my nest !" he cried.

Peter stared, for he didn't see any nest. He
said as much.

"It's under that little mound of leaves right in
front of your feet!" cried Teacher. "I wasn't
going to tell you, but I just had to or you cer-
tainly would have stepped on it."

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

Feeling that Mr. and Mrs. Teacher would feel
easier in their minds if he left them, Peter said
good-by and started on for the lonesome place in
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the Green Forest where he knew the old nest of
Redtail the Hawk had been. As he drew near
the place he kept sharp watch through the tree-
tops for a glimpse of Redtail. Presently he saw
him high in the blue sky, sailing lazily in big
circles. Then Peter became very, very cautious.
He tiptoed forward, keeping under cover as much
as possible. At last, peeping out from beneath
a little hemlock-tree, he could see Redtail's old
nest. He saw right away that it was bigger than
it had been when he saw it last. Suddenly there
was a chorus of hungry cries and Peter saw Mrs.
Redtail approaching with a Mouse in her claws.
From where he sat he could see four funny heads
stretched above the edge of the nest.

" Redtail is using his old nest again and has got
a family already," exclaimed Peter. "I guess
this is no place for me. The sooner I get away
from here the better."

Just then Redtail himself dropped down out of
the blue, blue sky and alighted on a tree close at
hand. Peter decided that the best thing he could
do was to sit perfectly still where he was. He
had a splendid view of Redtail, and he couldn't
help but admire this big member of the Hawk
family. The upper parts of his coat were a dark
grayish-brown mixed with touches of chestnut
color. The upper part of his breast was streaked
[134]

REDTAIL THE HAWK. This is one of our largest hawks ana may be
recognized by the chestnut red of his tail.

Some Homes in the Green Forest

with grayish-brown and buff, the lower part having
but few streaks. Below this were black spots
and bars ending in white. But it was the tail
which Peter noticed most of all. It was a rich
reddish-brown with a narrow black band near
its end and a white tip. Peter understood at
once why this big Hawk is called Redtail.

It was not until Mr. and Mrs. Redtail had gone
in quest of more food for their hungry youngsters
that Peter dared steal away. As soon as he felt
it safe to do so, he headed for home as fast as he
could go, lipperty-lipperty-lip. He knew that he
wouldn't feel safe until that lonesome place in
the Green Forest was far behind.

Yet if the truth be known, Peter had less cause
to worry than would have been the case had it
been some other member of the Hawk family
instead of Redtail. And while Redtail and his
wife do sometimes catch some of their feathered
and furred neighbors, and once in a while a
chicken, they do vastly more good than harm.

[135]

CHAPTER XIX

A MAKER OF THUNDER AND A FRIEND IN BLACK

PETER RABBIT'S intentions were of the best.
Once safely away from that lonesome part of the
Green Forest where was the home of Redtail
the Hawk, he intended to go straight back to the
dear Old Briar-patch. But he was not halfway
there when from another direction in the Green
Forest there came a sound that caused him to
stop short and quite forget all about home. It
was a sound very like distant thunder. It began
slowly at first and then went faster and faster.
Boom — Boom — Boom — Boom-Boom-Boom —
Boo-Boo-B-B-B-B-b-b-b-b-boom ! It was like the
long roll on a bass drum.

Peter laughed right out. "That's Strutter the
Ruffed Grouse!" he cried joyously. "I had for-
gotten all about him. I certainly must go over
and pay him a call and find out where Mrs. Grouse
is. My, how Strutter can drum!"

Peter promptly headed towards that distant

thunder. As he drew nearer to it, it sounded

louder and louder. Presently Peter stopped to

try to locate exactly the place where that sound,

[1361

A Maker of Thunder and A Friend in Black

which now was more than ever like thunder, was
coming from. Suddenly Peter remembered some-
thing. "I know just where he is," said he to
himself. "There's a big, mossy, hollow log over
yonder, and I remember that Mrs. Grouse once
told me that that is Strutter's thunder log."

Very, very carefully Peter stole forward, making
no sound at all. At last he reached a place where
he could peep out and see that big, mossy, hollow
log. Sure enough, there was Strutter the Ruffed
Grouse. When Peter first saw him he was
crouched on one end of the log, a fluffy ball of
reddish-brown, black and gray feathers. He was
resting. Suddenly he straightened up to his full
height, raised his tail and spread it until it was like
an open fan above his back. The outer edge was
gray, then came a broad band of black, followed
by bands of gray, brown and black. Around his
neck was a wonderful ruff of black. His reddish-
brown wings were dropped until the tips nearly
touched the log. His full breast rounded out and
was buff color with black markings. He was of
about the size of the little Bantam hens Peter
had seen in Farmer Brown's henyard.

In the most stately way you can imagine Strut-
ter walked the length of that mossy log. He was
a perfect picture of pride as he strutted very
much like Tom Gobbler the big Turkey cock.
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When he reached the end of the log he suddenly
dropped his tail, stretched himself to his full
height and his wings began to beat, first slowly
then faster and faster, until they were just a blur.
They seemed to touch above his back but when
they came down they didn't quite strike his sides.
It was those fast moving wings that made the
thunder. It was so loud that Peter almost wanted
to stop his ears. When it ended Strutter settled
down to rest and once more appeared like a ball
of fluffy feathers. His ruff was laid flat.

Peter watched him thunder several times and
then ventured to show himself. "Strutter, you
are wonderful ! simply wonderful ! " cried Peter,
and he meant just what he said.

Strutter threw out his chest proudly. "That
is just what Mrs. Grouse says," he replied. "I
don't know of any better thunderer if I do say
it myself."

"Speaking of Mrs. Grouse, where is she?"
asked Peter eagerly.

"Attending to her household affairs, as a
good housewife should," retorted Strutter
promptly.

"Do you mean she has a nest and eggs?"
asked Peter.

Strutter nodded. "She has twelve eggs," he
added proudly.

[138]

A Maker of Thunder and A Friend in Black

"I suppose," said Peter artfully, "her nest is
somewhere near here on the ground."

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

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

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

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

"He didn't see me at all," chuckled Mrs.
Grouse, as she settled down once more. "That
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

is what comes of having a cloak so like the color
of these nice brown leaves. He isn't the first
one who has passed me without seeing me at all.
It is better than trying to hide a nest, and I
certainly am thankful to Old Mother Nature for
the cloak she gave me. I wonder if every one of
these twelve eggs will hatch. If they do, I cer-
tainly will have a family to be proud of."

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

"It's Creaker the Grackle. He was one of the
first to arrive this spring and I'm ashamed of
myself for not having called on him," thought
Peter, as he hopped out and started across the
Green Meadows towards Creaker. " What a splen-
did long tail he has. I believe Jenny Wren told
me that he belongs to the Blackbird family. He
looks so much like Blacky the Crow that I sup-
pose this is why they call him Crow Blackbird."

Just then Creaker turned in such a way that
the sun fell full on his head and back. "Why!
[140]

.-;

STRUTTER THE RUFFED GROUSE. The black ruff around his neck
gives him his name.

A Maker of Thunder and A Friend in Black

Why-eee!" exclaimed Peter, rubbing his eyes
with astonishment. "He isn't just black! He's
beautiful, simply beautiful, and I've always sup-
posed he was just plain, homely black."

It was true. Creaker the Crackle with the sun
shining on him was truly beautiful. His head
and neck, his throat and upper breast, were a
shining blue-black, while his back was a rich,
shining brassy-green. His wings and tail were
much like his head and neck. As Peter watched
it seemed as if the colors were constantly changing.
This changing of colors is called iridescence. One
other thing Peter noticed and this was that
Creaker's eyes were yellow. Just at the moment
Peter couldn't remember any other bird with
yellow eyes.

"Creaker," cried Peter, "I wonder if you know
how handsome you are !"

"I'm glad you think so," replied Creaker.
"I'm not at all vain, but there are mighty few
birds I would change coats with."

"Is — is — Mrs. Creaker dressed as handsomely
as you are?" asked Peter rather timidly.

Creaker shook his head. "Not quite," said he.
"She likes plain black better. Some of the
feathers on her back shine like mine, but she says
that she has no time to show off in the sun and to
take care of fine feathers."
[1411

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

"Where is she now?" asked Peter.

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

"I'm glad to hear you say it," declared Peter,
nodding his head with approval quite as if he was
himself the best of fathers, which he isn't at all.
"May I ask you a very personal question,
Creaker?"

"Ask as many questions as you like. I don't
have to answer them unless I want to," retorted
Creaker.

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

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

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A Maker of Thunder and A Friend in Black

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

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

[143

CHAPTER XX

A FISHERMAN ROBBED

JUST out of curiosity, and because he possesses
what is called the wandering foot, which means
that he delights to roam about, Peter Rabbit had
run over to the bank of the Big River. There
were plenty of bushes, clumps of tall grass, weeds
and tangles of vines along the bank of the Big
River, so that Peter felt quite safe there. He
liked to sit gazing out over the water and wonder
where it all came from and where it was going
and what kept it moving.

He was doing this very thing on this particular
morning when he happened to glance up in the
blue, blue sky. There he saw a broad-winged
bird sailing in wide, graceful circles. Instantly
Peter crouched a little lower in his hiding-place,
for he knew this for a member of the Hawk family
and Peter has learned by experience that the only
way to keep perfectly safe when one of these hook-
clawed, hook-billed birds is about is to keep out
of sight.

So now he crouched very close to the ground
and kept his eyes fixed on the big bird sailing so
[144]

A Fisherman Robbed

gracefully high up in the blue, blue sky over the
Big River. Suddenly the stranger paused in his
flight and for a moment appeared to remain in
one place, his great wings beating rapidly to hold
him there. Then those wings were closed and
with a rush he shot down straight for the water,
disappearing with a great splash. Instantly Peter
sat up to his full height that he might see better.

"It's Plunger the Osprey fishing, and I've
nothing to fear from him," he cried happily.

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

Up, up, up he rose, going round and round in a

spiral. When he was well up in the blue, blue

sky, he began to sail again in wide circles as

when Peter had first seen him. It wasn't long

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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

before he again paused and then shot down towards
the water. This time he abruptly spread his
great wings just before reaching the water so that
he no more than wet his feet. Once more a fish
had escaped him. But Plunger seemed not in
the least discouraged. He is a true fisherman
and every true fisherman possesses patience.
Up again he spiraled until he was so high that
Peter wondered how he could possibly see a fish
so far below. You see, Peter didn't know that
it is easier to see down into the water from high
above it than from close to it. Then, too, there
are no more wonderful eyes than those possessed
by the members of the Hawk family. And
Plunger the Osprey is a Hawk, usually called
Fish Hawk.

A third time Plunger shot down and this time,
as in his first attempt, he struck the water with a
great splash and disappeared. In an instant he
reappeared, shaking the water from him in a
silver spray and flapping heavily. This time
Peter could see a great shining fish in his claws.
It was heavy, as Peter could tell by the way in
which Plunger flew. He headed towards a tall
tree on the other bank of the Big River, there
to enjoy his breakfast. He was not more than
halfway there when Peter was startled by a
harsh scream.

[1461

A Fisherman Robbed

He looked up to see a great bird, with wonderful
broad wings, swinging in short circles about
Plunger. His body and wings were dark brown,
and his head was snowy white, as was his tail. His
great hooked beak was yellow and his legs were
yellow. Peter knew in an instant who it was.
There could be no mistake. It was King Eagle,
commonly known as Bald Head, though his
head isn't bald at all.

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

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

Now the fish was heavy, so of course Plunger
couldn't fly as easily and swiftly as if he were
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

carrying nothing. Up, up he went, but all the
time King Eagle went up with him, circling round
him, screaming harshly, and threatening to strike
him with those great, cruel, curved claws. Peter
watched them, so excited that he fairly danced.
"O, I do hope Plunger will get away from that
big robber," cried Peter. "He may be king of
the air, but he is a robber just the same."

Plunger and King Eagle were now high in the
air above the Big River. Suddenly King Eagle
swung above Plunger and for an instant seemed
to hold himself still there, just as Plunger had
done before he had shot down into the water after
that fish. There was a still harsher note in King
Eagle's scream. If Peter had been near enough
he would have seen a look of anger and determina-
tion in King Eagle's fierce, yellow eyes. Plunger
saw it and knew what it meant. He knew that
King Eagle would stand for no more fooling.
With a cry of bitter disappointment and anger
he let go of the big fish.

Down, down, dropped the fish, shining in the
sun like a bar of silver. King Eagle's wings half
closed and he shot down like a thunderbolt. Just
before the fish reached the water King Eagle
struck it with his great claws, checked himself
by spreading his broad wings and tail, and then
in triumph flew over to the very tree towards which
[148)

KING EAGLE, the bald or whiteheaded Eagle. His head, neck and tail are

snowy white.
PLUNGER THE OSPREY, one of our largest hawks, brown above and

white beneath.

A Fisherman Robbed

Plunger had started when he had caught the fish.
There he leisurely made his breakfast, apparently
enjoying it as much as if he had come by it honestly.

As for poor Plunger, he shook himself, screamed
angrily once or twice, then appeared to think that
it was wisest to make the best of a bad matter
and that there were more fish where that one had
come from, for he once more began to sail in
circles over the Big River, searching for a fish near
the surface. Peter watched him until he saw him
catch another fish and fly away with it in triumph.
King Eagle watched him, too, but having had a
good breakfast he was quite willing to let Plunger
enjoy his catch in peace.

Late that afternoon Peter visited the Old
Orchard, for he just had to tell Jenny Wren
all about what he had seen that morning.

"King Eagle is king simply because he is so
big and fierce and strong," sputtered Jenny. "He
isn't kingly in his habits, not the least bit. He
never hesitates to rob those smaller than himself,
just as you saw him rob Plunger. He is very
fond of fish, and once in a while he catches one
for himself when Plunger isn't around to be robbed,
but he isn't a very good fisherman, and he isn't
the least bit fussy about his fish. Plunger eats
only fresh fish which he catches himself, but King
Eagle will eat dead fish which he finds on the
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

shore. He doesn't seem to care how long they
have been dead either."

"Doesn't he eat anything but fish?" asked
Peter innocently.

"Well," retorted Jenny Wren, her eyes twink-
ling, "I wouldn't advise you to run across the
Green Meadows in sight of King Eagle. I am
told he is very fond of Rabbit. In fact he is very
fond of fresh meat of any kind. He even catches
the babies of Lightfoot the Deer when he gets a
chance. He is so swift of wing that even the
members of the Duck family fear him, for he is
especially fond of fat Duck. Even Honker the
Goose is not safe from him. King he may be,
but he rules only through fear. He is a white-
headed old robber. The best thing I can say of
him is that he takes a mate for life and is loyal
and true to her as long as she lives, and that is a
great many years. By the way, Peter, did you
know that she is bigger than he is, and that the
young during the first year after leaving their
nest, are bigger than their parents and do not have
white heads? By the time they get white heads
they are the same size as their parents."

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

"It is queer, but it is true just the same, whether
you believe it or not," retorted Jenny Wren, and
whisked out of sight into her home.
[150]

CHAPTER XXI

A FISHING PARTY

PETER RABBIT sat on the edge of the Old Briar-
patch trying to make up his mind whether to stay
at home, which was the wise and proper thing to
do, or to go call on some of the friends he had not
yet visited. A sharp, harsh rattle caused him to
look up to see a bird about a third larger than
Welcome Robin, and with a head out of all pro-
portion to the size of his body. He was flying
straight towards the Smiling Pool, rattling harshly
as he flew. The mere sound of his voice settled
the matter for Peter. "It's Rattles the King-
fisher," he cried. "I think I'll run over to the
Smiling Pool and pay him my respects."

So Peter started for the Smiling Pool as fast as
his long legs could take him, lipperty-lipperty-
lip. He had lost sight of Rattles the Kingfisher,
and when he reached the bank of the Smiling
Pool he was in doubt which way to turn. It was
very early in the morning and there was not so
much as a ripple on the surface of the Smiling
Pool. As Peter sat there trying to make up his
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

mind which way to go, he saw coming from the
direction of the Big River a great, broad-winged
bird, flying slowly. He seemed to have no neck
at all, but carried straight out behind him were
two long legs.

"Longlegs the Great Blue Heron! I wonder
if he is coming here," exclaimed Peter. "I do
hope so."

Peter stayed right where he was and waited.
Nearer and nearer came Longlegs. When he was
right opposite Peter he suddenly dropped his long
legs, folded his great wings, and alighted right on
the edge of the Smiling Pool across from where
Peter was sitting. If he seemed to have no neck
at all when he was flying, now he seemed to be all
neck as he stretched it to its full length. The
fact is, his neck was so long that when he was
flying he carried it folded back on his shoulders.
Never before had Peter had such an opportunity
to see Longlegs.

He stood quite four feet high. The top of his
head and throat were white. From the base of
his great bill and over his eye was a black stripe
which ended in two long, slender, black feathers
hanging from the back of his head. His bill was
longer than his head, stout and sharp like a spear
and yellow in color. His long neck was a light
brownish-gray. His back and wings were of a
[152]

A Fishing Party

bluish color. The bend of each wing and the
feathered parts of his legs were a rusty-red. The
remainder of his legs and his feet were black.
Hanging down over his breast were beautiful long
pearly-gray feathers quite unlike any Peter had
seen on any of his other feathered friends. In
spite of the length of his legs and the length of his
neck he was both graceful and handsome.

"I wonder what has brought him over to the
Smiling Pool," thought Peter.

He didn't have to wait long to find out. After
standing perfectly still with his neck stretched
to its full height until he was sure that no danger
was near, Longlegs waded into the water a few
steps, folded his neck back on his shoulders until
his long bill seemed to rest on his breast, and then
remained as motionless as if there were no life
in him. Peter also sat perfectly still. By and
by he began to wonder if Longlegs had gone to
sleep. His own patience was reaching an end
and he was just about to go on in search of Rattles
the Kingfisher when like a flash the dagger-like
bill of Longlegs shot out and down into the water.
When he withdrew it Peter saw that Longlegs
had caught a little fish which he at once proceeded
to swallow head-first. Peter almost laughed right
out as he watched the funny efforts of Longlegs
to gulp that fish down his long throat. Then
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Longlegs resumed his old position as motionless
as before.

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

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

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

Peter was suddenly reminded of Rattles the
Kingfisher, whom he had quite forgotten. From
[154]

A Fishing Party

the Big Hickory -tree on the bank, Rattles flew
out over the Smiling Pool, hovered for an instant,
then plunged down head-first. There was a splash,
and a second later Rattles was in the air again,
shaking the water from him in a silver spray. In
his long, stout, black bill was a little fish. He
flew back to a branch of the Big Hickory-tree that
hung out over the water and thumped the fish
against the branch until it was dead. Then he
turned it about so he could swallow it head-first.
It was a big fish for the size of the fisherman and
he had a dreadful time getting it down. But at
last it was down, and Rattles set himself to watch
for another. The sun shone full on him, and
Peter gave a little gasp of surprise.

"I never knew before how handsome Rattles
is," thought Peter. He was about the size of
Yellow Wing the Flicker, but his head made him
look bigger than he really was. You see, the
feathers on top of his head stood up in a crest,
as if they had been brushed the wrong way.
His head, back, wings and tail were a bluish-gray.
His throat was white and he wore a white collar.
In front of each eye was a little white spot. Across
his breast was a belt of bluish-gray, and under-
neath he was white. There were tiny spots of
white on his wings, and his tail was spotted with
white. His bill was black and, like that of Long-
[155]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

legs, was long, and stout, and sharp. It looked
almost too big for his size.

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

Rattles remained long enough to catch another
little fish, and then with a harsh rattle flew off
down the Laughing Brook. "I would know him
anywhere by that rattle," thought Peter. "There
isn't any one who can make a noise anything like
it. I wonder where he has gone to now. He
must have a nest, but I haven't the least idea
what kind of a nest he builds. Hello! There's
[156]

RATTLES THE KINGFISHER. His voice sounds like a watchman's rattle.

TEETER THE SPOTTED SANDPIPER. You can tell him by the way he
bobs or teeters.

LONGLEGS THE GREAT BLUE HERON. He stands nearly four feet
high.

A Fishing Party

Grandfather Frog over on his green lily pad.
Perhaps he can tell me."

So Peter hopped along until he was near enough
to talk to Grandfather Frog. "What kind of a
nest does Rattles the Kingfisher build?" repeated
Grandfather Frog. "Chug-arum, Peter Rabbit!
I thought everybody knew that Rattles doesn't
build a nest. At least I wouldn't call it a nest.
He lives in a hole in the ground."

"What!" cried Peter, and looked as if he
couldn't believe his own ears.

Grandfather Frog grinned and his goggly eyes
twinkled. "Yes," said he, "Rattles lives in a
hole in the ground."

"But — but — but what kind of a hole?"
stammered Peter.

"Just plain hole," retorted Grandfather Frog,
grinning more broadly than ever. Then seeing
how perplexed and puzzled Peter looked, he went
on to explain. "He usually picks out a high
gravelly bank close to the water and digs a hole
straight in just a little way from the top. He
makes it just big enough for himself and Mrs.
Rattles to go in and out of comfortably, and
he digs it straight in for several feet. I'm
told that at the end of it he makes a sort of
bedroom, because he usually has a good-sized
family."

[157]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

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

Grandfather Frog nodded. "If he doesn't,
Mrs. Kingfisher does," he replied. "Those big
bills of theirs are picks as well as fish spears.
They loosen the sand with those and scoop it out
with their feet. I've never seen the inside of
their home myself, but I'm told that their bedroom
is lined with fish bones. Perhaps you may call
that a nest, but I don't."

"I'm going straight down the Laughing Brook
to look for that hole," declared Peter, and left in
such a hurry that he forgot to be polite enough
to say thank you to Grandfather Frog.

158]

CHAPTER XXII

SOME FEATHERED DIGGERS

PETER RABBIT scampered along down one bank
of the Laughing Brook, eagerly watching for a
high, gravelly bank such as Grandfather Frog had
said that Rattles the Kingfisher likes to make his
home in. If Peter had stopped to do a little
thinking, he would have known that he was simply
wasting time. You see, the Laughing Brook was
flowing through the Green Meadows, so of course
there would be no high, gravelly bank, because
the Green Meadows are low. But Peter Rabbit,
in his usual heedless way, did no thinking. He
had seen Rattles fly down the Laughing Brook,
and so he had just taken it for granted that the
home of Rattles must be somewhere down there.

At last Peter reached the place where the
Laughing Brook entered the Big River. Of course
he hadn't found the home of Rattles. But now
he did find something that for the time being made
him quite forget Rattles and his home. Just
before it reached the Big River the Laughing
Brook wound through a swamp in which were
[159]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

many tall trees and a great number of young
trees. A great many big ferns grew there and
were splendid to hide under. Peter always did
like that swamp.

He had stopped to rest in a clump of ferns when
he was startled by seeing a great bird alight in a
tree just a little way from him. His first thought
was that it was a Hawk, so you can imagine how
surprised and pleased he was to discover that it
was Mrs. Longlegs. Somehow Peter had always
thought of Longlegs the Blue Heron as never
alighting anywhere except on the ground. But
here was Mrs. Longlegs in a tree. Having noth-
ing to fear, Peter crept out from his hiding place
that he might see better.

i In the tree in which Mrs. Longlegs was perched
and just below her he saw a little platform of
sticks. He didn't suspect that it was a nest,
because it looked too rough and loosely put to-
gether to be a nest. Probably he wouldn't have
thought about it at all had not Mrs. Longlegs
settled herself on it right while Peter was watch-
ing. It didn't seem big enough or strong enough
to hold her, but it did.

"As I live," thought Peter, "I've found the

nest of Longlegs ! He and Mrs. Longlegs may

be good fishmen but they certainly are mighty

poor nest-builders. I don't see how under the

[160]

Some Feathered Diggers

sun Mrs. Longlegs ever gets on and off that nest
without kicking the eggs out."

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

When he reached the Big River, Plunger was
not in sight. Peter was disappointed. He had
just about made up his mind to return the way
he had come, when from beyond the swamp,
farther up the Big River, he heard the harsh,
rattling cry of Rattles the Kingfisher. It re-
minded him of what he had come for, and he at
once began to hurry in that direction.

Peter came out of the swamp on a little sandy
beach. There he squatted for a moment, blink-
ing his eyes, for out there the sun was very bright.
Then a little way beyond him he discovered some-
thing that in his eager curiosity made him quite
forget that he was out in the open where it was
anything but safe for a Rabbit to be. What he
saw was a high sandy bank. With a hasty glance
this way and that way to make sure that no enemy
was in sight, Peter scampered along the edge of
the water till he was right at the foot of that sandy
bank. Then he squatted down and looked eagerly
[1611

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

for a hole such as he imagined Rattles the King-
fisher might make. Instead of one hole he saw
a lot of holes, but they were very small holes.
He knew right away that Rattles couldn't possibly
get in or out of a single one of those holes. In
fact, those holes in the bank were no bigger than
the holes Downy the Woodpecker makes in trees.
Peter couldn't imagine who or what had made
them.

As Peter sat there staring and wondering a trim
little head appeared at the entrance to one of
those holes. It was a trim little head with a very
small bill and a snowy white throat. At first
glance Peter thought it was his old friend, Skim-
mer the Tree Swallow, and he was just on the
point of asking what under the sun Skimmer was
doing in such a place as that, when with a lively
twitter of greeting the owner of that little home
in the bank flew out and circled over Peter's head.
It wasn't Skimmer at all. It was Banker the
Bank Swallow, own cousin to Skimmer the Tree
Swallow. Peter recognized him the instant he
got a full view of him.

In the first place Banker was a little smaller
than Skimmer. Then too, he was not nearly so
handsome. His back, instead of being that beauti-
ful rich steel-blue which makes Skimmer so hand-
some, was a sober grayish-brown, He was a

Some Feathered Diggers

little darker on his wings and tail. His breast,
instead of being all snowy white, was crossed
with a brownish band. His tail was more nearly
square across the end than is the case with other
members of the Swallow family.

"Wha — wha — what were you doing there ?"
stuttered Peter, his eyes popping right out with
curiosity and excitement.

"Why, that's my home," twittered Banker.

"Do — do — do you mean to say that you live
in a hole in the ground?" cried Peter.

"Certainly; why not?" twittered Banker as
he snapped up a fly just over Peter's head.

"I don't know any reason why you shouldn't,"
confessed Peter. "But somehow it is hard for
me to think of birds as living in holes in the
ground. I've only just found out that Rattles
the Kingfisher does. But I didn't suppose there
were any others. Did you make that hole your-
self, Banker ?"

"Of course," replied Banker. "That is, I
helped make it. Mrs. Banker did her share.
'Way in at the end of it we've got the nicest little
nest of straw and feathers. What is more, we've
got four white eggs in there, and Mrs. Banker is
sitting on them now."

By this time the air seemed to be full of Banker's
friends, skimming and circling this way and that,
[1631

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

and going in and out of the little holes in the
bank.

"I am like my big cousin, Twitter the Purple
Martin, fond of society," explained Banker. "We
Bank Swallows like our homes close together.
You said that you had just learned that Rattles
the Kingfisher has his home in a bank. Do you
know where it is ?"

"No," replied Peter. "I was looking for it
when I discovered your home. Can you tell me
where it is ? "

"I'll do better than that;" replied Banker.
"I'll show you where it is."

He darted some distance up along the bank and
hovered for an instant close to the top. Peter
scampered over there and looked up. There,
just a few inches below the top, was another hole,
a very much larger hole than those he had just
left. As he was staring up at it a head with a
long sharp bill and a crest which looked as if all
the feathers on the top of his head had been
brushed the wrong way, was thrust out. It was
Rattles himself. He didn't seem at all glad to
see Peter. In fact, he came out and darted at
Peter angrily. Peter didn't wait to feel that
sharp dagger-like bill. He took to his heels.
He had seen what he started out to find and he
was quite content to go home.
[164]

Some Feathered Diggers

Peter took a short cut across the Green Meadows.
It took him past a certain tall, dead tree. A
sharp cry of "Kill-ee, kill-ee, kill-ee!" caused
Peter to look up just in time to see a trim, hand-
some bird whose body was about the size of
Sammy Jay's but whose longer wings and longer
tail made him look bigger. One glance was
enough to tell Peter that this was a member of
the Hawk family, the smallest of the family. It
was Killy the Sparrow Hawk. He is too small
for Peter to fear him, so now Peter was possessed
of nothing more than a very lively curiosity, and
sat up to watch.

Out over the meadow grass Killy sailed. Sud-
denly, with beating wings, he kept himself in
one place in the air and then dropped down into
the grass. He was up again in an instant, and
Peter could see that he had a fat grasshopper in
his claws. Back to the top of the tall, dead tree
he flew and there ate the grasshopper. When it
was finished he sat up straight and still, so still
that he seemed a part of the tree itself. With
those wonderful eyes of his he was watching for
another grasshopper or for a careless Meadow
Mouse.

Very trim and handsome was Killy. His back
was reddish-brown crossed by bars of black.
His tail was reddish-brown with a band of black
[165]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

near its end and a white tip. His wings were
slaty-blue with little bars of black, the longest
feathers having white bars. Underneath he was
a beautiful buff, spotted with black. His head
was bluish with a reddish patch right on top.
Before and behind each ear was a black mark.
His rather short bill, like the bills of all the rest
of his family, was hooked.

As Peter sat there admiring Killy, for he was
handsome enough for any one to admire, he
noticed for the first time a hole high up in the
trunk of the tree, such a hole as Yellow Wing the
Flicker might have made and probably did make.
Right away Peter remembered what Jenny Wren
had told him about Killy's making his nest in
just such a hole. "I wonder," thought Peter,
"if that is Killy's home."

Just then Killy flew over and dropped in the
grass just in front of Peter, where he caught
another fat grasshopper. "Is that your home
up there?" asked Peter hastily.

"It certainly is, Peter," replied Killy. "This
is the third summer Mrs. Killy and I have had
our home there."

"You seem to be very fond of grasshoppers,"
Peter ventured.

"I am," replied Killy. "They are very fine
eating when one can get enough of them."
[166]

Some Feathered Diggers

t "Are they the only kind of food you eat?"
ventured Peter.

Killy laughed. It was a shrill laugh. "I
should say not," said he. "I eat spiders and
worms and all sorts of insects big enough to give a
fellow a decent bite. But for real good eating
give me a fat Meadow Mouse. I don't object to
a Sparrow or some other small bird now and then,
especially when I have a family of hungry young-
sters to feed. But take it the season through,
I live mostly on grasshoppers and insects and
Meadow Mice. I do a lot of good in this world,
I'd have you know."

Peter said that he supposed that this was so,
but all the time he kept thinking what a pity it
was that Killy ever killed his feathered neighbors.
As soon as he conveniently could he politely bade
Killy good-by and hurried home to the dear Old
Briar-patch, there to think over how queer it
seemed that a member of the Hawk family should
nest in a hollow tree and a member of the Swallow
family should dig a hole in the ground.

[167]

CHAPTER XXIII

SOME BIG MOUTHS

BOOM ! Peter Rabbit jumped as if he had been
shot. It was all so sudden and unexpected that
Peter jumped before he had time to think. Then
he looked foolish. He felt foolish. He had been
scared when there was nothing to be afraid of.

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

"I know it just as well as you do, Jenny Wren,"
retorted Peter rather crossly. "You know being
suddenly startled is apt to make people feel cross.
If I had seen him anywhere about he wouldn't
have made me jump. It was the unexpectedness
of it. I don't see what he is out now for, anyway.
It isn't even dusk yet, and I thought him a night
bird."

"So he is," retorted Jenny Wren. "Anyway, he
is a bird of the evening, and that amounts to the
same thing. But just because he likes the evening
best isn't any reason why he shouldn't come out
in the daylight, is it?"

[168]

Some Big Mouths

"No-o," replied Peter rather slowly. "I don't
suppose it is."

"Of course it isn't," declared Jenny Wren. "I
see Boomer late in the afternoon nearly every
day. On cloudy days I often see him early in the
afternoon. He's a queer fellow, is Boomer. Such
a mouth as he has ! I suppose it is very handy
to have a big mouth if one must catch all one's
food in the air, but it certainly isn't pretty when
it is wide open."

"I never saw a mouth yet that was pretty when
it was wide open," retorted Peter, who was still
feeling a little put out. "I've never noticed that
Boomer has a particularly big mouth."

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

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

Jenny nodded vigorously. "So I did, Peter,"

she replied. "I'm glad you have such a good

memory. Boomer and Sooty are sort of second

cousins. There is Boomer now, way up in the

[169]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

sky. I do wish he'd dive and scare some one
else." i

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

In this dive Boomer had come near enough for
Peter to get a good look at him. His coat seemed
to be a mixture of brown and gray, very soft
looking. His wings were brown with a patch of
white on each. There was a white patch on his
throat and a band of white near the end of his
tail.

"He's rather handsome, don't you think?"
asked Jenny Wren.

"He certainly is," replied Peter. "Do you
happen to know what kind of a nest the Night-
hawks build, Jenny?"

[170]

BOOMER THE NIGHTHAWK. Look for him in the air late m the after,
noon.

Some Big Mouths

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

"But if there isn't any nest where does Mrs.
Boomer lay her eggs?" cried Peter. "I think
you must be mistaken, Jenny Wren. They must
have some kind of a nest. Of course they must."
i " Didn't I say they don't have a nest ? " sputtered
Jenny. "Mrs. Nighthawk doesn't lay but two
eggs, anyway. Perhaps she thinks it isn't worth
while building a nest for just two eggs. Anyway,
she lays them on the ground or on a flat rock and
lets it go at that. She isn't quite as bad as Sally
Sly the Cowbird, for she does sit on those eggs
and she is a good mother. But just think of those
Nighthawk children never having any home !
It doesn't seem to me right and it never will.
Did you ever see Boomer in a tree ? "

Peter shook his head. "I've seen him on the
ground," said he, "but I never have seen him in
a tree. Why did you ask, Jenny Wren?"

"To find out how well you have used your eyes,"

snapped Jenny. "I just wanted to see if you

had noticed anything peculiar about the way he

sits in a tree. But as long as you haven't seen

[1711

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

him in a tree I may as well tell you that he doesn't
sit as most birds do. He sits lengthwise of a
branch. He never sits across it as the rest of us
do."

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

"Yes," replied Jenny. "He certainly does like
to use his voice. They tell me that some folks call
him Bullbat, though why they should call him either
Bat or Hawk is beyond me. I suppose you know
his cousin, Whip-poor-will."

"I should say I do," replied Peter. "He's
enough to drive one crazy when he begins to
shout ' Whip poor Will ' close at hand. That voice
of his goes through me so that I want to stop both
ears. There isn't a person of my acquaintance
who can say a thing over and over, over and over,
so many times without stopping for breath. Do
I understand that he is cousin to Boomer?"

"He is a sort of second cousin, the same as Sooty
the Chimney Swift," explained Jenny Wren.
"They look enough alike to be own cousins.
Whip-poor-will has just the same kind of a big
mouth and he is dressed very much like Boomer,
save that there are no white patches on his wings."

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

"So you noticed that much, did you?" cried
[172]

Some Big Mouths

Jenny. "It does you credit, Peter. It does you
credit. I wonder if you also noticed Whip-poor-
will's whiskers."

"Whiskers!" cried Peter. "Who ever heard
of a bird having whiskers? You can stuff a lot
down me, Jenny Wren, but there are some things
I cannot swallow, and bird whiskers is one of
them."

"Nobody asked you to swallow them. Nobody
wants you to swallow them," snapped Jenny.
"I don't know why a bird shouldn't have whiskers
just as well as you, Peter Rabbit. Anyway,
Whip-poor-will has them and that is all there is
to it. It doesn't make any difference whether you
believe in them or not, they are there. And I
guess Whip-poor-will finds them just as useful as
you find yours, and a little more so. I know this
much, that if I had to catch all my food in the air
I'd want whiskers and lots of them so that the
insects would get tangled in them. I suppose
that's what Whip-poor-will's are for."

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

"Not a bit," replied Jenny Wren. "Mrs.
Whip-poor-will lays her eggs right on the ground,
[173]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

but usually in the Green Forest where it is dark and
lonesome. Like Mrs. Nighthawk, she lays only
two. It's the same way with another second
cousin, Chuck-will's-widow."

"Who?" cried Peter, wrinkling his brows.

"Chuck-will's-widow," Jenny Wren fairly
shouted it. "Don't you know Chuck-will's-
widow?"

Peter shook his head. "I never heard of such
a bird," he confessed.

"That's what comes of never having traveled,"
retorted Jenny Wren. "If you'd ever been in the
South the way I have you would know Chuck-
will's-widow. He looks a whole lot like the other
two we've been talking about, but has even a
bigger mouth. What's more, he has whiskers
with branches. Now you needn't look as if you
doubted that, Peter Rabbit; it's so. In his
habits' he's just like his cousins, no nest and only
two eggs. I never saw people so afraid to raise a
real family. If the Wrens didn't do better than
that, I don't know what would become of us."
You know Jenny usually has a family of six or
eight.

174]'

CHAPTER XXIV

v

,' THE WARBLERS ARRIVE

6 iw.

IF there is one family of feathered friends which
perplexes Peter Rabbit more than another, it is
the Warbler family.

"So many of them come together and they move
about so constantly that a fellow doesn't have a
chance to look at one long enough to recognize
him," complained Peter to Jenny Wren one morn-
ing when the Old Orchard was fairly alive with
little birds no bigger than Jenny Wren herself.

And such restless little folks as they were !
They were not still an instant, flitting from tree
to tree, twig to twig, darting out into the air and
all the time keeping up an endless chattering
mingled with little snatches of song. Peter would
no sooner fix his eyes on one than another entirely
different in appearance would take its place.
Occasionally he would see one whom he recognized,
— one who would stay for the nesting season. But
the majority of them would stop only for a day or
two, being bound farther north to make their
summer homes.

Apparently Jenny Wren did not look upon them
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

altogether with favor. Perhaps Jenny was a little
bit envious, for compared with the bright colors
of some of them Jenny was a very homely small
person indeed. Then, too, there were so many
of them and they were so busy catching all kinds of
small insects that it may be Jenny was a little
fearful they would not leave enough for her to get
her own meals easily.

"I don't see what they have to stop here for,"
scolded Jenny. "They could just as well go
somewhere else where they would not be taking
the food out of the mouths of honest folks who
are here to stay all summer. Did you ever in
your life see such uneasy people? They don't
keep still an instant. It positively makes me
tired just to watch them."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle, for Jenny
Wren herself is a very restless and uneasy person.
As for Peter, he was thoroughly enjoying this
visit of the Warblers, despite the fact that he was
having no end of trouble trying to tell who was
who. Suddenly one darted down and snapped up
a fly almost under Peter's very nose and was back
up in a tree before Peter could get his breath.
"It's Zee Zee the Redstart !" cried Peter joyously.
"I would know Zee Zee anywhere. Do you know
who he reminds me of, Jenny Wren?"

"\Yho?" demanded Jenny.
[176]

SUNSHINE THE YELLOW WARBLER, the one bird who is all yellow.
ZEE-ZEE THE REDSTART, dressed chiefly in black and orange.

SEEP-SEEP THE BROWN CREEPER. When in winter you see a little
brown-backed bird going round and round up a tree trunk it is the Brown
Creeper.

The Warblers Arrive

"Goldy the Oriole," replied Peter promptly.
"Only of course he's ever and ever so much smaller.
He's all black and orange-red and white something
as Goldy is, only there isn't quite so much orange
on him."

For just an instant Zee Zee sat still with his tail
spread. His head, throat and back were black
and there was a black band across the end of his
tail and a black stripe down the middle of it. The
rest was bright orange-red. On each wing was a
band of orange-red and his sides were the same
color. Underneath he was white tinged more or
less with orange.

It was only for an instant that Zee Zee sat still ;
then he was in the air, — darting, diving, whirling,
going through all sorts of antics as he caught tiny
insects too small for Peter to see. Peter began to
wonder how he kept still long enough to sleep at
night. And his voice was quite asjbusy as his
wings. "Zee, zee, zee, zee!" he would cry.
But this was only one of many notes. At times
he would sing a beautiful little song and then again
it would seem as if he were trying to imitate other
members of the Warbler family.

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

"He'll stay fast enough," retorted Jenny Wren.
"I don't imagine he'll stay in the Old Orchard
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and I hope he won't, because if he does it will make
it just that much harder for me to catch enough
to feed my big family. Probably he and Mrs.
Redstart will make their home on the edge of the
Green Forest. They like it better over there, for
which I am thankful. There's Mrs. Redstart now.
Just notice that where Zee Zee is bright orange-
red she is yellow, and instead of a black head
she has a gray head and her back is olive-green
with a grayish tinge. She isn't nearly as handsome
as Zee Zee, but then, that's not to be expected.
She lets Zee Zee do the singing and the showing off
and she does the work. I expect she'll build that
nest with almost no help at all from him. But
Zee Zee is a good father, I'll say that much
for him. He'll do his share in feeding their
babies."

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

"Oh, Sunshine!" he cried, as he came within
speaking distance, "I'm ever and ever so glad to
see you back. I do hope you and Mrs. Sunshine
[1781

The Warblers Arrive

are going to make your home somewhere near here
where I can see you every day."

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

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

"I'm sorry to hear it," declared Sunshine.
"She made us a lot of trouble last year. But we
fooled her."

"How did you fool her?" asked Peter.

Sunshine paused to pick a tiny worm from a leaf.
"Well," said he, "she found our nest just after we
had finished it and before Mrs. Sunshine had had
a chance to lay an egg. Of course you know what
she did."

"I can guess," replied Peter. "She laid one
of her own eggs in your nest."

Sunshine stopped to pick two or three more
worms from the leaves. "Yes," said he. "She
did just that, the lazy good-for-nothing creature !
But it didn't do her a bit of good, not a bit.
That egg never hatched. We fooled her and that's
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what we'll do again if she repeats that trick this
year."

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

"No," replied Sunshine. "Our nest was too
deep for us to get that egg out. We just made a
second bottom in our nest right over that egg and
built the sides of the nest a little higher. Then
we took good care that she didn't have a chance
to lay another egg in there."

"Then you had a regular two-story nest, didn't
you?" cried Peter, opening his eyes very wide.

Sunshine nodded. "Yes, sir," said he, "and
it was a mighty fine nest, if I do say it. If there's
anything Mrs. Sunshine and I pride ourselves on
it is our nest. There are no babies who have a
softer, cozier home than ours."
; " What do you make your nest of ? " asked Peter.

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

All the time Peter had been admiring Sunshine
and thinking how wonderfully well he was named.
At first glance he seemed to be all yellow, as if
somehow he had managed to catch and hold the
sunshine in his feathers. There wasn't a white:
[180]

The Warblers Arrive

feather on him. When he came very close Peter
could see that on his breast and underneath were
little streaks of reddish-brown and his wings and
tail were a little blackish. Otherwise he was all
yellow.

Presently he was joined by Mrs. Sunshine. She
was not such a bright yellow as was Sunshine,
having an olive-green tint on her back. But
underneath she was almost clear yellow without
the reddish-brown streaks. She too was glad to
see Peter, but couldn't stop to gossip, for already,
as she informed Sunshine, she had found just the
place for their nest. Of course Peter begged to
be told where it was. But the two little folks in
yellow snapped their bright eyes at him and told
him that that was their secret and they didn't
propose to tell a living soul.

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

"There's one thing about it," cried Peter.
" Any one can tell Zee Zee the Redstart by his
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black and flame colored suit. There is no other
like it. And any one can tell Sunshine the Yellow
Warbler because there isn't anybody else who
seems to be all yellow. My, what a lively, lovely
lot these Warblers are !"

[182

CHAPTER XXV

THREE COUSINS QUITE UNLIKE

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

Peter, who had been hopping along rather fast,
stopped abruptly to look up. Running along a
limb just over his head, now on top and now under-
neath, was a little bird with a black and white
striped coat and a white waistcoat. Just as
Peter looked it flew down to near the base of the
tree and began to run straight up the trunk,
picking things from the bark here and there as
it ran. Its way of going up that tree trunk re-
minded Peter of one of his winter friends, Seep
Seep the Brown Creeper.

"It strikes me that this is a mighty poor wel-
come for one who has just come all the way from
South America," said the little black and white
bird with twinkling eyes.

"Oh, Creeper, I didn't know you were here!"
cried Peter. "You know I'm glad to see you.
I'm just as glad as glad can be. You are such a
[1831

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

quiet fellow I'm afraid I shouldn't have seen you
at all if you hadn't spoken. You know it's always
been hard work for me to believe that you are
really and truly a Warbler."

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

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

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

"Well," replied Peter, "all the rest of the
Warblers are the uneasiest folks I know of. They
can't seem to keep still a minute. They are ever-
lastingly flitting about this way and that way and
the other way. I actually get tired watching them.
But you are not a bit that way. Then the way
you run up tree trunks and along the limbs isn't a
bit Warbler-like. Why don't you flit and dart
about as the others do?"

Creeper's bright eyes sparkled. "I don't have
to," said he. "I'm going to let you into a little
secret, Peter. The rest of them get their living
from the leaves and twigs and in the air, but I've
discovered an easier way. I've found out that
there are lots of little worms and insects and eggs
on the trunks and big limbs of the trees and that
[184]

Three Cousins Quite Unlike

I can get the best kind of a living there without
flitting about everlastingly. I don't have to share
them with anybody but the Woodpeckers, Nut-
hatches, and Tommy Tit the Chickadee."

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

; "I should say not," retorted Creeper. "li.

) don't know of any Warbler who does. I build on-
the ground, if you want to know. I nest in the
Green Forest. Sometimes I make my nest in a
little hollow at the base of a tree ; sometimes I put
it under a stump or rock or tuck it in under the
roots of a tree that has been blown over. But
there, Peter Rabbit, I've talked enough. I'm
glad you're glad that I'm back, and I'm glad I'm
back too." *M

Creeper continued on up the trunk of the tree,
picking here and picking there. Just then Peter
caught sight of another friend whom he could
always tell by the black mask he wore. It was
Mummer the Yellow-throat. He had just darted
into the thicket of bushes along the old stone wall.
Peter promptly hurried over there to look for him.
When Peter reached the place where he had
caught a glimpse of Mummer, no one was to be
seen. Peter sat down, uncertain which way to
go. Suddenly Mummer popped out right in
[185]

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front of Peter, seemingly from nowhere at all.
His throat and breast were bright yellow and his
back wings and tail a soft olive-green. But the
most remarkable thing about him was the mask of
black right across his cheeks, eyes and forehead.
At least it looked like a mask, although it really
wasn't one.

"Hello, Mummer !" cried Peter.

"Hello yourself, Peter Rabbit!" retorted
Mummer and then disappeared as suddenly as
he had appeared. Peter blinked and looked in
vain all about. t ;

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

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

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

"There's one thing I like about you, Mummer,"
declared Peter, "and that is that I never get you
[186]

Three Cousins Quite Unlike

mixed up with anybody else. I should know you
just as far as I could see you because of that black
mask across your face. Has Mrs. Yellow-throat
arrived yet?"

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

Peter was just about to say something polite and
pleasant when from just back of him there sounded
a loud, very emphatic, "Chut! Chut!" Peter
whirled about to find another old friend. It was
Chut-Chut the Yellow-breasted Chat, the largest
of the Warbler family. He was so much bigger
than Mummer that it was hard to believe that
they were own cousins. But Peter knew they
were, and he also knew that he could never mistake
Chut-Chut for any other member of the family
because of his big size, which was that of some of
the members of the Sparrow family. His back was
a dark olive-green, but his throat and breast were a
beautiful bright yellow. There was a broad white
line above each eye and a little white line under-
neath. Below his breast he was all white.

To have seen him you would have thought that
he suspected Peter might do him some harm. He
[1871

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acted that way. If Peter hadn't known him so well
he might have been offended. But Peter knew
that there is no one among his feathered friends
more cautious than Chut-Chut the Chat. He never
takes anything for granted. He appears to be
always on the watch for danger, even to the extent
of suspecting his very best friends.

When he had decided in his own mind that
there was no danger, Chut-Chut came out for
a little gossip. But like all the rest of the Warblers
he couldn't keep still. Right in the middle of the
story of his travels from far-away Mexico he flew
to the top of a little tree, began to sing, then flew
out into the air with his legs dangling and his tail
wagging up and down in the funniest way, and
there continued his song as he slowly dropped down
into the thicket again. It was a beautiful song
and Peter hastened to tell him so.

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

"I wonder," said Peter, speaking out loud
[188]

Three Cousins Quite Unlike

without thinking, "where he builds his nest. I
wonder if he builds it on the ground, the way
Creeper does."

"No," declared Mummer, who all the time had
been darting about close at hand. "He doesn't,
but I do. Chut-Chut puts his nest near the
ground, however, usually within two or three
feet. He builds it in bushes or briars. Sometimes
if I can find a good tangle of briars I build my nest
in it several feet from the ground, but as a rule
I would rather have it on the ground under a bush
or in a clump of weeds. Have you seen my cousin
Sprite the Pareula Warbler, yet?"

"Not yet," said Peter, as he started for home.

[189]

CHAPTER XXVI

PETER GETS A LAME NECK

FOR several days it seemed to Peter Rabbit that
everywhere he went he found members of the
Warbler family. Being anxious to know all of
them he did his best to remember how each one
looked, but there were so many and some of them
were dressed so nearly alike that after a while
Peter became so mixed that he gave it up as a
bad job. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared,
the Warblers disappeared. That is to say, most
of them disappeared. You see they had only
stopped for a visit, being on their way farther
north.

In his interest in the affairs of others of his
feathered friends, Peter had quite forgotten the
Warblers. Then one day when he was in the
Green Forest where the spruce-trees grow, he
stopped to rest. This particular part of the Green
Forest was low and damp, and on many of the
trees gray moss grew, hanging down from the
branches and making the trees look much older
than they really were. Peter was staring at a
hanging bunch of this moss without thinking
[190]

Peter Gets A Lame Neck

anything about it when suddenly a little bird
alighted on it and disappeared in it. At least,
that is what Peter thought. But it was all so
unexpected that he couldn't be sure his eyes hadn't
fooled him.

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

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

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

[191]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

As Peter looked at Sprite he couldn't help
thinking that there wasn't a daintier member in
the whole Warbler family. His coat was of a
soft bluish color with a yellowish patch in the
very center of his back. Across each wing were
two bars of white. His throat was yellow. Just
beneath it was a little band of bluish-black. His
breast was yellow and his sides were grayish and
brownish-chestnut.

"Sprite, you're just beautiful," declared Peter
in frank admiration. "What was the reason I
didn't see you up in the Old Orchard with your
cousins?"

"Because I wasn't there," was Sprite's prompt
reply as he flitted about, quite unable to sit still a
minute. "I wasn't there because I like the Green
Forest better, so I came straight here."

"What were you doing just now in that bunch
of moss?" demanded Peter, a sudden suspicion
of the truth popping into his head.

"Just looking it over," replied Sprite, trying to
look innocent.

At that very instant Peter looked up just in
time to see a tail disappearing in the little round
hole in the side of the bunch of moss. He knew
that that tail belonged to Mrs. Sprite, and just
that glimpse told him all he wanted to know.

"You've got a nest in there!" Peter exclaimed
[192]

Peter Gets A Lame Neck

excitedly. "There's no use denying it, Sprite;
you've got a nest in there! What a perfectly
lovely place for a nest."

Sprite saw at once that it would be quite use-
less to try to deceive Peter. "Yes," said he,
"Mrs. Sprite and I have a nest in there. We've
just finished it. I think myself it is rather nice.
We always build in moss like this. All we have
to do is to find a nice thick bunch and then weave
it together at the bottom and line the inside with
fine grasses. It looks so much like all the rest of
the bunches of moss that it is seldom any one finds
it. I wouldn't trade nests with anybody I know."

"Isn't it rather lonesome over here by your-
selves?" asked Peter.

"Not at all," replied Sprite. "You see, we are
not as much alone as you think. My cousin,
Fidget the Myrtle Warbler, is nesting not very far
away, and another cousin Weechi the Magnolia
Warbler is also quite near. Both have begun
housekeeping already."

Of course Peter was all excitement and interest
at once. "Wliere are their homes?" he asked
eagerly. "Tell me where they are and I'll go
straight over and call."

"Peter," said Sprite severely, "you ought to
know better than to ask me to tell you anything
of this kind. You have been around enough to
[1931

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

know that there is no secret so precious as the
secret of a home. You happened to find mine, and
I guess I can trust you not to tell anybody where
it is. If you can find the homes of Fidget and
Weechi, all right, but I certainly don't intend to
tell you where they are."

Peter knew that Sprite was quite right in refusing
to tell the secrets of his cousins, but he couldn't
think of going home without at least looking for
those homes. He tried to look very innocent as
he asked if they also were in hanging bunches of
moss. But Sprite was too smart to be fooled and
Peter learned nothing at all.

For some time Peter hopped around this way
and that way, thinking every bunch of moss he
saw must surely contain a nest. But though he
looked and looked and looked, not another little
round hole did he find, and there were so many
bunches of moss that finally his neck ached from
tipping his head back so much. Now Peter hasn't
as much patience as he might have, so after a
while he gave up the search and started on his
way home. On higher ground, just above the low
swampy place where grew the moss-covered trees,
he came to a lot of young hemlock-trees. These
had no moss on them. Having given up his
search Peter was thinking of other things when
there flitted across in front of him a black and
[194]

Peter Gets A Lame Neck

gray bird with a yellow cap, yellow sides, and a
yellow patch at the root of his tail. Those yellow
patches were all Peter needed to see to recognize
Fidget the Myrtle Warbler, one of the two friends
he had been so long looking for down among the
moss-covered trees.

. "Oh, Fidget!" cried Peter, hurrying after the
restless little bird. " Oh, Fidget ! I've been look-
ing everywhere for you."

"Well, here I am," retorted Fidget "You
didn't look everywhere or you would have found
me before. What can I do for you?" All the
time Fidget was hopping and flitting about, never
still an instant.

["•• "You can tell me where your nest is," replied
Peter promptly.

"I can, but I won't," retorted Fidget. "Now
honestly, Peter, do you think you have any busi-
ness to ask such a question?"

Peter hung his head and then replied quite
honestly, "No I don't, Fidget. But you see
Sprite told me that you had a nest not very far
from his and I've looked at bunches of moss until
I've got a crick in the back of my neck."

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

"Why — why — I just thought you probably
[195]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

had your nest in one, the same as your cousin
Sprite."

Fidget laughed right out. "I'm afraid you
would have a worse crick in the back of your neck
than you've got now before ever you found my
nest in a bunch of moss," said he. "Moss may
suit my cousin Sprite, but it doesn't suit me at all.
Besides, I don't like those dark places where the
moss grows on the trees. I build my nest of
twigs and grass and weed-stalks and I line it with
hair and rootlets and feathers. Sometimes I
bind it together with spider silk, and if you really
want to know, I like a little hemlock-tree to put
it in. It isn't very far from here, but where it is
I'm not going to tell you. Have you seen my
cousin, Weechi?"

"No," replied Peter. "Is he anywhere around
here?"

"Right here," replied another voice and Weechi
the Magnolia Warbler dropped down on the ground
for just a second right in front of Peter.

The top of his head and the back of his neck were
gray. Above his eye was a white stripe and his
cheeks were black. His throat was clear yellow,
just below which was a black band. From this
black streaks ran down across his yellow breast.
At the root of his tail he was yellow. His tail
was mostly black on top and white underneath.
[196]

Peter Gets A Lame Neck

His wings were black and gray with two white
bars. He was a little smaller than Fidget the
Myrtle Warbler and quite as restless.

Peter fairly itched to ask Weechi where his nest
was, but by this time he had learned a lesson, so
wisely kept his tongue still.

"What were you fellows talking about?" asked
Weechi.

"Nests," replied Fidget. "I've just been telling
Peter that while Cousin Sprite may like to build
in that hanging moss down there, it wouldn't
suit me at all."

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

" Of course I know it," replied Fidget. " In fact
I watched you start your nest. Don't you think
you have it rather near the ground?"

"Not too near, Fidget ; not too near. I am not
as high-minded as some people. I like to be
within two or three feet of the ground."

"I do myself," replied Fidget.

Fidget and Weechi became so interested in dis-
cussing nests and the proper way of building them
[197]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

they quite forgot Peter Rabbit. Peter sat
around for a while listening, but being more in-
terested in seeing those nests than hearing about
them, he finally stole away to look for them.
He looked and looked, but there were so many
young hemlock-trees and they looked so much
alike that finally Peter lost patience and gave it
up as a bad job.

[198]

CHAPTER XXVII

A NEW FRIEND AND AN OLD ONE !

PETER RABBIT never will forget the first time he
caught a glimpse of Glory the Cardinal, sometimes
called Redbird. He had come up to the Old
Orchard for his usual morning visit and just as he
hopped over the old stone wall he heard a beautiful
clear, loud whistle which drew his eyes to the top
of an apple-tree. Peter stopped short with a little
gasp of sheer astonishment and delight. Then
he rubbed his eyes and looked again. He couldn't
quite believe that he saw what he thought he saw.
He hadn't supposed that any one, even among the
feathered folks, could be quite so beautiful.

The stranger was dressed all in red, excepting a
little black around the base of his bill. Even his
bill was red. He wore a beautiful red crest which
made him still more distinguished looking, and how
he could sing ! Peter had noticed that quite often
the most beautifully dressed birds have the poorest
songs. But this stranger's song was as beautiful
as his coat, and that was one of the most beautiful,
if not the most beautiful, that Peter ever had seen.
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Of course he lost no time in hunting up Jenny
Wren. "Who is it, Jenny? Who is that beauti-
ful stranger with such a lovely song ?" cried Peter,
as soon as he caught sight of Jenny.

"It's Glory the Cardinal," replied Jenny Wren
promptly. "Isn't he the loveliest thing you've
ever seen ? I do hope he is going to stay here. As
I said before, I don't often envy any one's fine
clothes, but when I see Glory I'm sometimes
tempted to be envious. If I were Mrs. Cardinal
I'm afraid I should be jealous. There she is in
the very same tree with him. Did you ever see
such a difference?"

Peter looked eagerly. Instead of the glorious
red of Glory, Mrs. Cardinal wore a very dull dress.
Her back was a brownish-gray. Her throat was
a grayish-black. Her breast was a dull buff with
a faint tinge of red. Her wings and tail were
tinged with dull red. Altogether she was very
soberly dressed, but a trim, neat looking little per-
son. But if she wasn't handsomely dressed she
could sing. In fact she was almost as good a
singer as her handsome husband.

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

" Well, you needn't think that of Glory ," declared
[200]

GLORY THE CARDINAL. He is often called Redbird. You cannot mis.
take him.

KITTY THE CATBIRD. His black crown and slaty-gray coat make him
easy to recognize.

A New Friend and An Old One

Jenny in her vigorous way. "He's just as fine as
he is handsome. He's a model husband. If they
make their home around here you'll find him doing
his full share in the care of their babies. Sometimes
they raise two families. When they do that,
Glory takes charge of the first lot of youngsters as
soon as they are able to leave the nest so that Mrs.
Cardinal has nothing to worry about while she
is sitting on the second lot of eggs. He fusses over
them as if they were the only children in the world.
Everybody loves Glory. Excuse me, Peter, I'm
going over to find out if they are really going to
stay."

When Jenny returned she was so excited she
couldn't keep still a minute. "They like here,
Peter !" she cried. "They like here so much that
if they can find a place to suit them for a nest
they're going to stay. I told them that it is the
very best place in the world. They like an evergreen
tree to build in, and I think they've got their eyes
on those evergreens up near Farmer Brown's house.
My, they will add a lot to the quality of this neigh-
borhood."

Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal whistled and sang as if
their hearts were bursting with joy, and Peter sat
around listening as if he had nothing else in the
world to do. Probably he would have sat there the
rest of the morning had he not caught sight of an
[201]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

old friend of whom he is very fond, Kitty the Cat-
bird. In contrast with Glory, Kitty seemed a reg-
ular little Quaker, for he was dressed almost wholly
in gray, a rather dark, slaty-gray. The top of
his head and tail were black, and right at the base
of his tail was a patch of chestnut color. He was
a little smaller than Welcome Robin. There was
no danger of mistaking him for anybody else, for
there is no one dressed at all like him.

Peter forgot all about Glory in his pleasure at
discovering the returned Kitty and hurried over to
welcome him. Kitty had disappeared among the
bushes along the old stone wall, but Peter had no
trouble in finding him by the queer cries he was
uttering, which were very like the meow of Black
Pussy the Cat. They were very harsh and un-
pleasant and Peter understood perfectly why their
maker is called the Catbird. He did not hurry in
among the bushes at once but waited expectantly.
In a few minutes the harsh cries ceased and then
there came from the very same place a song which
seemed to be made up of parts of the songs of all
the other birds of the Old Orchard. It was not
loud, but it was charming. It contained the
clear whistle of Glory, and there was even the tinkle
of Little Friend the Song Sparrow. The notes of
other friends were in that song, and with them were
notes of southern birds whose songs Kitty had
[ 202 ]

A New Friend and An Old One

learned while spending the winter in the South.
Then there were notes all his own.

Peter listened until the song ended, then scam-
pered in among the bushes. At once those harsh
cries broke out again. You would have thought
that Kitty was scolding Peter for coming to see
him instead of being glad. But that was just
Kitty's way. He is simply brimming over with
fun and mischief, and delights to pretend.

When Peter found him, he was sitting with all
his feathers puffed out until he looked almost like a
ball with a head and tail. He looked positively
sleepy. Then as he caught sight of Peter he drew
those feathers down tight, cocked his tail up after
the manner of Jenny Wren, and was as slim and
trim looking as any bird of Peter's acquaintance.
He didn't look at all like the same bird of the
moment before. Then he dropped his tail as if he
hadn't strength enough to hold it up at all. It
hung straight down. He dropped his wings and all
in a second made himself look fairly disreputa-
ble. But all the time his eyes were twinkling and
snapping, and Peter knew that these changes in
appearance were made out of pure fun and
mischief.

"I've been wondering if you were coming back,"
cried Peter. "I don't know of any one of my
feathered friends I would miss so much as you,"
[203]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

"Thank you," responded Kitty. "It's very
nice of you to say that, Peter. If you are glad to
see me I am still more glad to get back."

"Did you pass a pleasant winter down South?"
asked Peter.

"Fairly so. Fairly so," replied Kitty. "By
the way, Peter, I picked up some new songs down
there. Would you like to hear them ?"

"Of course," replied Peter, "but I don't think
you need any new songs. I've never seen such a
fellow for picking up other people's songs excepting
Mocker the Mockingbird."

At the mention of Mocker a little cloud crossed
Kitty's face for just an instant. "There's a fellow
I really envy," said he. "I'm pretty good at
imitating others, but Mocker is better. I'm hop-
ing that, if I practice enough, some day I can be
as good. I saw a lot of him in the South and he
certainly is clever."

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

Kitty's face cleared, his throat swelled and he
began to sing. It was a regular medley. It didn't
seem as if so many notes could come from one
throat. When it ended Peter had a question all
ready.

[204]

A New Friend and An Old One

"Are you going to build somewhere near here?"
he asked.

" I certainly am," replied Kitty.- " Mrs. Catbird
was delayed a day or two. I hope she'll get here
to-day and then we'll get busy at once. I think we
shall build in these bushes here somewhere. I'm
glad Farmer Brown has sense enough to let them
grow. They are just the kind of a place I like for a
nest. They are near enough to Farmer Brown's
garden, and the Old Orchard is right here. That's
just the kind of a combination that suits me."

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

"Because that is where I will get a good part of
my living," Kitty responded promptly. "He
ought to be glad to have me about. Once in a
while I take a little fruit, but 'I pay for it ten tunes
over by the number of bugs and worms I get in his
garden and the Old Orchard. I pride myself on
being useful. There's nothing like being useful
in this world, Peter."

Peter nodded as if he quite agreed. Though, as
you know and I know, Peter himself does very
little except fill his own big stomach.

205

CHAPTER XXVIII

PETER SEES ROSEBREAST AND FINDS REDCOAT

"Wno's that?" Peter Rabbit pricked up his
long ears and stared up at the tops of the trees of
the Old Orchard.

Instantly Jenny Wren popped her head out of her
doorway. She cocked her head on one side to
listen, then looked down at Peter, and her sharp
little eyes snapped.

" I don't hear any strange voice," said she. "The
way you are staring, Peter Rabbit, one would think
that you had really heard something new and worth
while."

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

"For goodness' sake, Peter Rabbit, you don't
mean to say you don't know whose voice that is,"
she cried. "That's Rosebreast. He and Mrs.
Rosebreast have been here for quite a little while. I
didn't suppose there was any one who didn't know
those sharp, squeaky voices. They rather get on
my nerves. What anybody wants to squeak like
[ 206 ]

Peter Sees Rosebreast and Finds Redcoat

that for when they can sing as Rosebreast can, is
more than I can understand."

At that very instant Mr. Wren began to scold as
only he and Jenny can. Peter looked up at Jenny
and winked slyly. "And what anybody wants to
scold like that for when they can sing as Mr.
Wren can, is too much for me," retorted Peter.
"But you haven't told me who Rosebreast is."

"The Grosbeak, of course, stupid," sputtered
Jenny. "If you don't know Rosebreast the Gros-
beak, Peter Rabbit, you certainly must have been
blind and deaf ever since you were born. Listen
to that ! Just listen to that song !"

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

"No, I don't mean Welcome Robin's song,"
snapped Jenny. "What good are a pair of long
ears if they can't tell one song from another ? That
1207]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

song may sound something like Welcome Robin's,
but if your ears were good for anything at all you'd
know right away that that isn't Welcome Robin
singing. That's a better song than Welcome
Robin's. Welcome Robin's song is one of good
cheer, but this one is of pure happiness. I wouldn't
have a pair of ears like yours for anything in the
world, Peter Rabbit."

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

"I wasn't laughing at you," replied Peter very
meekly. "I was just laughing at the thought of
how funny you would look with a pair of long ears
like mine. Now you speak of it, Jenny, that song
is quite different from Welcome Robin's."

"Of course it is," retorted Jenny. "That is
Rosebreast singing up there, and there he is right
in the top of that tree. Isn't he handsome?"

Peter looked up to see a bird a little smaller than
Welcome Robin. His head, throat and back were
black. His wings were black with patches of white
on them. But it was his breast that made Peter
catch his breath with a little gasp of admiration,
for that breast was a beautiful rose-red. The rest
[208]

Peter Sees Rosebreast and Finds Redcoat

of him underneath was white. It was Rosebreast
the Grosbeak.

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

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

"I would never have guessed it," said Peter.
"She doesn't look the least bit like him."

This was quite true. There was no beautiful
rose color about Mrs. Grosbeak. She was dressed
chiefly in brown and grayish colors with a little
buff here and there and with dark streaks on her
breast. Over each eye was a whitish line. Al-
together she looked more as if she might be a big
member of the Sparrow family than the wife of
handsome Rosebreast. While Rosebreast sang,
Mrs. Grosbeak was very busily picking buds and
blossoms from the tree.

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

"For the same reason that you bite off sweet
clover blossoms and leaves," replied Jenny Wren
tartly.

"Do you mean to say that they live on buds
and blossoms?" cried Peter. "I never heard of
such a thing."

"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut! You can ask more silly
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

questions than anybody of my acquaintance,"
retorted Jenny Wren. "Of course they don't live
on buds and blossoms. If they did they would
soon starve to death, for buds and blossoms don't
last long. They eat a few just for variety, but they
live mostly on bugs and insects. You ask Farmer
Brown's boy who helps him most in his potato
patch, and he'll tell you it's the Grosbeaks. They
certainly do love potato bugs. They eat some
fruit, but on the whole they are about as useful
around a garden as any one I know. Now run
along, Peter Rabbit, and don't bother me any
more."

Seeing Farmer Brown's boy coming through the
Old Orchard Peter decided that it was high time for
him to depart. So he scampered for the Green
Forest, lipperty-lipperty-lip. Just within the edge
of the Green Forest he caught sight of something
which for the time being put all thought of Farmer
Brown's boy out of his head. Fluttering on the
ground was a bird than whom not even Glory the
Cardinal was more beautiful. It was about the
size of Redwing the Blackbird. Wings and tail
were pure black and all the rest was a beautiful
scarlet. It was Redcoat the Tanager. At first
Peter had eyes only for the wonderful beauty of
Redcoat. Never before had he seen Redcoat so
close at hand. Then quite suddenly it came over
[210]

REDCOAT THE SCARLET TANAGER. He is all red save his black
wings and tail.

ROSEBREAST THE GROSBEAK. You cannot mistake this black and
white bird with the rose-colored breast for any one else. It is the Rose,
breasted Grosbeak.

Peter Sees Rosebreast and Finds Redcoat

Peter that something was wrong with Redcoat,
and he hurried forward to see what the trouble
might be.

• Redcoat heard the rustle of Peter's feet among
the dry leaves and at once began to flap and flutter
in an effort to fly away, but he could not get off the
ground. "What is it, Redcoat? Has something
happened to you ? It is just Peter Rabbit. You
don't have anything to fear from me," cried Peter.

The look of terror which had been in the eyes of
Redcoat died out, and he stopped fluttering and
simply lay panting.

"Oh, Peter," he gasped, "y°u don't know how
glad I am that it is only you. I've had a terrible
accident, and I don't know what I am to do. I
can't fly, and if I have to stay on the ground some
enemy will be sure to get me. What shall I do,
Peter ? What shall I do ?"

Right away Peter was full of sympathy. "What
kind of an accident was it, Redcoat, and how did
it happen ?" he asked.

"Broadwing the Hawk tried to catch me,"
sobbed Redcoat. "In dodging him among the
trees I was heedless for a moment and did not see
just where I was going. I struck a sharp-pointed
dead twig and drove it right through my right
wing." i , >;

Redcoat held up his right wing and sure enough
[211]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

there was a little stick projecting from both sides
close up to the shoulder. The wing was bleeding
a little.

"Oh, dear, whatever shall I do, Peter Rabbit?
Whatever shall I do ?" sobbed Redcoat.

"Does it pain you dreadfully ?" asked Peter.

Redcoat nodded. "But I don't mind the pain,"
he hastened to say. "It is the thought of what
may happen to me."

Meanwhile Mrs. Tanager was flying about in
the tree tops near at hand and calling anxiously.
She was dressed almost wholly in light olive-green
and greenish-yellow. She looked no more like
beautiful Redcoat than did Mrs. Grosbeak like
Rosebreast.

"Can't you fly up just a little way so as to get
off the ground?" she cried anxiously. "Isn't it
dreadful, Peter Rabbit, to have such an accident ?
We've just got our nest half built, and I don't
know what I shall do if anything happens to Red-
coat. Oh, dear, here comes somebody ! Hide,
Redcoat ! Hide !" Mrs. Tanager flew off a short
distance to one side and began to cry as if in the
greatest distress. Peter knew instantly that she
was crying to get the attention of whoever was
coming.

Poor Redcoat, with the old look of terror in his
eyes, fluttered along, trying to find something under
[.*Xt]

Peter Sees Rosebreast and Finds Redcoat

which to hide. But there was nothing under which
he could crawl, and there was no hiding that won-
derful red coat. Peter heard the sound of heavy
footsteps, and looking back, saw that Farmer
Brown's boy was coming. "Don't be afraid,
Redcoat," he whispered. "It's Farmer Brown's
boy and I'm sure he won't hurt you. Perhaps he
can help you." Then Peter scampered off for a
short distance and sat up to watch what would
happen.

Of course Farmer Brown's boy saw Redcoat.
No one with any eyes at all could have helped seeing
him, because of that wonderful scarlet coat. He
saw, too, by the way Redcoat was acting, that he
was in great trouble. As Farmer Brown's boy
drew near and Redcoat saw that he was discovered,
he tried his hardest to nutter away. Farmer
Brown's boy understood instantly that some-
thing was wrong with one wing, and running for-
ward, he caught Redcoat.

"You poor little thing. You poor, beautiful
little creature," said Farmer Brown's boy softly
as he saw the cruel twig sticking through Red-
coats' shoulder. "We'll have to get that out right
away," continued Farmer Brown's boy, stroking
Redcoat ever so gently.

Somehow at that gentle touch Redcoat lost much
of his fear, and a little hope sprang in his heart.
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

This was no enemy, but a friend. Farmer Brown's
boy took out his knife and carefully cut off the twig
on the upper side of the wing. Then, doing his
best to be careful and to hurt as little as possible,
he worked the other part of the twig out from the
under side. Carefully he examined the wing to
see if any bones were broken. None were, and
after holding Redcoat a few minutes he carefully
set him up in a tree and withdrew a short distance.
Redcoat hopped from branch to branch until he
was halfway up the tree. Then he sat there for
some time as if fearful of trying that injured wing.
Meanwhile Mrs. Tanager came and fussed about
him and talked to him and coaxed him and made as
much of him as if he were a baby.

Peter remained right where he was until at last
he saw Redcoat spread his black wings and fly to
another tree. From tree to tree he flew, resting
a bit in each until he and Mrs. Tanager disappeared
in the Green Forest.

"I knew Farmer Brown's boy would help him,
and I'm so glad he found him," cried Peter happily
and started for the dear Old Briar-patch.

[214

CHAPTER XXIX

THE CONSTANT SINGERS

OVER in a maple-tree on the edge of Farmer
Brown's door yard lived Mr. and Mrs. Redeye the
Vireos. Peter Rabbit knew that they had a nest
there because Jenny Wren had told him so. He
would have guessed it anyway, because Redeye
spent so much time in that tree during the nesting
season. No matter what hour of the day Peter
visited the Old Orchard he heard Redeye singing
over in the maple-tree. Peter used to think that
if song is an expression of happiness, Redeye must
be the happiest of all birds.

He was a little fellow about the size of one of
the larger Warblers and quite as modestly dressed
as any of Peter's acquaintances. The crown of
his head was gray with a little blackish border on
either side. Over each eye was a white line.
Underneath he was white. For the rest he was
dressed in light olive-green. The first time he
came down near enough for Peter to see him well
Peter understood at once why he is called Redeye.
His eyes were red. Yes, sir, his eyes were red,
[215]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

and this fact alone was enough to distinguish him
from any other members of his family.

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

"Redeye believes in singing while he works,"
said Jenny Wren. "For my part I should think
he'd wear his throat out. When other birds sing
they don't do anything else, but Redeye sings all
the time he is hunting his meals and only stops
long enough to swallow a worm or a bug when he
finds it. Just as soon as it is down he begins to
sing again while he hunts for another. I must say
for the Redeyes that they are mighty good nest
builders. Have you seen their nest over in that
maple-tree, Peter ?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't dare go over
there except very early in the morning before
Farmer Brown's folks are awake," said he, "so I
haven't had much chance to look for it."

"You probably couldn't see it, anyway," de-
clared Jenny Wren. "They have placed it rather

The Constant Singers

high up from the ground and those leaves are so
thick that they hide it. It's a regular little basket
fastened in a fork near the end of a branch and it
is woven almost as nicely as is the nest of Goldy
the Oriole. How anybody has the patience to
weave a nest like that is beyond me."

"What's it made of?" asked Peter.

"Strips of bark, plant down, spider's web, grass,
and pieces of paper!" replied Jenny. "That's a
funny thing about Redeye ; he dearly loves a piece
of paper in his nest. What for, I can't imagine.
He's as fussy about having a scrap of paper as
Cresty the Flycatcher is about having a piece of
Snakeskin. I had just a peep into that nest a few
days ago and unless I am greatly mistaken Sally Sly
the Cowbird has managed to impose on the Red-
eyes. I am certain I saw one of her eggs in that
nest."

A few mornings after this talk with Jenny Wren
about Redeye the Vireo Peter once more visited
the Old Orchard. No sooner did he come in sight
than Jenny Wren's tongue began to fly. "What
did I tell you, Peter Rabbit? What did I tell
you ? I knew it was so, and it is !" cried Jenny.

"What is so ? " asked Peter rather testily, for he
hadn't the least idea what Jenny Wren was talking
about.

"Sally Sly did lay an egg in Redeye's nest, and
[217]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

now it has hatched and I don't know whatever is
to become of Redeye's own children. It's perfectly
scandalous ! That's what it is, perfectly scandal-
ous !" cried Jenny, and hopped about and jerked
her tail and worked herself into a small brown
fury.

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

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

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

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

"Because he's twice as big as any of their own
babies and so strong and greedy that he simply
snatches the food out of the very mouths of the
others. Because he gets most of the food, he's
growing twice as fast as they are. I wouldn't be
[218]

The Constant Singers

surprised if he kicks all the rest of them out before
he gets through. Mr. and Mrs. Redeye are dread-
fully distressed about it, but they will feed him
because they say it isn't his fault. It's a dreadful
affair and the talk of the whole Orchard. I sup-
pose his mother is off gadding somewhere, having a
good time and not caring a flip of her tail feathers
what becomes of him. I believe in being good-
hearted, but there is such a thing as overdoing the
matter. Thank goodness I'm not so weak-minded
that I can be imposed on in any such way as
that."

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

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

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

"That's Redeye's cousin, the Warbling Vireo,"
said Jenny. "He's a better singer than Redeye
[219]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

and just as fond of hearing his own voice. He
sings from the time jolly Mr. Sun gets up in the
morning until he goes to bed at night. He sings
when it is so hot that the rest of us are glad to keep
still for comfort's sake. I don't know of anybody
more fond of the tree tops than he is. He doesn't
seem to care anything about the Old Orchard, but
stays over in those big trees along the road. He's
got a nest over in that big elm and it is as high up
as that of Goldy the Oriole. I haven't seen it
myself, but Goldy told me about it. Why any one
so small should want to live so high up in the world
I don't know, any more than I know why any one
wants to live anywhere but in the Old Orchard."

"Somehow I don't remember just what Warble
looks like," Peter confessed.

"He looks a lot like his cousin, Redeye," replied
Jenny. "His coat is a little duller olive-green and
underneath he is a little bit yellowish instead of be-
ing white. Of course he doesn't have red eyes, and
he is a little smaller than Redeye. The whole fam-
ily looks pretty much alike anyway."

"You said something then, Jenny Wren," de-
clared Peter. "They get me all mixed up. If only
some of them had some bright colors it would be
easier to tell them apart."

"One has," replied Jenny Wren. "He has a
bright yellow throat and breast and is called the

The Constant Singers

Yellow-throated Vireo. There isn't the least
chance of mistaking him."

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

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

Peter hopped.

[221]

" CHAPTER XXX
JENNY WREN'S COUSINS

PETER RABBIT never will forget his surprise
when Jenny Wren asked him one spring morning if
he had seen anything of her big cousin. Peter
hesitated. As a matter of fact, he couldn't think
of any big cousin of Jenny Wren. All the cousins
he knew anything about were very nearly Jenny's
own size.

Now Jenny Wren is one of the most impatient
small persons in the world. "Well, well, well,
Peter, have you lost your tongue ?" she chattered.
" Can't you answer a simple question without tak-
ing all day about it ? Have you seen anything of
my big cousin ? It is high time for him to be here."

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

"Don't know him ! Don't know him !" sputtered
Jenny. "Of course you know him. You can't
help but know him. I mean Brownie the Thrasher."

In his surprise Peter fairly jumped right off the
[222]

BROWNIE THE THRASHER. You cannot mistake him because of his
bright reddish-brown coat, long tail and spotted breast.

CHEWINK THE TOWHEE. He is black and white with reddish-brown
sides, usually on the ground in a thicket.

Jenny Wren's Cousins

ground. "What's that?" he exclaimed. "Since
when was Brownie the Thrasher related to the
Wren family?"

"Ever since there have been any Wrens and
Thrashers," retorted Jenny. "Brownie belongs to
one branch of the family and I belong to another,
and that makes him my second cousin. It cer-
tainly is surprising how little some folks know."
i "But I have always supposed he belonged to the
Thrush family," protested Peter. "He certainly
looks like a Thrush."

"Looking like one doesn't make him one,"
snapped Jenny. "By this time you ought to have
learned that you never can judge anybody just by
looks. It always makes me provoked to hear
Brownie called the Brown Thrush. There isn't a
drop of Thrush blood in him. But you haven't
answered my question yet, Peter Rabbit. I want
to know if he has got here yet."

"Yes," said Peter. "I saw him only yesterday
on the edge of the Old Pasture. He was fussing
around in the bushes and on the ground and jerking
that long tail of his up and down and sidewise as if
he couldn't decide what to do with it. I've never
seen anybody twitch their tail around the way he
does."

Jenny Wren giggled. "That's just like him,"
said she. " It is because he thrashes his tail around

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

so much that he is called a Thrasher. I suppose
he was wearing his new spring suit."

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

"I suppose so," admitted Jenny rather grudg-
ingly. "But none of the Thrushes have such a bright
brown coat. Brownie is handsome, if I do say so.
Did you notice what a long bill he has ?"

Peter nodded. "And I noticed that he had two
white bars on each wing," said he.

"I'm glad you're so observing," replied Jenny
dryly. "Did you hear him sing ?"

"Did I hear him sing!" cried Peter, his eyes
shining at the memory. "He sang especially for
me. He flew up to the top of a tree, tipped his head
back and sang as few birds I know of can sing.
He has a wonderful voice, has Brownie. I don't
know of anybody I enjoy listening to more. And
when he's singing he acts as if he enjoyed it himself
and knows what a good singer he is. I noticed
that long tail of his hung straight down the same
way Mr. Wren's does when he sings."

Jenny Wrens Cousins

, "Of course it did," replied Jenny promptly.
"That's a family trait. The tails of both my
other big cousins do the same thing."

" Wha-wha-what's that? Have you got more
big cousins?" cried Peter, staring up at Jenny
as if she were some strange person he never had
seen before.

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

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

Jenny Wren shook her head very decidedly.
"No," said she. "He's perfectly satisfied with his
own song." Before she could add anything further
the clear whistle of Glory the Cardinal sounded
from a tree just a little way off. Instantly Peter
forgot all about Jenny Wren's relatives and scam-
pered over to that tree. You see Glory is so
beautiful that Peter never loses a chance to see him.

As Beter sat staring up into tlje tree, trying to
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get a glimpse of Glory's beautiful red coat, the clear,
sweet whistle sounded once more. It drew Peter's
eyes to one of the upper branches, but instead of
the beautiful, brilliant coat of Glory the Cardinal
he saw a bird about the size of Welcome Robin
dressed in sober ashy-gray with two white bars on
his wings, and white feathers on the outer edges of
his tail. He was very trim and neat and his tail
hung straight down after the manner of Brownie's
when he was singing. It was a long tail, but not as
long as Brownie's. Even as Peter blinked and
stared in surprise the stranger opened his mouth
and from it came Glory's own beautiful whistle.
Then the stranger looked down at Peter, and his
eyes twinkled with mischief.

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

Then without waiting for Peter to reply, this
sober-looking stranger gave such a concert as no
one else in the world could give. From that won-
derful throat poured out song after song and note
after note of Peter's familiar friends of the Old
Orchard, and the performance wound up with a
lovely song which was all the stranger's own. Peter
didn't have to be told who the stranger was. It
was Mocker the Mockingbird.

"Oh !" gasped Peter. "Oh, Mocker, how under
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Jenny Wren's Cousins

the sun do you do it ? I was sure that it was Glory
whom I heard whistling. Never again will I be
able to believe my own ears."

Mocker chuckled. "You're not the only one
I've fooled, Peter," said he. "I flatter myself
that I can fool almost anybody if I set out to. It's
lots of fun. I may not be much to look at, but
when it comes to singing there's no one I envy."

"I think you are very nice looking indeed,"
replied Peter politely. "I've just been finding
out this morning that you can't tell much about
folks just by their looks."

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

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

Mocker did. He sang and sang, for he dearly
loves to sing. When he finished Peter had another
question ready. "Somebody told ,me once that
down in the South you are the best loved of all the
birds. Is that so ?"

"That's not for me to say," replied Mocker
modestly. "But I can tell you this, Peter, they do
think a lot of me down there. There are many
birds down there who are very beautifully dressed,

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

birds who don't come up here at all. But not one
of them is loved as I am, and it is all on account of
my voice. I would rather have a beautiful voice
than a fine coat."

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

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

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

Mocker nodded. "Yes," said he, "we are
relatives. We each belong to a branch of the same
family." Then he burst into Mr. Wren's own
song, after which he excused himself and went to
look for Mrs. Mocker. For, as he explained, it was
time for them to be thinking of a nest.

CHAPTER XXXI

VOICES OF THE DUSK

JOLLY, round, red Mr. Sun was just going to bed
behind the Purple Hills and the Black Shadows
had begun to creep all through the Green Forest and
out across the Green Meadows. It was the hour
of the day Peter Rabbit loves best. He sat on the
edge of the Green Forest watching for the first
little star to twinkle high up in the sky. Peter felt
at peace with all the Great World, for it was the
hour of peace, the hour of rest for those who had
been busy all through the shining day.

Most of Peter's feathered friends had settled
themselves for the coming night, the worries and
cares of the day over and forgotten. All the Great
World seemed hushed. In the distance Sweet-
voice the Vesper Sparrow was pouring out his
evening song, for it was the hour when he dearly
loves to sing. Far back in the Green Forest Whip-
poor-will was calling as if his very life depended on
the number of times he could say, "Whip poor
Will," without taking a breath. From overhead
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came now and then the sharp, rather harsh cry of
Boomer the Nighthawk, as he hunted his supper in
the air.

For a time it seemed as if these were the only
feathered friends still awake, and Peter couldn't
help thinking that those who went so early to bed
missed the most beautiful hour of the whole day.
Then, from a tree just back of him, there poured
forth a song so clear, so sweet, so wonderfully suited
to that peaceful hour, that Peter held his breath
until it was finished. He knew that singer and
loved him. It was Melody the Wood Thrush.

When the song ended Peter hopped over to the
tree from which it had come. It was still light
enough for him to see the sweet singer. He sat
on a branch near the top, his head thrown back and
his soft, full throat throbbing with the flute-like
notes he was pouring forth. He was a little smaller
than Welcome Robin. His coat was a beautiful
reddish-brown, not quite so bright as that of
Brownie the Thrasher. Beneath he was white
with large, black spots thickly dotting his breast
and sides. He was singing as if he were trying to
put into those beautiful notes all the joy of life.
Listening to it Peter felt steal over him a wonder-
ful feeling of peace and pure happiness. Not for
the world would he have interrupted it.

The Black Shadows crept far across the Green
[230]

MELODY THE WOOD THRUSH. His sides are spotted like his breast.

TEACHER THE OVEN BIRD. You can tell him by the way he repeats
his own name.

Voices of the Dusk

Meadows and it became so dusky in the Green
Forest that Peter could barely make out the sweet
singer above his head. Still Melody sang on and
the hush of eventide grew deeper, as if all the Great
World were holding its breath to listen. It was not
until several little stars had begun to twinkle high
up in the sky that Melody stopped singing and
sought the safety of his hidden perch for the night.
Peter felt sure that somewhere near was a nest
and that one thing which had made that song so
beautiful was the love Melody had been trying to
express to the little mate sitting on the eggs that
nest must contain. "I'll just run over here early
in the morning," thought Peter.

Now Peter is a great hand to stay out all night,
and that is just what he did that night. Just before
it was time for jolly, round, red Mr. Sun to kick off
his rosy blankets and begin his daily climb up in
the blue, blue sky, Peter started for home in the
dear Old Briar-patch. Everywhere in the Green
Forest, in the Old Orchard, on the Green Meadows,
his feathered friends were awakening. He had
quite forgotten his intention to visit Melody and
was reminded of it only when again he heard those
beautiful flute-like notes. At once he scampered
over to where he had spent such a peaceful hour
the evening before. Melody saw him at once and
dropped down on the ground for a little gossip
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while he scratched among the leaves in search of
his breakfast.

"I just love to hear you sing, Melody," cried
Peter rather breathlessly. "I don't know of any
other song that makes me feel quite as yours does,
so sort of perfectly contented and free of care and
worry."

"Thank you," replied Melody. "I'm glad you
like to hear me sing for there is nothing I like to do
better. It is the one way in which I can express
my feelings. I love all the Great World and I just
have to tell it so. I do not mean to boast when I
say that all the Thrush family have good voices."

"But you have the best of all," cried Peter.

Melody shook his brown head. "I wouldn't say
that," said he modestly. "I think the song of my
cousin, Hermit, is even more beautiful than mine.
And then there is my other cousin, Veery. His
song is wonderful, I think."

But just then Peter's curiosity was greater than
his interest in songs. "Have you built your nest
yet?" he asked.

Melody nodded. "It is in a little tree not far
from here," said he, "and Mrs. Wood Thrush is
sitting on five eggs this blessed minute. Isn't that
perfectly lovely ?"

It was Peter's turn to nod. "What is your nest
built of ?" he inquired.

Voices of the Dusk

"Rootlets and tiny twigs and weed stalks and
leaves and mud," replied Melody.

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

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

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

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

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

"Then it's high time you got acquainted with
him," replied Melody promptly. "He is rather
fond of being by himself and that is why he is called
the Hermit Thrush. He is smaller than I and his
coat is not such a bright brown. His tail is
brighter than his coat. He has a waistcoat spotted
very much like mine. Some folks consider him the
most beautiful singer of the Thrush family. I'm
glad you like my song, but you must hear Hermit
sing. I really think there is no song so beautiful
in all the Green Forest."

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

"No," replied Melody. "He builds his nest on
the ground, and he doesn't use any mud. Now if
you'll excuse me, Peter, I must get my breakfast
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and give Mrs.] Wood Thrush a chance to get
hers."

1 So Peter continued on his way to the dear Old
Briar-patch and there he spent the day. As eve-
ning approached he decided to go back to hear
Melody sing again. Just as he drew near the Green
Forest he heard from the direction of the Laughing
Brook a song that caused him to change his mind
and sent him hurrying in that direction. It was a
very different song from that of Melody the Wood
Thrush, yet, if he had never heard it before, Peter
would have known that such a song could come
from no throat except that of a member of the
Thrush family. As he drew near the Laughing
Brook the beautiful notes seemed to ring through
the Green Forest like a bell. As Melody's song
had filled Peter with a feeling of peace, so this song
stirred in him a feeling of the wonderful mystery
of life. There was in it the very spirit of the Green
Forest.

It didn't take Peter long to find the singer. It
was Veery, who has been named Wilson's Thrush,
and by some folks is known as the Tawny Thrush.

At the sound of the patter of Peter's feet the song
stopped abruptly and he was greeted with a whistled
"Wheeu! wheeu !" Then, seeing that it was no
one of whom he need be afraid, Veery came out
from under some ferns to greet Peter. He was
[234 ]

Voices of the Dusk

smaller than Melody the Wood Thrush, being
about one-fourth smaller than Welcome Robin.
He wore a brown coat but it was not as bright as
that of his cousin, Melody. His breast was some-
what faintly spotted with brown, and below he
was white. His sides were grayish-white and not
spotted like the sides of Melody.

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

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

"They do," declared Peter most emphatically.
"I can't imagine how anybody could fail to like
to hear you. I came 'way over here just to sit a
while and listen. Won't you sing some more for
me, Veery ?"

"I certainly will, Peter," replied Veery. "I
wouldn't feel that I was going to bed right if I
didn't sing until dark. There is no part of the
day I love better than the evening, and the only
way I can express my happiness and my love of
the Green Forest and the joy of just being back
here at home is by singing."

Veery slipped out of sight, and almost at once his

bell-like notes began to ring through the Green

Forest. Peter sat right where he was, content to

just listen and feel within himself the joy of being

\ [ 235 ]

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alive and happy in the beautiful spring season
which Veery was expressing so wonderfully. The
Black Shadows grew blacker. One by one the little
stars came out and twinkled down through the
tree tops. Finally from deep in the Green Forest
sounded the hunting call of Hooty the Owl.
Veery 's song stopped. "Good night, Peter," he
called softly.

"Good night, Veery," replied Peter and hopped
back towards the Green Meadows for a feast of
sweet clover.

CHAPTER XXXII

PETER SAVES A FRIEND AND LEARNS SOMETHING

PETER RABBIT sat in a thicket of young trees
on the edge of the Green Forest. It was warm and
Peter was feeling lazy. He had nothing in particu-
lar to do, and as he knew of no cooler place he had
squatted there to doze a bit and dream a bit. So
far as he knew, Peter was all alone. He hadn't
seen anybody when he entered that little thicket,
and though he had listened he hadn't heard a
sound to indicate that he didn't have that thicket
quite to himself. It was very quiet there, and
though when he first entered he hadn't the least in-
tention in the world of going to sleep, it wasn't
long before he was dozing.

Now Peter is a light sleeper, as all little people
who never know when they may have to run for
their lives must be. By and by he awoke with
a start, and he was very wide awake indeed. Some-
thing had wakened him, though just what it was he
couldn't say. His long ears stood straight up as he
listened with all his might for some little sound
which might mean danger. His wobbly little nose
wobbled very fast indeed as it tested the air for the
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scent of a possible enemy. Very alert was Peter
as he waited.

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

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

His head, throat, back and breast were black.
Beneath he was white. His sides were reddish-
brown. His tail was black and white, and the
longer feathers of his wings were edged with white.
It was Chewink the Towhee, sometimes called
Ground Robin.

Peter chuckled, but it was a noiseless chuckle.
He kept perfectly still, for it was fun to watch some
[ 238 ]

Peter Saves a Friend and Learns Something

one who hadn't the least idea that he was being
watched. It was quite clear that Chewink was
hungry and that under those dry leaves he was
finding a good meal. His feet were made for
scratching and he certainly knew how to use them.
For some time Peter sat there watching. He had
just about made up his mind that he would make
his presence known and have a bit of morning gossip
when, happening to look out beyond the edge of
the little thicket, he saw something red. It was
something alive, for it was moving very slowly and
cautiously towards the place where Chewink was
so busy and forgetful of everything but his break-
fast. Peter knew that there was only one person
with a coat of that color. It was Reddy Fox, and
quite plainly Reddy was hoping to catch Chewink.

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

At the sound of that thump Chewink instantly
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

flew up in a little tree. Then he saw Reddy Fox
and began to scold. As for Reddy, he looked over
towards the bramble-tangle and snarled. "I'll
get you one of these days, Peter Rabbit," said he.
"I'll get you one of these days and pay you up for
cheating me out of a breakfast." Without so
much as a glance at Chewink, Reddy turned and
trotted off, trying his best to look dignified and as if
he had never entertained such a thought as trying
to catch Chewink.

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

Chewink flew down to the ground and Peter crept
out of the bramble-tangle. "It wasn't anything,"
declared Peter. "I saw Reddy and I knew you
didn't, so of course I gave the alarm. You would
have done the same thing for me. Do you know,
Chewink, I've wondered a great deal about you."

"What have you wondered about me?" asked
Chewink.

"I've wondered what family you belong to,"
replied Peter.

Chewink chuckled. "I belong to a big family,"
said he. "I belong to the biggest family among
[240]

Peter Saves a Friend and Learns Something

the birds. It is the Finch and Sparrow family.
There are a lot of us and a good many of us don't
look much alike, but still we belong to the same
family. I suppose you know that Rosebreast the
Grosbeak and Glory the Cardinal are members of
my family."

"I didn't know it," replied Peter, "but if you
say it is so I suppose it must be so. It is easier
to believe than it is to believe that you are related
to the Sparrows."

"Nevertheless I am," retorted Chewink.

"What were you scratching for when I first saw
you ?" asked Peter.

"Oh, worms and bugs that hide under the
leaves," replied Chewink carelessly. "You have
no idea how many of them hide under dead leaves."

"Do you eat anything else ?" asked Peter.

"Berries and wild fruits in season," replied Che-
wink. "I'm very fond of them. They make a
variety in the bill of fare."

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

"I like the ground better," replied Chewink.
"I spend more of my time on the ground than
anywhere else."

"I suppose that means that you nest on the
ground," ventured Peter.

Chewink nodded. "Of course," said he. "Asa
[241]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

matter of fact, I've got a nest in this very thicket.
Mrs. Towhee is on it right now, and I suspect
she's worrying and anxious to know what happened
over here when you warned me about Reddy Fox.
I think I must go over and set her mind at
rest."

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

"What are you fellows talking about?" it de-
manded, and there flitted just in front of Peter a
little bird the size of a Sparrow but lovelier than
any Sparrow of Peter's acquaintance. At first
glance he seemed to be all blue, and such a lovely
bright blue. But as he paused for an instant Peter
saw that his wings and tail were mostly black and
that the lovely blue was brightest on his head and
back. It was Indigo the Bunting.

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

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

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

Peter looked at Indigo closely. "In size and
shape you do," he confessed, "but just the same I
[242]

Peter Saves a Friend and Learns Something }•.

should never in the world have thought of con-
necting you with the Sparrows."

"How about me?" asked another voice, and a
little brown bird flew up beside Indigo, twitching
her tail nervously. She looked very Sparrow-like
indeed, so much so, that if Peter had not seen her
with her handsome mate, for she was Mrs. Indigo,
he certainly would have taken her for a Sparrow.
Only on her wings and tail was there any of the
blue which made Indigo's coat so beautiful, and
this was only a faint tinge.

"I'll have to confess that so far as you are
concerned it isn't hard to think of you as related
to the Sparrows," declared Peter. "Don't you
sometimes wish you were as handsomely dressed
as Indigo ?"

Mrs. Indigo shook her head in a most decided
way. "Never!" she declared. "I have worries
enough raising a family as it is, but if I had a coat
like his I wouldn't have a moment of peace. You
have no idea how I worry about him sometimes.
You ought to be thankful, Peter Rabbit, that you
haven't a coat like his. It attracts altogether
too much attention."

Peter tried to picture himself in a bright blue

coat and laughed right out at the mere thought, and

the others joined with him. Then Indigo flew up

to the top of a tall tree not far away and began to

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sing. It was a lively song and Peter enjc^ed it
thoroughly. Mrs. Indigo took this opportunity
to slip away unobserved, and when Peter looked
around for Chewink, he too had disappeared. He
had gone to tell Mrs. Chewink that he was quite
safe and that she had nothing to worry about.

[244

CHAPTER XXXIII

A ROYAL DRESSER AND A LATE NESTER

JENNY and Mr. Wren were busy. If there were
any busier little folks anywhere Peter Rabbit
couldn't imagine who they could be. You see,
everyone of those seven eggs in the Wren nest
had hatched, and seven mouths are a lot to feed,
especially when every morsel of food must be
hunted for and carried from a distance. There was
little time for gossip now. Just as soon as it was
light enough to see Jenny and Mr. Wren began
feeding those always hungry babies, and they kept
at it with hardly time for an occasional mouthful
themselves, until the Black Shadows came creeping
out from the Purple Hills. Wren babies, like all
other bird babies, grow very fast, and that means
that each one of them must have a great deal of
food every day. Each one of them often ate its
own weight in food in a day and all their food had to
be hunted for and when found carried back and
put into the gaping little mouths. Hardly would
Jenny Wren disappear in the little round doorway
of her home with a caterpillar in her bill than she
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

would hop out again, and Mr. Wren would take her
place with a spider or a fly and then hurry away for
something more.

Peter tried to keep count of the number of times
they came and went but soon gave it up as a bad
job. He began to wonder where all the worms and
bugs and spiders came from, and gradually he came
to have a great deal of respect for eyes sharp enough
to find them so quickly. Needless to say Jenny
was shorter-tempered than ever. She had no time
to gossip and said so most emphatically. So at
last Peter gave up the idea of trying to find out
from her certain things he wanted to know, and
hopped off to look for some one who was less busy.
He had gone but a short distance when his atten-
tion was caught by a song so sweet and so full of
little trills that he first stopped to listen, then
went to look for the singer.

It didn't take long to find him, for he was sitting
on the very tiptop of a fir-tree in Farmer Brown's
yard. Peter didn't dare go over there, for
already it was broad daylight, and he had about
made up his mind that he would have to content
himself with just listening to that sweet singer
when the latter flew over in the Old Orchard and
alighted just over Peter's head. " Hello, Peter!"
he cried.

"Hello, Linnet!" cried Peter. "I was wonder-
[246]

A Royal Dresser and a Late Nester

ing who it could be who was singing like that.
I ought to have known, but you see it's so long
since I've heard you sing that I couldn't just
remember your song. I'm so glad you came over
here for I'm just dying to talk to somebody."

Linnet the Purple Finch, for this is who it was,
laughed right out. "I see you're still the same old
Peter," said he. "I suppose you're just as full of
curiosity as ever and just as full of questions.
Well, here I am, so what shall we talk about ?"

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

Linnet flew down a little nearer to Peter. " Look
me over, Peter," said he with twinkling eyes.
"Look me over and see if you can't tell for your-
self."

Peter stared solemnly at Linnet. He saw a bird

of Sparrow size most of whose body was a rose-red,

brightest on the head, darkest on the back, and

palest on the breast. Underneath he was whitish.

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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

His wings and tail were brownish, the outer parts
of the feathers edged with rose-red. His bill
was short and stout.

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

"That's pretty close, Peter. That's pretty
close," declared Linnet. "We belong to the Finch
branch of the family, which makes the Sparrows
own cousins to us. Folks may get Mrs. Linnet
mixed with some of our Sparrow cousins, but they
never can mistake me. There isn't anybody else
my size with a rose-red coat like mine. If you
can't remember my song, which you ought to,
because there is no other song quite like it, you can
always tell me by the color of my coat. Hello !
Here comes Cousin Chicoree. Did you ever see a
happier fellow than he is ? I'll venture to say that
he has been having such a good time that he hasn't
even yet thought of building a nest, and here half
the people of the Old Orchard have grown families.
I've a nest and eggs myself, but that madcap
[248]

CHICOREE THE GOLDFINCH. There is no mistaking this little yellow and
black bird.

HUMMER THE RUBY-THROATED HUMMINGBIRD. The only
member of his family in the East.

A Royal Dresser and a Late Nester

is just roaming about having a good time. Isn't
that so, Chicoree?"

"Isn't what so?" demanded Chicoree the Gold-
finch, perching very near to where Linnet was
sitting.

"Isn't it true that you haven't even begun think-
ing about a nest?" demanded Linnet. Chicoree
flew down in the grass almost under Peter's nose
and began to pull apart a dandelion which had
gone to seed. He snipped the seeds from the soft
down to which they were attached and didn't say a
word till he was quite through. Then he flew up
in the tree near Linnet, and while he dressed his
feathers, answered Linnet's question.

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

" It's beautiful," cried Peter. "I wouldn't know
you for the same bird I see so often in the late fall
and sometimes in the winter. I don't know of
anybody who makes a more complete change.
That black cap certainly is very smart and be-
coming."

Chicoree cocked his head on one side, the better
to show off that black cap. The rest of his head
and his whole body were bright yellow. His wings
were black with two white bars on each. His tail
also was black, with some white on it. In size he
was a little smaller than Linnet and altogether one
of the smartest appearing of all the little people who
wear feathers. It was a joy just to look at him.
If Peter had known anything about Canaries, which
of course he didn't, because Canaries are always
kept in cages, he would have understood why
Chicoree the Goldfinch is often called the Wild
Canary.

Mrs. Goldfinch now joined her handsome mate
and it was plain to see that she admired him quite
[250]

A Royal Dresser and a Late Nester

as much as did Peter. Her wings and tail were
much like his but were more brownish than black.
She wore no cap at all and her back and head were
a grayish-brown with an olive tinge. Under-
neath she was lighter, with a tinge of yellow.
All together she was a very modestly dressed small
person. As Peter recalled Chicoree's winter suit,
it was very much like that now worn by Mrs. Gold-
finch, save that his wings and tail were as they now
appeared.

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

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

"Very foolish, Peter. Very foolish," laughed
Chicoree. "Isn't my name Goldfinch, and isn't
his name Purple Finch? We belong to the same
family and a mighty fine family it is. Now I
must go over to the Old Pasture to see how the
thistles are coming on."

Away he flew calling, "Chic-o-ree, per-chic-o-ree,
chic-o-ree !" Mrs. Goldfinch followed. As they
flew, they rose and fell in the air in very much the
same way that Yellow Wing the Flicker does.

"I'd know them just by that, even if Chicoree
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

didn't keep calling his own name," thought Peter.
"It's funny how they often stay around all winter
yet are among the last of all the birds to set up
housekeeping. As I once said to Jenny Wren,
birds certainly are funny creatures."

"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut! It's no such thing,
Peter Rabbit. It's no such thing," scolded Jenny
Wren as she flew past Peter on her way to hunt for
another worm for her hungry babies.

[252]

CHAPTER XXXIV

MOURNER THE DOVE AND CUCKOO

A LONG lane leads from Farmer Brown's barn-
yard down to his cornfield on the Green Meadows.
It happened that very early one morning Peter
Rabbit took it into his funny little head to run down
that long lane to see what he might see. Now at a
certain place beside that long lane was a gravelly
bank into which Farmer Brown had dug for gravel
to put on the roadway up near his house. As
Peter was scampering past this place where Farmer
Brown had dug he caught sight of some one very
busy in that gravel pit. Peter stopped short,
then sat up to stare.

It was Mourner the Dove whom Peter saw, an
old friend of whom Peter is very fond. His body
was a little bigger than that of Welcome Robin,
but his long slender neck, and longer tail and wings
made him appear considerably larger. In shape
he reminded Peter at once of the Pigeons up at
Farmer Brown's. His back was grayish-brown,
varying to bluish-gray. The crown and upper
parts of his head were bluish -gray. His breast
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was reddish-buff, shading down into a soft buff.
His bill was black and his feet red. The two
middle feathers of his tail were longest and of the
color of his back. The other feathers were slaty-
gray with little black bands and tipped with white.
On his wings were a few scattered black spots.
Just under each ear was a black spot. But it was
the sides of his slender neck which were the most
beautiful part of Mourner. When untouched by
the Jolly Little Sunbeams the neck feathers ap-
peared to be in color very like his breast, but the
moment they were touched by the Jolly Little
Sunbeams they seemed to be of many colors
constantly changing, which, as you know, is called
iridescence. Altogether Mourner was lovely in a
quiet way.

But it was not his appearance which made Pete
stare ; it was what he was doing. He was walking
about and every now and then picking up some-
thing quite as if he were getting his breakfast in
that gravel pit, and Peter couldn't imagine any-
thing good to eat down there. He knew that there
were not even worms there. Besides, Mourner is
not fond of worms ; he lives almost altogether on
seeds and grains of many kinds. So Peter was
puzzled. But as you know he isn't the kind to
puzzle long over anything when he can use his
tongue.

[254]

Mourner the Dove and Cuckoo

"Hello, Mourner !" he cried. "What under the
sun are you doing in there ? Are you getting your
breakfast?"

"Hardly, Peter; hardly," cooed Mourner in the
softest of voices. " I've had my breakfast and now
I'm picking up a little gravel for my digestion."
He picked up a tiny pebble and swallowed it.

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

Mourner laughed. It was the softest of little
cooing laughs, very pleasant to hear. "I see that
as usual you are judging others by yourself," said
he. "You ought to know by this time that you
can do nothing more foolish. I haven't the least
doubt that a breakfast of gravel would give you
the worst kind of a stomach-ache. But you are
you and I am I, and there is all the difference in the
world. You know I eat grain and hard seeds.
Not having any teeth I have to swallow them
whole. One part of my stomach is called a gizzard
and its duty is to grind and crush my food so that
it may be digested. Tiny pebbles and gravel
help grind the food and so aid digestion. I think
I've got enough now for this morning, and it is time
for a dust bath. There is a dusty spot over in the
lane where I take a dust bath every day."
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"If you don't mind," said Peter, "I'll go with
you."

Mourner said he didn't mind, so Peter followed
him over to the dusty place in the long lane.
There Mourner was joined by Mrs. Dove, who was
dressed very much like him save that she did not
have so beautiful a neck. While they thoroughly
dusted themselves they chatted with Peter.

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

"No," replied Mourner. "Mrs. Dove builds in
a tree, but usually not very far above the ground.
Now if you'll excuse us we must get back home.
Mrs. Dove has two eggs to sit on and while she is
sitting I like to be close at hand to keep her
company and make love to her."

The Doves shook the loose dust from their
feathers and flew away. Peter watched to see
where they went, but lost sight of them behind
some trees, so decided to run up to the Old Orchard.
There he found Jenny and Mr. Wren as busy as ever
feeding that growing family of theirs. Jenny
wouldn't stop an instant to gossip. Peter was so
brimful of what he had found out about Mr. and
Mrs. Dove that he just had to tell some one. He
heard Kitty the Catbird meowing among the
bushes along the old stone wall, so hurried over to
[256]

MOURNER THE DOVE. You may surprise him taking a dust bath m the
road.

Mourner the Dove and Cuckoo

look for him. As soon as he found him Peter began
to tell what he had learned about Mourner the
Dove.

"That's no news, Peter," interrupted Kitty.
"I know all about Mourner and his wife. They
are very nice people, though I must say Mrs. Dove
is one of the poorest housekeepers I know of. I
take it you never have seen her nest."

Peter shook his head. "No," said he, "I
haven't. What is it like ?"

Kitty the Catbird laughed. "It's about the
poorest apology for a nest I know of," said he.
"It is made of little sticks and mighty few of them.
How they hold together is more than I can under-
stand. I guess it is a good thing that Mrs. Dove
doesn't lay more than two eggs, and it's a wonder
to me that those two stay in the nest. Listen !
There's Mourner's voice now. For one who is
so happy he certainly does have the mournfullest
sounding voice. To hear him you'd think he was
sorrowful instead of happy. It always makes me
feel sad to hear him."

"That's true," replied Peter, "but I like to hear
him just the same. Hello ! Who's that ?"

From one of the trees in the Old Orchard sounded
along, clear, " Kow-kow-kow-kow-kow-kow !" It
was quite unlike any voice Peter had heard that
spring.

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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

"That's Cuckoo," said Kitty. "Do you mean
to say you don't know Cuckoo ?"

"Of course I know him," retorted Peter. "I
had forgotten the sound of his voice, that's all."
Tell me, Kitty, is it true that Mrs. Cuckoo is no
better than Sally Sly the Cowbird and goes about
laying her eggs in the nests of other birds? I've
heard that said of her."

"There isn't a word of truth in it," declared
Kitty emphatically. "She builds a nest, such as
it is, which isn't much, and she looks after her own
children. The Cuckoos have been given a bad
name because of some good-for-nothing cousins
of theirs who live across the ocean where Bully the
English Sparrow belongs, and who, if all reports
are true, really are no better than Sally Sly the
Cowbird. It's funny how a bad name sticks. The
Cuckoos have been accused of stealing the eggs of
us other birds, but I've never known them to do it
and I've lived neighbor to them for a long time.
I guess they get their bad name because of their
habit of slipping about silently and keeping out of
sight as much as possible, as if they were guilty
of doing something wrong and trying to keep from
being seen. As a matter of fact, they are mighty
useful birds. Farmer Brown ought to be tickled
to death that Mr. and Mrs. Cuckoo have come
back to the Old Orchard this year."
[258]

Mourner the Dove and Cuckoo

"Why? "demanded Peter.

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

Peter replied that he did and that he had seen
a great many nests just like it, and had noticed how
the caterpillars ate all the leaves near them.

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

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

Cuckoo made no sound but began to pick off the
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hairy caterpillars and swallow them. When he
had eaten all those in sight he made holes in the
silken web of the nest and picked out the cater-
pillars that were inside. Finally, having eaten his
fill, he flew off as silently as he had come and
disappeared among the bushes farther along the
old stone wall. A moment later they heard his
voice, "Kow-kow-kow-kow-kow-kow-kow-kow !"

"I suppose some folks would think that it is
going to rain," remarked Kitty the Catbird.
"They have the silly notion that Cuckoo only
calls just before rain, and so they call him the
Rain Crow. But that isn't so at all. Well, Peter,
I guess I've gossiped enough for one morning.
I must go see how Mrs. Catbird is getting along."

Kitty disappeared and Peter, having no one to
talk to, decided that the best thing he could do
would be to go home to the dear Old Briar-patch.

[260]

CHAPTER XXXV

rA BUTCHER AND A HUMMER

NOT far from the Old Orchard grew a thorn-tree
which Peter Rabbit often passed. He never had
paid particular attention to it. One morning
he stopped to rest under it. Happening to look
up, he saw a most astonishing thing. Fastened on
the sharp thorns of one of the branches were three
big grasshoppers, a big moth, two big caterpillars,
a lizard, a small mouse and a young English
Sparrow. Do you wonder that Peter thought he
must be dreaming? He couldn't imagine how
those creatures could have become fastened on
those long sharp thorns. Somehow it gave him an
uncomfortable feeling and he hurried on to the Old
Orchard, bubbling over with desire to tell some one
of the strange and dreadful thing he had seen in the
thorn-tree.

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

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

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

"It's simple enough," replied Skimmer. "Peter
just happened to find the storehouse of Butcher
the Loggerhead Shrike. It isn't a very pleasant
sight, I must admit, but one must give Butcher
credit for being smart enough to lay up a store of
food when it is plentiful."

"And who is Butcher the Shrike?" demanded
Peter. "He's a new one to me."

"He's new to this location," replied Skimmer,
" and you probably haven't noticed him. I've seen
him in the South often. There he is now, on the
tiptop of that tree over yonder."

Peter and Johnny looked eagerly. They saw a
bird who at first glance appeared not unlike Mocker
the Mockingbird. He was dressed wholly in black,
gray and white. When he turned his head they
noticed a black stripe across the side of his face
and that the tip of his bill was hooked. These
[262]

A Butcher and a Hummer

were enough to make them forget that otherwise
he was like Mocker. While they were watching
him he flew down into the grass and picked up a
grasshopper. Then he flew with a steady, even
flight, only a little above the ground, for some
distance, suddenly shooting up and returning to
the perch where they had first seen him. There
he ate the grasshopper and resumed his watch
for something else to catch.

"He certainly has wonderful eyes," said Skim-
mer admiringly. "He must have seen that grass-
hopper way over there in the grass before he started
after it, for he flew straight there. He doesn't
waste time and energy hunting aimlessly. He sits
on a high perch and watches until he sees something
he wants. Many times I've seen him sitting on
top of a telegraph pole. I understand that Bully
the English Sparrow has become terribly nervous
since the arrival of Butcher. He is particularly
fond of English Sparrows. I presume it was one
of Bully's children you saw in the thorn-tree,
Peter. Eor my part I hope he'll frighten Bully in-
to leaving the Old Orchard. It would be a good
thing for the rest of us."

"But I don't understand yet why he fastens
his victims on those long thorns," said Peter.

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

"Does he kill many birds ?" asked Peter.

"Not many," replied Skimmer, "and most of
those he does kill are English Sparrows. The rest
of us have learned to keep out of his way. He
feeds mostly on insects, worms and caterpillars,
but he is very fond of mice and he catches a good
many. He is a good deal like Killy the Sparrow
Hawk in this respect. He has a cousin, the Great
Northern Shrike, who sometimes conies down in the
winter, and is very much like him. Hello ! Now
what's happened ?"

A great commotion had broken out not far away
in the Old Orchard. Instantly Skimmer flew over
to see what it was all about and Peter followed.
He got there just in time to see Chatterer the
Red Squirrel dodging around the trunk of a tree,
[2641

BUTCHER THE NORTHERN SHRIKE. His cousin, the Loggerhead
Shrike looks much like him.

SNIPPER THE CROSSBILL. No other bird has the tips of his bill crossed.

A Butcher and a Hummer

first on one side, then on the other, to avoid the
sharp bills of the angry feathered folk who had
discovered him trying to rob a nest of its young.

Peter chuckled. " Chatterer is getting just what
is due him, I guess," he muttered. "It reminds
me of the time I got into a Yellow Jacket's nest.
My, but those birds are mad !"

Chatterer continued to dodge from side to side
of the tree while the birds darted down at him, all
screaming at the top of their voices. Finally
Chatterer saw his chance to run for the old stone
wall. Only one bird was quick enough to catch up
with him and that one was such a tiny fellow that
he seemed hardly bigger than a big insect. It was
Hummer the Hummingbird. He followed Chat-
terer clear to the old stone wall. A moment later
Peter heard a humming noise just over his head
and looked up to see Hummer himself alight on a
twig, where he squeaked excitedly for a few
minutes, for his voice is nothing but a little squeak.

Often Peter had seen Hummer darting about
from flower to flower and holding himself still in
mid-air in front of each as he thrust his long bill
into the heart of the blossom to get the tiny insects
there and the sweet juices he is so fond of. But
this was the first time Peter had ever seen him sit-
ting still. He was such a mite of a thing that it was
hard to realize that he was a bird. His back was
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a bright, shining green. His wings and tail were
brownish with a purplish tinge. Underneath he
was whitish. But it was his throat on which
Peter fixed his eyes. It was a wonderful ruby-red
that glistened and shone in the sun like a jewel.

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

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

" I know all about that," retorted Jenny. " You
don't suppose I hunt these trees over for food with-
out knowing where my neighbors are living, do
you? I'd have you to understand, Peter, that
that is the daintiest nest in the Old Orchard. It is
[2661

A Butcher and a Hummer

made wholly of plant down and covered on the out-
side with bits of that gray moss-like stuff that grows
on the bark of the trees and is called lichens. That
is what makes that nest look like nothing more
than a knot on the branch. Chatterer made a big
mistake when he visited this tree. Hummer may
be a tiny fellow but he isn't afraid of anybody
under the sun. That bill of his is so sharp and he is
so quick that few folks ever bother him more than
once. Why, there isn't a single member of the
Hawk family that Hummer won't attack. There
isn't a cowardly feather on him."

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

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

Peter looked perplexed. " What do you mean by
pumping food down their throats ?" he demanded.
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

"Just what I say," retorted Jenny Wren. "Mrs.
Hummer sticks her bill right down their throats and
then pumps up the food she has already swallowed.
I guess it is a good thing that the babies have short
bills."

"Do they?" asked Peter, opening his eyes very
wide with surprise.

"Yes," replied Jenny. "When they hatch out
they have short bills, but it doesn't take them a
great while to grow long."

"How many babies does Mrs. Hummer usually
have?" asked Peter.

"Just two," replied Jenny. "Just two. That's
all that nest will hold. But goodness gracious,
Peter, I can't stop gossiping here any longer. You
have no idea what a care seven babies are."

With a jerk of her tail off flew Jenny Wren, and
Peter hurried back to tell Johnny Chuck all he had
found out about Hummer the Hummingbird.

[206]

CHAPTER XXXVI

A STRANGER AND A DANDY

BUTCHER THE SHRIKE was not the only newcomer
in the Old Orchard. There was another stranger
who, Peter Rabbit soon discovered, was looked
on with some suspicion by all the other birds of the
Old Orchard. The first time Peter saw him, he was
walking about on the ground some distance off.
He didn't hop but walked, and at that distance
he looked all black. The way he carried himself
and his movements as he walked made Peter think
of Creaker the Grackle. In fact, Peter mistook
him for Creaker. That was because he didn't
really look at him. If he had he would have seen at
once that the stranger was smaller than Creaker.

Presently the stranger flew up in a tree and Peter
saw that his tail was little more than half as long as
that of Creaker. At once it came over Peter that
this was a stranger to him, and of course his
curiosity was aroused. He didn't have any doubt
whatever that this was a member of the Blackbird
family, but which one it could be he hadn't the
least idea. "Jenny Wren will know," thought
Peter and scampered off to hunt her up.
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"Who is that new member of the Blackbird
family who has come to live in the Old Orchard ?"
Peter asked as soon as he found Jenny Wren.

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

"There is too," contradicted Peter. "I saw him
with my own eyes. I can see him now. He's
sitting in that tree over yonder this very minute.
He's all black, so of course he must be a member of
the Blackbird family."

"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!" scolded Jenny Wren.
"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut ! That fellow isn't a mem-
ber of the Blackbird family at all, and what's
more, he isn't black. Go over there and take a
good look at him ; then come back and tell me if
you still think he is black."

Jenny turned her back on Peter and went to
hunting worms. There being nothing else to do,
Peter hopped over where he could get a good look
at the stranger. The sun was shining full on him,
and he wasn't black at all. Jenny Wren was right.
For the most part he was very dark green. At
least, that is what Peter thought at first glance.
Then, as the stranger moved, he seemed to be a
rich purple in places. In short he changed color
as he turned. His feathers were like those of
Creaker the Grackle — iridescent. All over he
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A Stranger and a Dandy

was speckled with tiny light spots. Underneath
he was dark brownish-gray. His wings and tail
were of the same color, with little touches of buff.
His rather large bill was yellow.

Peter hurried back to Jenny Wren and it must be
confessed he looked sheepish. "You were right,
Jenny Wren ; he isn't black at all," confessed Peter.

"Of course I was right. I usually am," retorted
Jenny. "He isn't black, he isn't even related to
the Blackbird family, and he hasn't any busi-
ness in the Old Orchard. In fact, if you ask me, he
hasn't any business in this country anyway. He's
a foreigner. That's what he is — a foreigner."

"But you haven't told me who he is," protested
Peter.

" He is Speckles the Starling, and he isn't really
an American at all," replied Jenny. "He comes
from across the ocean the same as Bully the English
Sparrow. Thank goodness he hasn't such a quar-
relsome disposition as Bully. Just the same, the
rest of us would be better satisfied if he were not
here. He has taken possession of one of the old
homes of Yellow Wing the Flicker, and that means
one less house for birds who really belong here. If
his family increases at the rate Bully's family does,
I'm afraid some of us will soon be crowded out of
the Old Orchard. Did you notice that yellow bill
of his?"

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Peter nodded. "I certainly did," said he. "I
couldn't very well help noticing it."
; "Well, there's a funny thing about that bill,"
replied Jenny. " In winter it turns almost black.
Most of us wear a different colored suit in winter,
but our bills remain the same."

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

"I guess he must do some good," admitted Jenny
Wren rather grudgingly. "I've seen him picking
up worms and grubs, but he likes grain, and I have
a suspicion that if his family becomes very numer-
ous, and I suspect it will, they will eat more of
Farmer Brown's grain than they will pay for by the
worms and bugs they destroy. Hello! There's
Dandy the Waxwing and his friends."

A flock of modestly dressed yet rather distin-
guished looking feathered folks had alighted in a
cherry-tree and promptly began to help themselves
to Farmer Brown's cherries. They were about the
size of Winsome Bluebird, but did not look in the
least like him, for they were dressed almost wholly
in beautiful, rich, soft grayish-brown. Across the
end of each tail was a yellow band. On each, the
forehead, chin and a line through each eye was
[272]

DANDY THE CEDAR WAXWING, often called CHERRY BIRD.
You can tell him from his cousin the Bohemian Waxwing by his smaller size.

A Stranger and a Dandy

velvety-black. Each wore a very stylish pointed
cap, and on the wings of most of them were little
spots of red which looked like sealing-wax, and
from which they get the name of Waxwings.
They were slim and trim and quite dandified, and
in a quiet way were really beautiful.

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

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

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

"How's that ?" demanded Peter.

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

There were five of the Waxwings and they were
now seated side by side on a branch of the cherry-
tree. One of them had a plump cherry which he
passed to the next one. This one passed it on to
the next, and so it went to the end of the row and
halfway back before it was finally eaten. Peter
laughed right out. "Never in my life have I seen
such politeness," said he.

"Huh!" exclaimed Jenny Wren. "I don't
believe it was politeness at all. I guess if you got at
the truth of the matter you would find that each
one was stuffed so full that he thought he didn't
have room for that cherry and so passed it along."

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

It was the very middle of the summer before

Peter Rabbit again saw Dandy the Waxwing.

Quite by chance he discovered Dandy sitting on

the tiptop of an evergreen tree, as if on guard. He

[274]

A Stranger and a Dandy

was on guard, for in that tree was his nest, though
Peter didn't know it at the time. In fact, it was
so late in the summer that most of Peter's friends
were through nesting and he had quite lost interest
in nests. Presently Dandy flew down to a lower
branch and there he was joined by Mrs. Waxwing.
Then Peter was treated to one of the prettiest sights
he ever had seen. They rubbed their bills together
as if kissing. They smoothed each other's feathers
and altogether were a perfect picture of two little
lovebirds. Peter couldn't think of another couple
who appeared quite so gentle and loving.

Late in the fall Peter saw Mr. and Mrs. Waxwing
and their family together. They were in a cedar
tree and were picking off and eating the cedar-
berries as busily as the five Waxwings had picked
Farmer Brown's cherries in the early summer.
Peter didn't know it but because of their fondness
for cedar berries the Waxwings were often called
Cedarbirds or Cedar Waxwings.

275

CHAPTER XXXVII

FAREWELLS AND WELCOMES

ALL through the long summer Peter Rabbit
watched his feathered friends and learned things
in regard to their ways he never had suspected.
As he saw them keeping the trees of the Old
Orchard free of insect pests working in Farmer
Brown's garden, and picking up the countless seeds
of weeds everywhere, he began to understand some-
thing of the wonderful part these feathered folks
have in keeping the Great World beautiful and
worth while living in.

He had many a hearty laugh as he watched the
bird babies learn to fly and to find their own food.
All summer long they were going to school all about
him, learning how to watch out for danger, to use
their eyes and ears, and all the things a bird must
know who would live to grow up.

As autumn drew near Peter discovered that his
friends were gathering in flocks, roaming here and
there. It was one of the first signs that summer
was nearly over, and it gave him just a little feeling
of sadness. He heard few songs now, for the sing-
ing season was over. Also he discovered that many
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Farewells and Welcomes

of the most beautifully dressed of his feathered
friends had changed their finery for sober traveling
suits in preparation for the long journey to the far
South where they would spend the winter. In fact
he actually failed to recognize some of them at first.

September came, and as the days grew shorter,
some of Peter's friends bade him good-by. They
were starting on the long journey, planning to take
it in easy stages for the most part. Each day saw
some slip away. As Peter thought of the dangers
of the long trip before them he wondered if he
would ever see them again. But some there were
who lingered even after Jack Frost's first visit.
Welcome and Mrs. Robin, Winsome and Mrs.
Bluebird, Little Friend the Song Sparrow and his
wife were among these. By and by even they were
forced to leave.

Sad indeed and lonely would these days have
been for Peter had it not been that with the de-
parture of the friends he had spent so many happy
hours with came the arrival of certain other friends
from the Far North where they had made their
summer homes. Some of these stopped for a few
days in passing. Others came to stay, and Peter
was kept busy looking for and welcoming them.
A few old friends there were who would stay the
year through. Sammy Jay was one. Downy and
Hairy the Woodpeckers were others. And one
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

there was whom Peter loves dearly. It was
Tommy Tit the Chickadee.

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

"Don't you dread the winter, Tommy Tit?"
asked Peter one day, as he watched Tommy cling-
ing head down to a twig as he picked some tiny
insect eggs from the under side.

"Not a bit," replied Tommy. "I like winter.
I like cold weather. It makes a fellow feel good
from the tips of his claws to the tip of his bill.
I'm thankful I don't have to take that long journey
most of the birds have to. I discovered a secret a
long time ago, Peter ; shall I tell it to you ?"

"Please, Tommy," cried Peter. "You know
how I love secrets."

[2781

Farewells and Welcomes

"Well," replied Tommy Tit, "this is it: If a
fellow keeps his stomach filled he will keep his toes
warm."

Peter looked a little puzzled. "I — I — don't
just see what your stomach has to do with your
toes," said he.

Tommy Tit chuckled. It was a lovely throaty
little chuckle. "Dee, dee, dee !" said he. "What
I mean is, if a fellow has plenty to eat he will keep
the cold out, and I've found that if a fellow uses his
eyes and isn't afraid of a little work, he can find
plenty to eat. At least I can. The only time I
ever get really worried is when the trees are covered
with ice. If it were not that Farmer Brown's boy
is thoughtful enough to hang a piece of suet in a
tree for me, I should dread those ice storms more
than I do. As I said before, plenty of food keeps
a fellow warm."

"I thought it was your coat of feathers that kept
you warm," said Peter.

"Oh, the feathers help," replied Tommy Tit.
"Food makes heat and a warm coat keeps the heat
in the body. But the heat has got to be there
first, or the feathers will do no good. It's just the
same way with your own self, Peter. You know
you are never really warm in winter unless you
have plenty to eat."

"That's so," replied Peter thoughtfully. "I
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never happened to think of it before. Just the
same, I don't see how you find food enough on the
trees when they are all bare in winter."

"Dee, dee, Chickadee!
Leave that matter just to me,"

chuckled Tommy Tit. "You ought to know by
this time, Peter Rabbit, that a lot of different kinds
of bugs lay eggs on the twigs and trunks of trees.
Those eggs would stay there all winter and in the
spring hatch out into lice and worms if it were not
for me. Why, sometimes in a single day I find and
eat almost five hundred eggs of those little green
plant lice that do so much damage in the spring
and summer. Then there are little worms that
bore in just under the bark, and there are other
creatures who sleep the winter away in little cracks
in the bark. Oh, there is plenty for me to do in the
winter. I am one of the policemen of the trees.
Downy and Hairy the Woodpeckers, Seep-Seep the
Brown Creeper and Yank- Yank the Nuthatch are
others. If we didn't stay right here on the job all
winter, I don't know what would become of the Old
Orchard."

Tommy Tit hung head downward from a twig

while he picked some tiny insect eggs from the

under side of it. It didn't seem to make the least

difference to Tommy whether he was right side up

[280]

TOMMY TIT THE CHICKADEE. Tommy will intioduce himself.

YANK-YANK THE WHITE-BREASTED NUTHATCH. A winter

visitor who goes down a tree head first.

Farewells and Welcomes

or upside down. He was a little animated bunch
of black and white feathers, not much bigger than
Jenny Wren. The top of his head, back of his
neck and coat were shining black. The sides of
his head and neck were white. His back was ashy.
His sides were a soft cream-buff, and his wing and
tail feathers were edged with white. His tiny bill
was black, and his little black eyes snapped and
twinkled in a way good to see. Not one among
all Peter's friends is such a merry-hearted little
fellow as Tommy Tit the Chickadee. Merriment
and happiness bubble out of him all the time, no
matter what the weather is. He is the friend of
everyone and seems to feel that everyone is his
friend.

"I've noticed," said Peter, "that birds who do
not sing at any other time of year sing in the
spring. Do you have a spring song, Tommy
Tit?"

"Well, I don't know as you would call it a song,
Peter," chuckled Tommy. "No, I hardly think
you would call it a song. But I have a little
love call then which goes like this : Phoe-be !
Phoe-be !"

It was the softest, sweetest little whistle, and

Tommy had rightly called it a love call. "Why,

I've often heard that in the spring and didn't

know it was your voice at all," cried Peter. "You

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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

say Phoebe plainer than does the bird who is named
Phoebe, and it is ever so much softer and sweeter.
I guess that is because you whistle it."

"I guess you guess right," replied Tommy Tit.
"Now I can't stop to talk any longer. These
trees need my attention. I want Farmer Brown's
boy to feel that I have earned that suet I am sure
he will put out for me as soon as the snow and ice
come. I'm not the least bit afraid of Farmer
Brown's boy. I had just as soon take food from
his hand as from anywhere else. He knows I like
chopped-up nut-meats, and last winter I used to
feed from his hand every day."

Peter's eyes opened very wide with surprise.
"Do you mean to say," said he, "that you and
Farmer Brown's boy are such friends that you dare
sit on his hand?"

Tommy Tit nodded his little black-capped head
vigorously. "Certainly," said he. "Why not?
What's the good of having friends if you can't trust
them ? The more you trust them the better friends
they'll be."

?' "Just the same, I don't see how you dare do it,"
Peter replied. " I know Farmer Brown's boy is the
friend of all the little people, and I'm not much
afraid of him myself, but just the same I wouldn't
dare go near enough for him to touch me."

"Pooh!" retorted Tommy Tit. "That's no

Farewells and Welcomes

way of showing true friendship. You've no idea,
Peter, what a comfortable feeling it is to know that
you can trust a friend, and I feel that Farmer
Brown's boy is one of the best friends I've got.
I wish more boys and girls were like him."

[883]

CHAPTER XXXVIII

HONKER AND DIPPY ARRIVE

THE leaves of the trees turned yellow and red
and brown and then began to drop, a few at first,
then more and more every day until all but the
spruce-trees and the pine-trees and the hemlock-
trees and the fir-trees and the cedar-trees were
bare. By this time most of Peter's feathered
friends of the summer had departed, and there were
days when Peter had oh, such a lonely feeling.
The fur of his coat was growing thicker. The
grass of the Green Meadows had turned brown.
All these things were signs which Peter knew well.
He knew that rough Brother North Wind and Jack
Frost were on their way down from the Far North.

Peter had few friends to visit now. Johnny
Chuck had gone to sleep for the winter 'way down
in his little bedroom under ground. Grandfather
Frog had also gone to sleep. So had Old Mr. Toad.
Peter spent a great deal of time in the dear Old
Briar-patch just sitting still and listening. What
he was listening for he didn't know. It just seemed
to him that there was something he ought to hear
[284]

Honker and Dippy Arrive

at this time of year, and so he sat listening and listen-
ing and wondering what he was listening for. Then,
late one afternoon, there came floating down to
him from high up in the sky, faintly at first but
growing louder, a sound unlike any Peter had heard
all the long summer through. The sound was a
voice. Rather it was many voices mingled —
"Honk, honk, honk, k'honk, honk, honk, k'honk !"
Peter gave a little jump.

"That's what I've been listening for !" he cried.
"Honker the Goose and his friends are coming.
Oh, I do hope they will stop where I can pay them
a call."

He hopped out to the edge of the dear Old Briar-
patch that he might see better, and looked up in
the sky. High up, flying in the shape of a letter V,
he saw a flock of great birds flying steadily from
the direction of the Far North. By the sound of
their voices he knew that they had flown far that
day and were tired. One bird was in the lead and
this he knew to be his old friend, Honker. Straight
over his head they passed and as Peter listened to
their voices he felt within him the very spirit of the
Far North, that great, wild, lonely land which he
had never seen but of which he had so often heard.

As Peter watched, Honker suddenly turned and
headed in the direction of the Big River. Then he
began to slant down, his flock following him. And
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

presently they disappeared behind the trees along
the bank of the Great River. Peter gave a happy
little sigh. "They are going to spend the night
there," thought he. "When the moon comes up,
I will run over there, for they will come ashore and
I know just where. Now that they have arrived
I know that winter is not far away. Honker's
voice is as sure a sign of the coming of winter as is
Winsome Bluebird's that spring will soon be here."

Peter could hardly wait for the coming of the
Black Shadows, and just as soon as they had crept
out over the Green Meadows he started for the
Big River. He knew just where to go, because he
knew that Honker and his friends would rest and
spend the night in the same place they had stopped
at the year before. He knew that they would re-
main out in the middle of the Big River until the
Black Shadows had made it quite safe for them
to swim in. He reached the bank of the Big River
just as sweet Mistress Moon was beginning to
throw her silvery light over the Great World.
There was a sandy bar in the Great River at this
point, and Peter squatted on the bank just where
this sandy bar began.

It seemed to Peter that he had sat there half the

night, but really it was only a short time, before

he heard a low signal out in the Black Shadows

which covered the middle of the Big River. It was

[286] ;

Honker and Dippy Arrive

the voice of Honker. Then Peter saw little silvery
lines moving on the water and presently a dozen
great shapes appeared in the moonlight. Honker
and his friends were swimming in. The long neck
of each of those great birds was stretched to its
full height, and Peter knew that each bird was
listening for the slightest suspicious sound. Slowly
they drew near, Honker in the lead. They were
a picture of perfect caution. When they reached
the sandy bar they remained quiet, looking and
listening for some time. Then, sure that all was
safe, Honker gave a low signal and at once a low
gabbling began as the big birds relaxed their
watchfulness and came out on the sandy bar, all
save one. That one was the guard, and he re-
mained with neck erect on watch. Some swam in
among the rushes growing in the water very near to
where Peter was sitting and began to feed. Others
sat on the sandy bar and dressed their feathers.
Honker himself came ashore close to where Peter
was sitting.

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

Honker gave a little start, but instantly recogniz-
ing Peter, came over close to him. As he stood
there in the moonlight he was truly handsome.
His throat and a large patch on each side of his
head were white. The rest of his head and long,
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slim neck were black. His short tail was also black.
His back, wings, breast and sides were a soft gray-
ish-brown. He was white around the base of his
tail and he wore a white collar.

"Hello, Peter," said he. "It is good to have an
old friend greet me. I certainly am glad to be
back safe and sound, for the hunters with terrible
guns have been at almost every one of our resting
places, and it has been hard work to get enough
to eat. It is a relief to find one place where there
are no terrible guns."

"Have you come far ?" asked Peter.

"Very far, Peter; very far," replied Honker.
"And we still have very far to go. I shall be thank-
ful when the journey is over, for on me depends
the safety of all those with me, and it is a great
responsibility."

"Will winter soon be here ?" asked Peter eagerly.

"Rough Brother North Wind and Jack Frost
are right behind us," replied Honker. "You know
we stay in the Far North just as long as we can.
Already the place where we nested is frozen and
covered with snow. For the first part of the
journey we kept only just ahead of the snow and
ice, but as we drew near to where men make their
homes we were forced to make longer journeys
each day, for the places where it is safe to feed and
rest are few and far between. Now we shall hurry
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Honker and Dippy Arrive

on until we reach the place in the far-away South
where we will make our winter home."

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

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

" He may, but I doubt it," replied Honker. " He
and his mate are great people to keep by themselves.
Then, too, they don't have to come ashore for food.
You know Dippy feeds altogether on fish. He
really has an easier time on the long journey than
we do, because he can get his food without running
so much risk of being shot by the terrible hunters.
He practically lives on the water. He's about the
most awkward fellow on land of any one I know."

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

"Because," replied Honker, "Old Mother

Nature has given him very short legs and has

placed them so far back on his body that he can't

keep his balance to walk, and has to use his wingg

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The Burgess Bird Boole for Children

and bill to help him over the ground. On shore he
is about the most helpless thing you can imagine.
But on water he is another fellow altogether.
He's just as much at home under water as on top.
My, how that fellow can dive ! When he sees the
flash of a gun he will get under water before the
shot can reach him. That's where he has the
advantage of us Geese. You know we can't dive.
He could swim clear across this river under water
if he wanted to, and he can go so fast under water
that he can catch a fish. It is because his legs have
been placed so far back that he can swim so fast.
You know his feet are nothing but big paddles.
Another funny thing is that he can sink right down
in the water when he wants to, with nothing but his
head out. I envy him that. It would be a lot
easier for us Geese to escape the dreadful hunters if
we could sink down that way."

"Has he a bill like yours?" asked Peter in-
nocently.

" Of course not," replied Honker. "Didn't I tell
you that he lives on fish ? How do you suppose he
would hold on to his slippery fish if he had a broad
bill like mine ? His bill is stout, straight and sharp
pointed. He is rather a handsome fellow. He is
pretty nearly as big as I am, and his back, wings,
tail and neck are black with bluish or greenish ap-
pearance in the sun. His back and wings are
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Honker and Dippy Arrive

spotted with white, and there are streaks of white
on his throat and the sides of his neck. On his
breast and below he is all white. You certainly
ought to get acquainted with Dippy, Peter, for
there isn't anybody quite like him."

"I'd like to," replied Peter. "But if he never
comes to shore, how can I ? I guess I will have to
be content to know him just by his voice. I
certainly never will forget that. It's about as
crazy sounding as the voice of Old Man Coyote,
and that is saying a great deal."

"There's one thing I forgot to tell you," said
Honker. " Dippy can't fly from the land ; he must
be on the water in order to get up in the air."

"You can, can't you ?" asked Peter.

"Of course I can," replied Honker. "Why, we
Geese get a lot of our food on land. When it is
safe to do so we visit the grain fields and pick up
the grain that has been shaken out during harvest.
Of course we couldn't do that if we couldn't fly
from the land. We can rise from either land or
water equally well. Now if you'll excuse me,
Peter, I'll take a nap. My, but I'm tired ! And
I've got a long journey to-morrow."

So Peter politely bade Honker and his relatives
good-night and left them in peace on the sandy bar
in the Big River.

[291]

CHAPTER XXXIX

PETER DISCOVERS TWO OLD FRIENDS

ROUGH Brother North Wind and Jack Frost
were not far behind Honker the Goose. In a night
Peter Rabbit's world was transformed. It had
become a new world, a world of pure white. The
last laggard among Peter's feathered friends who
spend the winter in the far-away South had hurried
away. Still Peter was not lonely. Tommy Tit's
cheery voice greeted Peter the very first thing that
morning after the storm. Tommy seemed to be in
just as good spirits as ever he had been in summer.

Now Peter rather likes the snow. He likes to
run about in it, and so he followed Tommy Tit up
to the Old Orchard. He felt sure that he would
find company there besides Tommy Tit, and he was
not disappointed. Downy and Hairy the Wood-
peckers were getting their breakfast from a piece
of suet Farmer Brown's boy had thoughtfully
fastened in one of the apple-trees for them.
Sammy Jay was there also, and his blue coat never
had looked better than it did against the pure white
of the snow.

[292]

Peter Discovers Two Old Friends

These were the only ones Peter really had ex-
pected to find in the Old Orchard, and so you can
guess how pleased he was as he hopped over the old
stone wall to hear the voice of one whom he had
almost forgotten. It was the voice of Yank- Yank
the Nuthatch, and while it was far from being
sweet there was in it something of good cheer and
contentment. At once Peter hurried in the direc-
tion from which it came.

On the trunk of an apple-tree he caught sight of a
gray and black and white bird about the size of
Downy the Woodpecker. The top of his head and
upper part of his back were shining black. The
rest of his back was bluish-gray. The sides of his
head and his breast were white. The outer feath-
ers of his tail were black with white patches near
their tips.

But Peter didn't need to see how Yank- Yank was
dressed in order to recognize him. Peter would
have known him if he had been so far away that
the colors of his coat did not show at all. You see,
Yank-Yank was doing a most surprising thing,
something no other bird can do. He was walking
head first down the trunk of that tree, picking tiny
eggs of insects from the bark and seemingly quite as
much at home and quite as unconcerned in that
queer position as if he were right side up.

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

"Welcome home, Yank- Yank!" cried Peter,
hurrying up quite out of breath.

Yank- Yank turned around so that he was once
more head down, and his eyes twinkled as he looked
down at Peter. "You're mistaken, Peter," said
he. "This isn't home. I've simply come down
here for the winter. You know home is where you
raise your children, and my home is in the Great
Woods farther north. There is too much ice and
snow up there, so I have come down here to spend
the winter."

"Well, anyway, it's a kind of home; it's your
winter home," protested Peter, "and I certainly
am glad to see you back. The Old Orchard
wouldn't be quite the same without you. Did you
have a pleasant summer? And if you please,
Yank-Yank, tell me where you built your home and
what it was like."

"Yes, Mr. Curiosity, I had a very pleasant sum-
mer," replied Yank-Yank. "Mrs. Yank-Yank
and I raised a family of six and that is doing a lot
better than some folks I know, if I do say it. As
to our nest, it was made of leaves and feathers and
it was in a hole in a certain old stump that not a
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Peter Discovers Two Old Friends

soul knows of but Mrs. Yank- Yank and myself.
Now is there anything else you want to know ?"

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

Yank- Yank chuckled happily. "I discovered a
long time ago, Peter," said he, "that the people
who get on best in this world are those who make
the most of what they have and waste no time
wishing they could have what other people have.
I suppose you have noticed that all the Woodpecker
family have stiff tail feathers and use them to brace
themselves when they are climbing a tree. They
have become so dependent on them that they don't
dare move about on the trunk of a tree without
using them. If they want to come down a tree
they have to back down.

"Now Old Mother Nature didn't give me stiff
tail feathers, but she gave me a very good pair of
feet with three toes in front and one behind and
when I was a very little fellow I learned to make
the most of those feet. Each toe has a sharp claw.
When I go up a tree the three front claws on
each foot hook into the bark. When I come down
a tree I simply twist one foot around so that I can
use the claws of this foot to keep me from falling.
It is just as easy for me to go down a tree as it is to
f £85]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

go up, and I can go right around the trunk just as
easily and comfortably." Suiting action to the
word, Yank- Yank ran around the trunk of the
apple-tree just above Peter's head. When he
reappeared Peter had another question ready.

"Do you live altogether on grubs and worms
and insects and their eggs ?" he asked.

"I should say not!" exclaimed Yank- Yank.
"I like acorns and beechnuts and certain kinds of
seeds."

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

Yank- Yank laughed right out. "Sometime
when I see you over in the Green Forest I'll show
you," said he. " When I find a fat beechnut I take
it to a little crack in a tree that will just hold it ;
then with this stout bill of mine I crack the shell.
It really is quite easy when you know how. Crack-
ing a nut open that way is sometimes called hatch-
ing, and that is how I come by the name of Nut-
hatch. Hello ! There's Seep-Seep. I haven't seen
him since we were together up North. His home
was not far from mine."

As Yank- Yank spoke, a little brown bird alighted

at the very foot of the next tree. He was just a

trifle bigger than Jenny Wren but not at all like

Jenny, for while Jenny's tail usually is cocked up

[2961

Peter Discovers Two Old Friends

in the sauciest way, Seep-Seep's tail is never cocked
up at all. In fact, it bends down, for Seep-Seep
uses his tail just as the members of the Woodpecker
family use theirs. He was dressed in grayish-brown
above and grayish-white beneath. Across each
wing was a little band of buffy-white, and his bill
was curved just a little.

Seep-Seep didn't stop an instant but started up
the trunk of that tree, going round and round it as
he climbed, and picking out things to eat from
under the bark. His way of climbing that tree was
very like creeping, and Peter thought to himself
that Seep-Seep was well named the Brown Creeper.
He knew it was quite useless to try to get Seep-Seep
to talk. He knew that Seep-Seep wouldn't waste
any time that way.

Round and round up the trunk of the tree he
went, and when he reached the top at once flew
down to the bottom of the next tree and without a
pause started up that. He wasted no time ex-
ploring the branches, but stuck to the trunk.
Once in a while he would cry in a thin little voice,
"Seep! Seep!" but never paused to rest or look
around. If he had felt that on him alone depended
the job of getting all the insect eggs and grubs on
those trees he could not have been more industrious.

"Does he build his nest in a hole in a tree?"
asked Peter of Yank-Yank.
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

Yank- Yank shook his head. "No," he replied.
"He hunts for a tree or stub with a piece of loose
bark hanging to it. In behind this he tucks his
nest made of twigs, strips of bark and moss. He's
a funny little fellow and I don't know of any one in
all the great world who more strictly attends to
his own business than does Seep-Seep the Brown
Creeper. By the way, Peter, have you seen any-
thing of Dotty the Tree Sparrow ?"

"Not yet," replied Peter, "but I think he must
be here. I'm glad you reminded me of him. I'll
go look for him."

[298]

CHAPTER XL>

SOME MERRY SEED-EATERS

HAVING been reminded of Dotty the Tree Spar-
row, Peter Rabbit became possessed of a great
desire to find this little friend of the cold months
and learn how he had fared through the summer.
He was at loss just where to look for Dotty until he
remembered a certain weedy field along the edge
of which the bushes had been left growing. "Per-
haps I'll find him there," thought Peter, for he
remembered that Dotty lives almost wholly on
seeds, chiefly weed seeds, and that he dearly loves a
weedy field with bushes not far distant in which he
can hide.

So Peter hurried over to the weedy field and
there, sure enough, he found Dotty with a lot of his
friends. They were very busy getting their break-
fast. Some were clinging to the weed-stalks>
picking the seeds out of the tops, while others were
picking up the seeds from the ground. It was
cold. Rough Brother North Wind was doing his
best to blow up another snow-cloud. It wasn't
at all the kind of day in which one would expect
to find anybody in high spirits. But Dotty was.
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He was even singing as Peter came up, and all
about Dotty's friends and relatives were twittering
as happily and merrily as if it were the beginning
of spring instead of winter.

Dotty was very nearly the size of Little Friend
the Song Sparrow and looked somewhat like him,
save that his breast was clear ashy-gray, all but
a little dark spot in the middle, the little dot from
which he gets his name. He wore a chestnut cap,
almost exactly like that of Chippy the Chipping
Sparrow. It reminded Peter that Dotty is often
called the Winter Chippy.

" Welcome back, Dotty !" cried Peter. " It does
my heart good to see you.'

"Thank you, Peter," twittered Dotty happily.
"In a way it is good to be back. Certainly it is
good to know that an old friend is glad to see me."

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

" I hope so," replied Dotty. " I certainly shall if
the snow does not get so deep that I cannot get
enough to eat. Some of these weeds are so tall
that it will take a lot of snow to cover them, and
as long as the tops are above the snow I will have
nothing to worry about. You know a lot of seeds
remain in these tops all winter. But if the snow
gets deep enough to cover these I shall have to
move along farther south."
[300]

Some Merry Seed-Eaters

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

"Thank you again, Peter," cried Dotty, "and
please let me return the compliment. I like cold
weather. I like winter when there isn't too much
ice and bad weather. I always feel good in cold
weather. That is one reason I go north to nest."

"Speaking of nests, do you build in a tree?"
inquired Peter.

"Usually on or near the ground," replied Dotty.
' You know I am really a ground bird although I
am called a Tree Sparrow. Most of us Sparrows
spend our time on or near the ground."

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

Dotty laughed. It was a tinkling little laugh,
good to hear. "Cousin Chippy would starve to
death," he declared. "It is all a matter of food.
You ought to know that by this time, Peter.
Cousin Chippy lives chiefly on worms and bugs
and I live almost wholly on seeds, and that is what
[3011

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

makes the difference. Cousin Chippy must go
where he can get plenty to eat. I can get plenty
here and so I stay."

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

"No," replied Dotty promptly. "Slaty the
Junco and his relatives came along with us and we
had a very merry party."

Peter pricked up his ears. " Is Slaty here now ?"
he asked eagerly.

"Very much here," replied a voice right behind
Peter's back. It was so unexpected that it made
Peter jump. He turned to find Slaty himself
chuckling merrily as he picked up seeds. He was
very nearly the same size as Dotty but trimmer.
In fact he was one of the trimmest, neatest appear-
ing of all of Peter's friends. There was no mistak-
ing Slaty the Junco for any other bird. His head,
throat and breast were clear slate color. Under-
neath he was white. His sides were grayish. His
outer tail feathers were white. His bill was flesh
color. It looked almost white.

"Welcome ! Welcome !" cried Peter. "Are you
here to stay all winter ?"

"I certainly am," was Slaty's prompt response.

"It will take pretty bad weather to drive me away

from here. If the snow gets too deep I'll just go

up to Farmer Brown's barnyard. I can always

[302]

Some Merry Seed-Eaters

pick up a meal there, for Farmer Brown's boy is a
very good friend of mine. I know he won't let
me starve, no matter what the weather is. I think
it is going to snow some more. I like the snow.
You know I am sometimes called the Snowbird."

Peter nodded. "So I have heard," said he,
"though I think that name really belongs to Snow-
flake the Snow Bunting."

"Quite right, Peter, quite right," replied Slaty.
"I much prefer my own name of Junco. My,
these seeds are good !" All the time he was busily
picking up seeds so tiny that Peter didn't even see
them.

"If you like here so much why don't you stay all
the year?" inquired Peter.

"It gets too warm," replied Slaty promptly.
"I hate hot weather. _Give me cold weather every
time."

"Do you mean to tell me that it is cold all sum-
mer where you nest in the Far North ?" demanded
Peter.

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

"It is a good thing they can," interrupted
Dotty. "If everybody liked the same things it
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

wouldn't do at all. Just suppose all the birds ate
nothing but seeds. There wouldn't be seeds enough
to go around, and a lot of us would starve. Then,
too, the worms and the bugs would eat up every-
thing. So, take it all together, it is a mighty good
thing that some birds live almost wholly on worms
and bugs and such things, leaving the seeds to the
rest of us. I guess Old Mother Nature knew what
she was about when she gave us different tastes."

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

"My nest is usually made of grasses, moss and
rootlets. Sometimes it is lined with fine grasses,
and when I am lucky enough to find them I use
long hairs. Often I put my nest on the ground,
and never very far above it. I am like my friend
Dotty in this respect. It always seems to me
easier to hide a nest on the ground than anywhere
else. There is nothing like having a nest well
hidden. It takes sharp eyes to find my nest, I can
tell you that, Peter Rabbit."

Just then Dotty, who had been picking seeds out
of the top of a weed, gave a cry of alarm and in-
stantly there was a flit of many wings as Dotty
and his relatives and Slaty sought the shelter of the
bushes along the edge of the field. Peter sat up
[304]

Some Merry Seed-Eaters

very straight and looked this way and looked
that way. At first he saw nothing suspicious.
Then, crouching flat among the weeds, he got a
glimpse of Black Pussy, the cat from Farmer
Brown's house. She had been creeping up in the
hope of catching one of those happy little seed-
eaters. Peter stamped angrily. Then with long
jumps he started for the dear Old Briar-patch,
lipperty-lipperty-lip, for truth to tell, big as he was,
he was a little afraid of Black Pussy.

[305

CHAPTER XLI

MORE FRIENDS COME WITH THE SNOW

SLATY THE JUNCO had been quite right in thinking
it was going to snow some more. Rough Brother
North Wind hurried up one big cloud after another,
and late that afternoon the white feathery flakes
came drifting down out of the sky. Peter Rabbit
sat tight in the dear Old Briar-patch. In fact Peter
did no moving about that night, but remained
squatting just inside the entrance to an old hole
Johnny Chuck's grandfather had dug long ago in the
middle of the dear Old Briar-patch. Some time
before morning the snow stopped falling and then
rough Brother North Wind worked as hard to blow
away the clouds as he had done to bring them.

When jolly, round, bright Mr. Sun began his
daily climb up in the blue, blue sky he looked down
on a world of white. It seemed as if every little
snowflake twinkled back at every little sunbeam.
It was all very lovely, and Peter Rabbit rejoiced as
he scampered forth in quest of his breakfast.

He started first for the weedy field where the day
before he had found Dotty the Tree Sparrow and
[908]

M ore Friends Come With the Snow

Slaty the Junco. They were there before him,
having the very best time ever was as they picked
seeds from the tops of the weeds which showed
above the snow. Almost at once Peter discovered
that they were not the only seekers for seeds.
Walking about on the snow, and quite as busy seek-
ing seeds as were Dotty and Slaty, was a bird very
near their size the top of whose head, neck and
back were a soft rusty-brown. There was some
black on his wings, but the latter were mostly
white and the outer tail feathers were white. His
breast and under parts were white. It was Snow-
flake the Snow Bunting in his winter suit. Peter
knew him instantly. There was no mistaking him,
for, as Peter well knew, there is no other bird of
his size and shape who is so largely white. He had
appeared so unexpectedly that it almost seemed as
if he must have come out of the snow clouds just
as had the snow itself. Peter had his usual ques-
tion ready.

"Are you going to spend the winter here, Snow-
flake ?" he cried.

Snowflake was so busy getting his breakfast that
he did not reply at once. Peter noticed that he did
not hop, but walked or ran. Presently he paused
long enough to reply to Peter's question. "If the
snow has come to stay all winter, perhaps I'll stay,"
said he.

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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

"What has the snow to do with it?" demanded
Peter.

"Only that I like the snow and I like cold
weather. When the snow begins to disappear, I
just naturally fly back farther north," replied Snow-
flake. "It isn't that I don't like bare ground,
because I do, and I'm always glad when the snow
is blown off in places so that I can hunt for seeds on
the ground. But when the snow begins to melt
everywhere I feel uneasy. I can't understand how
folks can be contented where there is no snow and
ice. You don't catch me going 'way down south.
No, siree, you don't catch me going 'way down
south. Why, when the nesting season comes
around, I chase Jack Frost clear 'way up to where
he spends the summer. I nest 'way up on the shore
of the Polar Sea, but of course you don't know
where that is, Peter Rabbit."

"If you are so fond of the cold in the Far North,
the snow and the ice, what did you come south at
all for ? Why don't you stay up there all the year
around ?" demanded Peter.

"Because, Peter," replied Snowflake, twittering
merrily, "like everybody else, I have to eat in order
to live. When you see me down here you may
know that the snows up north are so deep that they
have covered all the seeds. I always keep a
weather eye out, as the saying is, and the minute
[308]

Si

SNOWFLAKE THE SNOW BUNTING, the one small bird who is largely
white.

WANDERER THE HORNED LARK. His yellow throat and forehead and
the two little tufts of feathers, like tiny horns, will always identity him.

M ore Friends Come With the Snow

it looks as if there would be too much snow for me
to get a living, I move along. I hope I will not
have to go any farther than this, but if some
morning you wake up and find the snow so deep
that all the heads of the weeds are buried, don't
expect to find me."

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

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

Now as Wanderer reached up to pick seeds from
a weed-top, Peter had a good look at him. The
first things he noticed were the two little horn-like
tufts of black feathers above and behind the eyes.
It is from these that Wanderer gets the name of
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Horned Lark. No other bird has anything quite
like them. His forehead, a line over each eye, and
his throat were yellow. There was a black mark
from each corner of the bill curving downward just
below the eye and almost joining a black crescent-
shaped band across the breast. Beneath this he
was soiled white with dusky spots showing here
and there. His back was brown, in places having
almost a pinkish tinge. His tail was black, showing
a little white on the edges when he flew. All
together he was a handsome little fellow.

"Do all of your family have those funny little
horns?" asked Peter.

"No," was Wanderer's prompt reply. "Mrs.
Lark does not have them."

"I think they are very becoming," said Peter
politely.

"Thank you," replied Wanderer. "I am in-
clined to agree with you. You should see me when
I have my summer suit. "

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

"Well said, Peter, well said," interrupted
Snowflake. "I quite agree with you. I think
Wanderer's present suit is pretty enough for any
one, but it is true that his summer suit is even
prettier. It isn't so very different, but it is
brighter, and those black markings are much
[310]

More Friends Come With the Snow

stronger and show up better. You see, Wanderer
is one of my neighbors in the Far North, and I
know all about him."

"And that means that you don't know any-
thing bad about me, doesn't it?" chuckled Wan-
derer.

Snowflake nodded. "Not a thing," he replied.
" I wouldn't ask for a better neighbor. You should
hear him sing, Peter. He sings up in the air, and it
really is a very pretty song. "

"I'd just love to hear him," replied Peter.
"Why don't you sing here, Wanderer?"

"This isn't the singing season," replied Wan-
derer promptly. "Besides, there isn't time to sing
when one has to keep busy every minute in order
to get enough to eat. "

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

"Because it is easier to get a good living by
moving about," replied Wanderer promptly. "Be-
sides, I like to visit new places. I shouldn't enjoy
being tied down in just one place like some birds
I know. Would you, Snowflake ? "

Snowflake promptly replied that he wouldn't.
Just then Peter discovered something that he
hadn't known before. "My goodness," he ex-
claimed, "what a long claw you have on each hind
toe!"

[311]

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

It was true. Each hind claw was about twice as
long as any other claw. Peter couldn't see any
special use for it and he was just about to ask
more about it when Wanderer suddenly spied a
flock of his relatives some distance away and flew
to join them. Probably this saved him some
embarrassment, for it is doubtful if he himself
knew why Old Mother Nature had given him such
long hind claws.

[SI*]

CHAPTER XLII

PETER LEARNS SOMETHING ABOUT SPOOKY

PETER RABBIT likes winter. At least he doesn't
mind it so very much, even though he has to really
work for a living. Perhaps it is a good thing that
he does, for he might grow too fat to keep out of the
way of Reddy Fox. You see when the snow is
deep Peter is forced to eat whatever he can, and
very often there isn't much of anything for him but
the bark of young trees. It is at such times that
Peter gets into mischief, for there is no bark he
likes better than that of young fruit trees. Now
you know what happens when the bark is taken off
all the way around the trunk of a tree. That tree
dies. It dies for the simple reason that it is up the
inner layer of bark that the life-giving sap travels
in the spring and summer. Of course, when a
strip of bark has been taken off all the way around
near the base of a tree, the sap cannot go up and
the tree must die.

Now up near the Old Orchard Farmer Brown had

set out a young orchard. Peter knew all about

that young orchard, for he had visited it many

times in the summer. Then there had been plenty

[313]

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of sweet clover and other green things to eat, and
Peter had never been so much as tempted to sample
the bark of those young trees. But now things
were very different, and it was very seldom that
Peter knew what it was to have a full stomach.
He kept thinking of that young orchard. He knew
that if he were wise he would keep away from there.
But the more he thought of it the more it seemed to
him that he just must have some of that tender
young bark. So just at dusk one evening, Peter
started for the young orchard.

Peter got there in safety and his eyes sparkled as
he hopped over to the nearest young tree. But
when he reached it, Peter had a dreadful disap-
pointment. All around the trunk of that young
tree was wire netting. Peter couldn't get even a
nibble of that bark. He tried the next tree with
no better result. Then he hurried on from tree to
tree, always with the same result. You see Farmer
Brown knew all about Peter's liking for the bark
of young fruit trees, and he had been wise enough to
protect his young orchard.

At last Peter gave up and hopped over to the
Old Orchard. As he passed a certain big tree he
was startled by a voice. "What's the matter,
Peter ?" said the voice. " You don't look happy. "

Peter stopped short and stared up in the big
apple-tree. Look as he would he couldn't see
[314]

Peter Learns Something About Spooky

anybody. Of course there wasn't a leaf on that
tree, and he could see all through it. Peter blinked
and felt foolish. He knew that had there been
any one sitting on any one of those branches he
couldn't have helped seeing him.

"Don't look so high, Peter; don't look so high,"
said the voice with a chuckle. This time it sounded
as if it came right out of the trunk of the tree.
Peter stared at the trunk and then suddenly
laughed right out. Just a few feet above the
ground was a good sized hole in the tree, and poking
his head out of it was a funny little fellow with big
eyes and a hooked beak.

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

Spooky the Screech Owl, for that is who it was,
came out of the hole in the tree and without a
sound from his wings flew over and perched just
above Peter's head. He was a little fellow, not over
eight inches high, but there was no mistaking the
family to which he belonged. In fact he looked
very much like a small copy of Hooty the Great
Horned Owl, so much so that Peter felt a little cold
shiver run over him, although he had nothing in
the world to fear from Spooky.

His head seemed to be almost as big around as
his body, and he seemed to have no neck at all. He
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

was dressed in bright reddish-brown, with little
streaks and bars of black. Underneath he was
whitish, with little streaks and bars of black and
brown. On each side of his head was a tuft of
feathers. They looked like ears and some people
think they are ears, which is a mistake. His eyes
were round and yellow with a fierce hungry look in
them. His bill was small and almost hidden among
the feathers of his face, but it was hooked just like the
bill of Hooty. As he settled himself he turned his
head around until he could look squarely behind
him, then brought it back again so quickly that to
Peter it looked as if it had gone clear around. You
see Spooky's eyes are fixed in their sockets and he
cannot move them from side to side. He has to
turn his whole head in order to see to one side or the
other.

"You haven't told me yet why you look so un-
happy, Peter, " said Spooky.

"Isn't an empty stomach enough to make any
fellow unhappy?" retorted Peter rather, shortly.

Spooky chuckled. "I've got an empty stomach
myself, Peter," said he, "but it isn't making me
unhappy. I have a feeling that somewhere there
is a fat Mouse waiting for me. "

Just then Peter remembered what Jenny Wren
had told him early in the spring of how Spooky
the Screech Owl lives all the year around in a
[3161

I

SPOOKY THE SCREECH OWL. The most common of all Owls, some-
times reddish-brown and sometimes gray.

Peter Learns Something About Spooky

hollow tree, and curiosity made him forget for the
time being that he was hungry. "Did you live in
that hole all summer, Spooky ?" he asked.

Spooky nodded solemnly. "I've lived in that
hollow summer and winter for three years, " said he.

Peter's eyes opened very wide. "And till now
I never even guessed it, " he exclaimed. "Did you
raise a family there ? "

"I certainly did," replied Spooky. "Mrs.
Spooky and I raised a family of four as fine looking
youngsters as you ever have seen. They've gone
out into the Great World to make their own living
now. Two were dressed just like me and two were
gray."

"What's that?" exclaimed Peter.

"I said that two were dressed just like me and
two were gray," replied Spooky rather sharply.

"That's funny," Peter exclaimed.

" What's funny ? "snapped Spooky rather crossly.

"Why that all four were not dressed alike,"
said Peter.

"There's nothing funny about it," retorted
Spooky, and snapped his bill sharply with a little
cracking sound. "We Screech Owls believe in
variety. Some of us are gray and some of us are
reddish-brown. It is a case of where you cannot
tell a person just by the color of his clothes. "

Peter nodded as if he quite understood, although
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he didn't understand at all. "I'm ever so pleased
to find you living here," said he politely. "You
see, in winter the Old Orchard is rather a lonely
place. I don't see how you get enough to eat
when there are so few birds about. "

"Birds!" snapped Spooky. "What have birds
to do with it?"

"Why, don't you live on birds?" asked Peter
innocently.

"I should say not. I guess I would starve if I
depended on birds for my daily food," retorted
Spooky. "I catch a Sparrow now and then, to be
sure, but usually it is an English Sparrow, and I
consider that I am doing the Old Orchard a good
turn every time I am lucky enough to catch one of
the family of Bully the English Sparrow. But I
live mostly on Mice and Shrews in winter and in
summer I eat a lot of grasshoppers and other in-
sects. If it wasn't for me and my relatives I guess
Mice would soon overrun the Great World . Farmer
Brown ought to be glad I've come to live in the
Old Orchard and I guess he is, for Farmer Brown's
boy knows all about this house of mine and never
disturbs me. Now if you'll excuse me I think
I'll fly over to Farmer Brown's young orchard.
I ought to find a fat Mouse or two trying to get
some of the bark from those young trees."

"Huh!" exclaimed Peter. "They can try all
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Peter Learns Something About Spooky

they want to, but they won't get any ; I can tell
you that."

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

Peter didn't say anything but he looked guilty,
and Spooky once more chuckled as he spread his
wings and flew away so soundlessly that he seemed
more like a drifting shadow than a bird. Then
Peter started for a certain swamp he knew of
where he would be sure to find enough bark to stay
his appetite.

319

CHAPTER XLIII

QUEER FEET AND A QUEERER BILL

PETER RABBIT had gone over to the Green Forest
to call on his cousin, Jumper the Hare, who lives
there altogether. He had no difficulty in finding
Jumper's tracks in the snow, and by following
these he at length came up with Jumper. The fact
is, Peter almost bumped into Jumper before he
saw him, for Jumper was wearing a coat as white
as the snow itself. Squatting under a little snow-
covered hemlock-tree he looked like nothing more
than a little mound of snow.

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

"It certainly is, Cousin Peter," cried Jumper.
" Nine times out of ten all I have to do is to sit
perfectly still when there was no wind to carry
my scent. I have had Reddy Fox pass within a
few feet of me and never suspect that I was near.
I hope this snow will last all winter. It is only
when there isn't any snow that I am particularly
worried. Then I am not easy for a minute, be-
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Queer Feet and a Queerer Bill

cause my white coat can be seen a long distance
against the brown of the dead leaves."

Peter chuckled. "That is just when I feel
safest," he replied. "I like the snow, but this
brown-gray coat of mine certainly does show up
against it. Don't you find it pretty lonesome over
here in the Green Forest with all the birds gone,
Cousin Jumper?"

Jumper shook his head. "Not all have gone,
Peter, you know," said he. "Strutter the Grouse
and Mrs. Grouse are here, and I see them every
day. They've got snowshoes now. "

Peter blinked his eyes and looked rather per-
plexed. "Snowshoes!" he exclaimed. "I don't
understand what you mean. "

"Come with me," replied Jumper, "and I'll
show you."

So Jumper led the way and Peter followed close
at his heels. Presently they came to some tracks
in the snow. At first glance they reminded Peter
of the queer tracks Farmer Brown's ducks made in
the mud on the edge of the Smiling Pool in summer.
"What funny tracks those are!" he exclaimed.
"Who made them?"

"Just keep on following me and you'll see,"
retorted Jumper.

So they continued to follow the tracks until
presently, just ahead of them, they saw Strutter
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the Grouse. Peter opened his eyes with surprise
when he discovered that those queer tracks were
made by Strutter.

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

Strutter's bright eyes sparkled. "He's just as
curious as ever, isn't he?" said he. "Well, I
don't mind showing him my snowshoes because I
think myself that they are really quite wonder-
ful." He held up one foot with the toes spread
apart and Peter saw that growing out from the
sides of each toe were queer little horny points set
close together. They quite filled the space be-
tween his toes. Peter recalled that when he had
seen Strutter in the summer those toes had been
smooth and that his tracks on soft ground had
shown the outline of each toe clearly. "How
funny !" exclaimed Peter.

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

He took three or four steps and Peter saw right
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Queer Feet and a Queerer Bill

away how very useful those snowshoes were.
"My!" he exclaimed. "I wish Old Mother
Nature would give me snowshoes too." Strutter
and Jumper both laughed and after a second Peter
laughed with them, for he realized how impossible
it would be for him to have anything like those
snowshoes of Strutter's.

"Cousin Peter was just saying that he should
think I would find it lonesome over here in the
Green Forest. He forgot that you and Mrs.
Grouse stay all winter, and he forgot that while
most of the birds who spent the summer here have
left, there are others who come down from the Far
North to take their place. "

"Who, for instance?" demanded Peter.

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

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

"This isn't the season for seeds to just fall, and
I know by the signs that Chatterer hasn't been
about," retorted Jumper. "Let's go over there
now and see what we will see. "
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Once more he led the way and Peter followed.
As they drew near that certain pine-tree, a short
whistled note caused them to look up. Busily
at work on a pine cone near the top of a tree was a
bird about the size of Bully the English Sparrow.
He was dressed wholly in dull red with brownish-
black wings and tail.

"What did I tell you ?" cried Jumper. "There's
Snipper this very minute, and over in that next
tree are a lot of his family and relatives. See in
what a funny way they climb about among the
branches. They don't flit or hop, but just climb
around. I don't know of any other bird any-
where around here that does that. "

Just then a seed dropped and landed on the snow
almost in front of Peter's nose. Almost at once
Snipper himself followed it, picking it up and eat-
ing it with as much unconcern as if Peter and
Jumper were a mile away instead of only a foot or
so. The very first thing Peter noticed was Snip-
per's bill. The upper and lower halves crossed at
the tips. That bill looked very much as if Snipper
had struck something hard and twisted the tips over.

"Have — have — you met with an accident ?"
he asked a bit hesitatingly.

Snipper looked surprised. "Are you talking to
me ? " he asked. "Whatever put such an idea into
your head?"

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Queer Feet and a Queerer Bill

" Your bill, " replied Peter promptly. " How did
it get twisted like that ? "

Snipper laughed. "It isn't twisted," said he.
"It is just the way Old Mother Nature made it,
and I really don't know what I'd do if it were any
different."

Peter scratched one long ear, as is his way when
he is puzzled. "I don't see," said he, "how it is
possible for you to pick up food with a bill like
that."

"And I don't see how I would get my food if I
didn't have a bill like this," retorted Snipper.
Then, seeing how puzzled Peter really was, he went
on to explain. "You see, I live very largely on
the seeds that grow in pine cones and the cones of
other trees. Of course I eat some other food, such
as seeds and buds of trees. But what I love best
of all are the seeds that grow in the cones of ever-
green trees. If you've ever looked at one of those
cones, you will understand that those seeds are not
very easy to get at. But with this kind of a bill
it is no trouble at all. I can snip them out just as
easily as birds with straight bills can pick up
seeds. You see my bill is very much like a pair
of scissors."

"It really is very wonderful," confessed Peter.
"Do you mind telling me, Snipper, why I never
have seen you here in summer ? "

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

"For the same reason that in summer you
never see Snowflake and Wanderer the Horned
Lark and some others I might name," replied
Snipper. "Give me the Far North every time.
I would stay there the year through but that
sometimes food gets scarce up there. That is why
I am down here now. If you'll excuse me, I'll go
finish my breakfast. "

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

"I suppose you know," said Jumper, "that
Snipper has a cousin who looks almost exactly
like him with the exception of two white bars on
each wing. He is called the White-winged Cross-
bill."

"I didn't know it," replied Peter, "but I'm glad
you've told me. I certainly shall watch out for
him. I can't get over those funny bills. No one
could ever mistake a Crossbill for any other bird.
Is there anyone else now from the Far North whom
I haven't seen?"

[326]

CHAPTER XLIV

MORE FOLKS IN RED

JUMPER THE HARE didn't have time to reply to
Peter Rabbit's question when Peter asked if there
was any one else besides the Crossbills who had
come down from the Far North.

"I have," said a voice from a tree just back of
them.

It was so unexpected that it made both Peter
and Jumper hop in startled surprise. Then they
turned to see who had spoken. There sat a bird
just a little smaller than Welcome Robin, who at
first glance seemed to be dressed in strawberry-red.
However, a closer look showed that there were
slate-gray markings about his head, under his wings
and on his legs. His tail was brown. His wings
were brown, marked with black and white and
slate. His bill was thick and rather short.

"Who are you?" demanded Peter very bluntly
and impolitely.

"I'm Piny the Pine Grosbeak," replied the
stranger, seemingly not at all put out by Peter's
bluntness.

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"Oh," said Peter. "Are you related to Rose-
breast the Grosbeak who nested last summer in the
Old Orchard?"

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

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

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

"Lovely weather, isn't it?" said she. "I love
the snow. I wouldn't feel at home with no snow
about. Why, last spring I even built my nest
before the snow was gone in the Far North. We
certainly hated to leave up there, but food was get-
ting so scarce that we had to. We have just ar-
rived. Can you tell me if there are any cedar-
trees or ash-trees or sumacs near here?"
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More Folks in Red

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

"Because they hold their berries all winter,"
replied Mrs. Grosbeak promptly, "and those ber-
ries make very good eating. I rather thought
there must be some around here. If there are
enough of them we certainly shall stay a while. "

"I hope you will," replied Peter. "I want to
get better acquainted with you. You know, if it
were not for you folks who come down from the
Far North the Green Forest would be rather a
lonely place in winter. There are times when I
like to be alone, but I like to feel that there is some-
one I can call on when I feel lonesome. Did you
and Piny come down alone?"

"No, indeed," replied Mrs. Grosbeak. "There
is a flock of our relatives not far away. We came
down with the Crossbills. All together we made
quite a party."

Peter and Jumper stayed a while to gossip with
the Grosbeaks. Then Peter bethought him that
it was high time for him to return to the dear Old
Briar-patch, and bidding his new friends good-by,
he started off through the Green Forest, lipperty-
lipperty-lip. When he reached the edge of the
Green Forest he decided to run over to the weedy
field to see if the Snowflakes and the Tree Sparrows
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The Burgess EM Book for Children

and the Horned Larks were there. They were,
but almost at once Peter discovered that they had
company. Twittering cheerfully as he busily
picked seeds out of the top of a weed which stood
above the snow, was a bird very little bigger than
Chicoree the Goldfinch. But when Peter looked
at* him he just had to rub his eyes.

"Gracious goodness !" he muttered, "it must be
something is wrong with my eyes so that I am seeing
red. I've already seen two birds dressed in red and
now there's another. It certainly must be my eyes.
There's Dotty the Tree Sparrow over there ; I hear
his voice. I wonder if he will look red. "

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

The top of his head was bright red. There was
no doubt about it. 'His back was toward Peter at
the time and but for that bright red cap Peter
certainly would have taken him for one of his
friends among the Sparrow family. You see his
back was grayish -brown. Peter could think of
several Sparrows with backs very much like it.
But when he looked closely he saw that just above
his tail this little stranger wore a pinkish patch, and
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More Folks in Red

that was something no Sparrow of Peter's acquaint-
ance possesses.

\ Then the lively little stranger turned to face
Peter and a pair of bright eyes twinkled mischiev-
ously. "Well," said he, "how do you like my
appearance? Anything wrong with me? I was
taught that it is very impolite to stare at any one.
I guess your mother forgot to teach you manners. "

Peter paid no attention to what was said but
continued to stare. "My, how pretty you are!"
he exclaimed.

The little stranger was pretty. His breast was
pink. Below this he was white. The middle of his
throat was black and his sides were streaked with
reddish -brown. He looked pleased at Peter's
exclamation.

"I'm glad you think I'm pretty," said he. "I
like pink myself. I like it very much indeed. I
suppose you've already seen my friends, Snipper
the Crossbill and Piny the Grosbeak. "

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

"I'm Redpoll," was the prompt response. "I
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

am called that because of my red cap. Yes,
indeed, I make my home in the Far North. There
is no place like it. You really ought to run up
there and get acquainted with the folks who make
their homes there and love it. "

Redpoll laughed at his own joke, but Peter didn't
see the joke at all. "Is it so very far?" he asked
innocently; then added, "I'd dearly love to go."

Redpoll laughed harder than ever. "Yes," said
he, "it is. I am afraid you would be a very old
and very gray Rabbit by the time you got there.
I guess the next thing is for you to make the
acquaintance of some of us who get down here once
in a while."

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

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

Redpoll laughed his usual happy laugh. " Hardly,
Peter," replied he. "We like the seeds of the
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More Folks in Red

birches and the alders, and we eat the seeds of the
evergreen trees when we get them. Sometimes we
find them in cones Snipper the Crossbill has opened
but hasn't picked all the seeds out of. Sometimes
he drops some for us. Oh, we always manage to get
plenty to eat. There are some of our relatives over
there and we must join them. We'll see you again,
Peter."

Peter said he hoped they would and then watched
them fly over to join their friends. Suddenly, as if
a signal had been given, all spread their wings at
the same instant and flew up in a birch-tree not far
away. All seemed to take wing at precisely the
same instant. Up in the birch-tree they sat for a
minute or so and then, just as if another signal had
been given, all began to pick out the tiny seeds
from the birch tassels. No one bird seemed to be
first. It was quite like a drill, or as if each had
thought of the same thing at the same instant.
Peter chuckled over it all the way home. And
somehow he felt better for having made the ac-
quaintance of the Redpolls. It was the feeling
that everybody so fortunate as to meet them on a
cold winter's day is sure to have.

[333]

CHAPTER XLV

PETER SEES TWO TERRIBLE FEATHERED HUNTERS

WHILE it is true that Peter Rabbit likes winter,
it is also true that life is anything but easy for him
at that season. In the first place he has to travel
about a great deal to get sufficient food, and that
means that he must run more risks. There isn't
a minute of day or night that he is outside of the
dear Old Briar-patch when he can afford not to
watch and listen for danger. You see, at this
season of the year, Reddy Fox often finds it
difficult to get a good meal. He is hungry most of
the time, and he is forever hunting for Peter Rabbit.
With snow on the ground and no leaves on the
bushes and young trees, it is not easy for Peter to
hide. So, as he travels about, the thought of Reddy
Fox is always in his mind.

But there are others whom Peter fears even more,
and these wear feathers instead of fur coats . One of
these is Terror the Goshawk. Peter is not alone
in his fear of Terror. There is not one among his
feathered friends who will not shiver at the mention
of Terror's name. Peter will not soon forget the
[334]

Peter Sees Two Terrible Feathered Hunters

day he discovered that Terror had come down from
the Far North, and was likely to stay for the rest
of the winter. Peter went hungry all the rest of
that day.

You see it was this way: Peter had gone over
to the Green Forest very early that morning in
the hope of getting breakfast in a certain swamp.
He was hopping along, lipperty-lipperty-lip, with
his thoughts chiefly on that breakfast he hoped to
get, but at the same time with ears and eyes alert
for possible danger, when a strange feeling swept
over him. It was a feeling that great danger
was very near, though he saw nothing and heard
nothing to indicate it. It was just a feeling, that
was all.

Now Peter has learned that the wise thing to do
when one has such a feeling as that is to seek safety
first and investigate afterwards. At the instant
he felt that strange feeling of fear he was passing a
certain big, hollow log. Without really knowing
why he did it, because, you know, he didn't stop
to do any thinking, he dived into that hollow log,
and even as he did so there was the sharp swish of
great wings. Terror the Goshawk had missed
catching Peter by the fraction of a second.

With his heart thumping as if it were trying to
pound its way through his ribs, Peter peeped out of
that hollow log. Terror had alighted on a tall
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

stump only a few feet away. To Peter in his fright
he seemed the biggest bird he ever had seen. Of
course he wasn't. Actually he was very near the
same size as Redtail the Hawk, whom Peter knew
well. He was handsome. There was no denying
the fact that he was handsome. His back was
bluish. His head seemed almost black. Over and
behind each eye was a white line. Underneath he
was beautifully marked with wavy bars of gray
and white. On his tail were four dark bands. Yes,
he was handsome. But Peter had no thought for
his beauty. He could see nothing but the fierceness
of the eyes that were fixed on the entrance to that
hollow log. Peter shivered as if with a cold chill.
He knew that in Terror was no pity or gentleness.

"I hope," thought Peter, "that Mr. and Mrs.
Grouse are nowhere about." You see he knew that
there is no one that Terror would rather catch than
a member of the Grouse family.

Terror did not sit on that stump long. He knew
that Peter was not likely to come out in a hurry.
Presently he flew away, and Peter suspected from
the direction in which he was headed that Terror
was going over to visit Farmer -Brown's henyard.
Of all the members of the Hawk family there is none
more bold than Terror the Goshawk. He would
not hesitate to seize a hen from almost beneath
Farmer Brown's nose. He is well named, for
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Peter Sees Two Terrible Feathered Hunters

the mere suspicion that he is anywhere about
strikes terror to the heart of all the furred and
feathered folks. He is so swift of wing that few
can escape him, and he has no pity, but kills for the
mere love of killing. In this respect he is like
Shadow the Weasel. To kill for food is forgiven by
the little people of the Green Forest and the Green
Meadows, but to kill needlessly is unpardonable.
This is why Terror the Goshawk is universally
hated and has not a single friend.

All that day Peter remained hidden in that
hollow log. He did not dare put foot outside until
the Black Shadows began to creep through the
Green Forest. Then he knew that there was noth-
ing more to fear from Terror the Goshawk, for
he hunts only by day. Once more Peter's thoughts
were chiefly of his stomach, for it was very, very
empty.

But it was not intended that Peter should fill his
stomach at once. He had gone but a little way
when from just ahead of him the silence of the
early evening was broken by a terrifying sound —
"Whooo-hoo-hoo, whooo-hoo !" It was so sudden
and there was in it such a note of fierceness that
Peter had all he could do to keep from jumping and
running for dear life. But he knew that voice and
he knew, too, that safety lay in keeping perfectly
still. So with his heart thumping madly, as when
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The Burgess Bird Book for Children

he had escaped from Terror that morning, Peter
sat as still as if he could not move.

It was the hunting call of Hooty the Great
Horned Owl, and it had been intended to frighten
some one into jumping and running, or at least
into moving ever so little. Peter knew all about
that trick of Hooty's. He knew that in all the
Green Forest there are no ears so wonderful as
those of Hooty the Owl, and that the instant he had
uttered that fierce hunting call he had strained
those wonderful ears to catch the faintest sound
which some startled little sleeper of the night might
make. The rustle of a leaf would be enough to
bring Hooty to the spot on his great silent wings,
and then his fierce yellow eyes, which are made
for seeing in the dusk, would find the victim.

So Peter sat still, fearful that the very thumping
of his heart might reach those wonderful ears.
Again that terrible hunting cry rang out, and again
Peter had all he could do to keep from jumping.
But he didn't jump, and a few minutes later, as he
sat staring at a certain tall, dead stub of a tree,
wondering just where Hooty was, the top of that
stub seemed to break off, and a great, broad-winged
bird flew away soundlessly like a drifting shadow.
It was Hooty himself. Sitting perfectly straight
on the top of that tall, dead stub he had seemed
a part of it. Peter waited some time before he
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Peter Sees Two Terrible Feathered Hunters

ventured to move. Finally he heard Hooty's
hunting call in a distant part of the Green Forest,
and knew that it was safe for him to once more
think of his empty stomach.

Later in the winter while the snow still lay in the
Green Forest, and the ice still bound the Laughing
Brook, Peter made a surprising discovery. He
was over in a certain lonely part of the Green
Forest when he happened to remember that near
there was an old nest which had once belonged to
Redtail the Hawk. Out of idle curiosity Peter ran
over for a look at that old nest. Imagine how
surprised he was when just as he came within sight
of it, he saw a great bird just settling down on it.
Peter's heart jumped right up in his throat. At
least that is the way it seemed, for he recognized
Mrs. Hooty.

Of course Peter stopped right where he was and
took the greatest care not to move or make a sound.
Presently Hooty himself appeared and perched in a
tree near at hand. Peter has seen Hooty many
times before, but always as a great, drifting shadow
in the moonlight. Now he could see him clearly.
As he sat bolt upright he seemed to be of the same
height as Terror the Goshawk, but with a very
much bigger body. If Peter had but known it, his
appearance of great size was largely due to the
fluffy feathers in which Hooty was clothed. Like
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his small cousin, Spooky the Screech Owl, Hooty
seemed to have no neck at all. He looked as if
his great head was set directly on his shoulders.
From each side of his head two great tufts of
feathers stood out like ears or horns. His bill was
sharply hooked. He was dressed wholly in red-
dish-brown with little buff and black markings,
and on his throat was a white patch. His legs
were feathered, and so were his feet clear to the
great hooked claws.

But it was on the great, round, fierce, yellow eyes
that Peter kept his own eyes. He had always
thought of Hooty as being able to see only in the
dusk of evening or on moonlight nights, but
somehow he had a feeling that even now in broad
daylight Hooty could see perfectly well, and he was
quite right.

For a long time Peter sat there without moving.
He dared not do anything else. After he had
recovered from his first fright he began to wonder
what Hooty and Mrs. Hooty were doing at that old
nest. His curiosity was aroused. He felt that he
simply must find out. By and by Hooty flew
away. Very carefully, so as not to attract the
attention of Mrs. Hooty, Peter stole back the way
he had come. When he was far enough away to
feel reasonably safe, he scampered as fast as ever he
could. He wanted to get away from that place,
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Peter Sees Two Terrible Feathered Hunters

and he wanted to find some one of whom he could
ask questions.

Presently he met his cousin, Jumper the Hare,
and at once in a most excited manner told him all he
had seen.

Jumper listened until Peter was through. "If
you'll take my advice," said he, "you'll keep
away from that part of the Green Forest, Cousin
Peter. From what you tell me it is quite clear to
me that the Hooties have begun nesting."

"Nesting !" exclaimed Peter. "Nesting ! Why,
gentle Mistress Spring will not get here for a month
yet !"

"I said nesting," retorted Jumper, speaking
rather crossly, for you see he did not like to have
his word doubted. "Hooty the Great Horned
Owl doesn't wait for Mistress Spring. He and
Mrs. Hooty believe in getting household cares out
of the way early. Along about this time of year
they hunt up an old nest of Redtail the Hawk or
Blacky the Crow or Chatterer the Red Squirrel,
for they do not take the trouble to build a nest
themselves. Then Mrs. Hooty lays her eggs while
there is still snow and ice. Why their youngsters
don't catch their death from cold when they hatch
out is more than I can say. But they don't. I'm
sorry to hear that the Hooties have a nest here this
year. It means a bad time for a lot of little folks
[3411

The Burgess Bird Book for Children

in feathers and fur. I certainly shall keep away
from that part of the Green Forest, and I advise
you to."

, Peter said that he certainly should, and then
started on for the dear Old Briar-patch to think
things over. The discovery that already the
nesting season of a new year had begun turned
Peter's thoughts towards the coming of sweet
Mistress Spring and the return of his many
feathered friends who had left for the far-away
South so long before. A great longing to hear
the voices of Welcome Robin and Winsome Blue-
bird and Little Friend the Song Sparrow swept
over him, and a still greater longing for a bit of
friendly gossip with Jenny Wren. In the past year
he had learned much about his feathered neighbors,
but there were still many things he wanted to know,
things which only Jenny Wren could tell him. He
was only just beginning to find out that no one
knows all there is to know, especially about the
birds. And no one ever will.

[342]

INDEX

Banker the Bank Swallow, 162-164
Blackbird Family, 84-86
Blackbird

Crow, 140-143

Red- winged ; Redwing ; (Agelaius phoeniceus) 69-73
Blacky the Crow, 121-122, 128-130
Bluebird

Winsome Bluebird ; (Sialia sialis) 30-34
Bobolink

Reedbird; Ricebird; Bubbling Bob; (Dolichonyx oryzi-

vorus) 94-97
Bob White

Quail; Partridge; (Colinus virginianus) 98, 102-105
Boomer the Nighthawk, 168-172
Brownie the Thrasher, 222-225
Bubbling Bob the Bobolink, 94-97
Bully the English Sparrow, 8-13
Bunting

Snow; Snowbird; Snowflake; (Plectrophenax nivalis)
307-309

Indigo-bird; Indigo; (Passerina cyanea) 242-244
Butcher the Shrike, 261-264

Cardinal

Cardinal Grosbeak; Red Bird; Glory; (Cardinalis cardi-

nalis) 199-201

Carol the Meadow Lark, 99-102
Chebec the Least Flycatcher, 42-45, 84-85, 122-124

[343]

Index

Cherry Bird, 272-275
Chewink the Towhee, 238-242
Chickadee

Tommy Tit ; (Parus atricapillas) 278-283
Chicoree the Goldfinch, 248-252
Chippy the Chipping Sparrow, 23-27
Chuck- will's- widow, 174

Chut-Chut the Yellow-breasted Chat, 187-189
Cowbird

Lazybird; Cow Blackbird; Sally Sly; (Molothrus ater)

83-87, 179-180, 217-218
Creaker the Grackle, 140-143
Creeper the Black and White Warbler, 183-185
Creeper

Brown; Seep-Seep; (Certhia familiaris americana) 296-

298

Cresty the Great Crested Flycatcher, 50-53, 56-58
Crossbill

American Crossbill; Snipper; (Loxia curvirostra minor)
323-326

White- winged ; (Loxia leucoptera) 326
Crow

American; Blacky; (Corvus americanus) 121-122, 128-

130
Cuckoo

Yellow-billed; (Coccyzus americanus) 257-260

Black-billed; (Coccyzus erythrophthalmus) 259

Dandy the Waxwing, 272-275

Dear Me the Phoebe, 38-42

Dippy the Loon, 289-291

Dotty the Tree Sparrow, 26-27, 298-302

Dove

Mourning; Mourner; (Zenaidura macroura) 253-257
Downy the Woodpecker, 77-79

[344]

Index

Eagle

Bald-headed; White-headed; King Eagle; (Haliseetus
leucocephalus) 147-150

Fidget the Myrtle Warbler, 193-198
Finch

Goldfinch; Wild Canary; Chicoree; (Spimis tristis)

248-252

Purple Finch ; Linnet ; (Carpodacus purpureus) 246-249
Flicker

Golden- winged ; High-hole; Yellow-hammer; Golden-
winged Woodpecker; Yellow Wing; (Colaptes aura-
tus) 74-76, 80-81
Flycatcher

Great Crested ; Cresty ; (Myiarchus crinitus) 50-53, 56-58
Kingbird; Bee Martin; Scrapper; (Tyrannus tyrannus)

46-50
Least; Chebec; (Empidonax minimus) 42-45, 84-85,

122-124

Phcebe; Dear Me; (Sayornis phcebe) 38-42
Wood Pewee; Pewee; (Contopus virens) 54-56
Forktail the Barn Swallow, 114-117

Glory the Cardinal, 199-201
Goldfinch

American ; Wild Canary ; Thistle-bird ; Chicoree ; (Spinus

tristis) 248-252
Goldy the Oriole, 87-89
Goose

Canada; Honker; (Branta canadensis) 285-291
Goshawk

American; Terror; (Accipiter atricapillus) 334-337
Grackle

Purple; Crow Blackbird; Creaker; (Quiscalus quis-
cula) 140-143

,[345]

Index

Grosbeak

Pine; Piny; (Pinicola enucleator) 327-329
Rose-breasted; Rosebreast; (Habia ludoviciana) 206-208

Grouse

Ruffed; Partridge; Pheasant; Strutter; (Bonasa umbel-
lus) 136-140, 321-323

Hairy the Woodpecker, 79
Hawk

Red-tailed; Hen Hawk; Chicken Hawk; Redtail; (Buteo
borealis) 134-135

Sparrow; Killy; (Falco sparverius) 165-167
Hermit the Hermit Thrush, 233
Heron

Great Blue ; Blue Crane ; Longlegs ; (Ardea herodias) 152-

156, 160

Honker the Goose, 285-291
Hooty the Great Horned Owl, 337-341
Hummingbird

Ruby-throated; Hummer; (Trochilus colubris) 265-268

Indigo the Indigo Bunting, 242-244

Jay

Blue; Sammy Jay; (Cyanocitta cristata) 123-127
Jenny Wren, 2-19, 34-37, 60, 245-246
Junco

Snowbird; Slaty; (Junco hyemalis) 302-304

Killy the Sparrow Hawk, 165-167
Kingbird, 46-50
King Eagle, 147-150
Kingfisher

Belted; Rattles; (Ceryle alcyon) 151-158, 164
[346]

Index

Lark

Meadow Lark; Field Lark; Carol; (Stumella magna)
99-102

Horned Lark ; Shore Lark ; Wanderer ; (Otocoris alpestris)

309-312

Linnet the Purple Finch, 246-249
Little Friend the Song Sparrow, 17-20
Longbill the Woodcock, 62-65
Longlegs the Heron, 152-156, 160
Loon

DiPPy; (Urinator imber) 289-291

Martin

Purple; Twitter; (Progne subis) 114
Melody the Wood Thrush, 230-233
Mockingbird

Mocker; (Mimus poyg ottos) 225-228
Mourner the Dove, 253-257
Mummer the Maryland Yellow-throat, 185-189

Nighthawk

Bullbat; Boomer; (Chordeiles virginianus) 168-172
Nuthatch

White-breasted; Yank- Yank; (Sitta canadensis) 293-298

Oriole

Baltimore; Golden Robin; Fire Bird; Goldy; (Icterus

galbula) 87-89

Orchard; Weaver; (Icterus spurius) 90-92
Osprey

American; Fish Hawk; Plunger; (Pandion halieetus

carolinensis) 144-149
Oven Bird

Golden-crowned Thrush ; Teacher ; (Seiurus aurocapillus)
130-135

[347]

Index

Owl

Great Horned; Hooty; (Bubo virginianus) 337-341
Screech; Spooky; (Megascops asio) 314-319

Pewee, 54-56

Phoebe, 38-42

Piny the Pine Grosbeak, 327-329

Plunger the Osprey, 144-149

Quail, 98, 102-105

Rattles the Kingfisher, 151-158, 164
Redcoat the Scarlet Tanager, 210-214
Redeye the Vireo, 215-219
Redhead the Woodpecker, 80-82
Redpoll; (Acanthis linaria) 330-333
Redstart, 176-178
Redwing the Blackbird, 69-73
Robin

American; Welcome Robin; (Merula migratoria) 30-37,
Rosebreast the Grosbeak, 206-214

Sally Sly the Cowbird, 83-87, 179-180, 217-218
Sandpiper

Spotted; Teeter; (Actitis macularia) 66-68
Sammy Jay, 123-127
Scrapper the Kingbird, 46-50
Scratcher the Fox Sparrow, 20-21
Seep-Seep the Brown Creeper, 296-298
Shrike

Loggerhead; Butcher; (Lanius ludovicianus) 261-264

Northern; (Lanius borealis) 264
Skimmer the Swallow, 106-110, 113-119
Slaty the Junco, 302-304

[348]

Index

Snipper the Crossbill, 323-326

Snowflake the Snow Bunting, 307-309

Sooty the Chimney Swift, 108-112

Sparrow

Chipping; Hair-bird; Chippy; (Spizella socialis) 23-27
English; European; House; Bully; (Passer domesticus)

8-13

Fox; Scratcher; (Passerella iliaca) 20-21
Song; Little Friend; (Melospiza fasciata) 17-20
Tree; Winter Chippy; Dotty; (Spizella monticola) 26-

27, 298-302
Vesper; Grass Finch; Sweetvoice;' (Poocsetes grami-

neus) 27-29

White-throated; Peabody-bird ; Whitethroat; (Zonotri-
chia albicollis) 19-20

Speckles the Starling, 269-272

Spooky the Screech Owl, 314-319

Sprite the Parula Warbler, 191-194

Starling

English; Speckles; (Sturnus vulgaris) 269-272

Strutter the Grouse, 136-140, 321-323

Sunshine the Yellow Warbler, 178-182

Swallow

Bank; Banker; (Clivicola riparia) 162-164
Barn; Forktail; (Chelidon erythrogaster) 114-117
Tree; White-bellied; White-breasted; Skimmer; (Tachy-
cineta bicolor) 106-110, 113-119

Sweetvoice the Vesper Sparrow, 27-29

Swift

Chimney; Chimney Swallow; Sooty; (Chsetura pelagica)
108-112

Tanager

Scarlet; Redcoat; (Piranga erythromelas) 210-214
Teacher the Oven Bird, 130-133

[349]

Index

Teeter the Sandpiper, 66-68
Thrasher

Brown ; Brown Thrush ; Brownie ; (Harporhynchus ruf us)

Thrush

Hermit; (Turdus aonalaschkse pallasii) 233

Wilson's ; Tawny ; Veery ; (Turdus fuscescens) 234-236

Wood; Melody; (Turdus mustelinus) 230-233

Tommy Tit the Chickadee, 278-283

Towhee

Ground Robin ; Chewink ; (Pipilo erythrophthalmus) 238-
242

Veery the Thrush, 234-236

Vireo

Red-eyed; Redeye; (Vireo olivaceus) 215-219
Warbling; Warble; (Vireo gilvus) 219-220
Yellow-throated; (Vireo flavifrons) 220-221

Wanderer the Horned Lark, 309-312
Warble the Vireo, 219-220
Warbler

Black and White; Black and White Creeper; Creeper;

(Mniotilta varia) 183-185

Magnolia; Weechi; (Dendroica maculosa) 193-198
Myrtle; Fidget; (Dendroica coronata) 193-198
Parula; Sprite; (Compsothlypis americana) 190-194
Redstart; Zee-Zee; (Setophaga ruticilla) 176-178
Yellow-breasted Chat; Chut-Chut; (Icteria virens) 187-

189
Yellow-throat ; Maryland Yellow-throat ; Mummer ; (Geo-

thlypis trichas) 185-189

Yellow Warbler; Summer Yellow-bird; Sunshine; (Den-
droica sestiva) 178-182

[3501 i

Index

Waxwing

t Cedar; Cedarbird; Cherrybird; Dandy; (Ampelis cedr«-

rum) 272-275

Weaver the Orchard Oriole, 90-92
Weechi the Magnolia Warbler, 193-198
Welcome Robin, 30-37
Winsome Bluebird, 30-34

Whip-poor-will ; (Antrostomus vociferus) 172-174
Whitethroat the Sparrow, 19-20
Woodcock

American ; Longbill ; (Philohela minor) 62-65
Woodpecker

Downy; (Dryobates pubescens) 77-79

Hairy; (Dryobates villosus) 79

Red-headed; Redhead; (Melanerpes erythrocephalus)

80-82
Wren

House; Jenny Wren; (Troglodytes aedon) 2-19, 34-37,
60, 245-246

Yank- Yank the Nuthatch, 293-298
Yellow Wing the Flicker, 74-76, 80-81

Zee-Zee the Redstart, 176-178

[351]

'Green Meadow Series"

HAPPY JACK

By THORNTON W. BURGESS

Author of "Mother West Wind Series,"
"The Bedtime Story-Books," etc.

With eight illustrations in color by Harrison Cady
Crown 8vo. $1.35 net.

One of Mother Nature's thriftiest little people is
Happy Jack Squirrel. He is a long-headed little
chap who plays with might and main and has just
the best time in the world, but he also works with
might and main, especially when he is storing up
his winter supplies and getting ready for the cold,
bleak days when food is scarce and hard to find.

Mr. Burgess is well acquainted with Happy Jack's
thrifty habits, and tells all about them in his new
book. Also he tells of the adventures that befell
Happy Jack during one winter of his busy little life
when his enemy the Weasel and his friends Tommy
Tit the Chickadee, Sammy Jay, and Farmer
Brown's boy all had a hand in Happy Jack's affairs.

LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS
34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON

'Green Meadow Series1'

MRS. PETER RABBIT

By THORNTON W. BURGESS

Author of "Mother West Wind Series,"
"The Bedtime Story-Books," etc.

Eight illustrations in color by Harrison Cady
Crown 8vo. $1.35 net.

Peter. Rabbit 'grew very unhappy and lonesome
in. his Old Briar-patch one spring day, and he de-
cided to '. visit ' the Old Pasture in search of new
friends and experiences. So off he went, lipperty-
lipperty-lip. But up in the Old Pasture, trouble was
waiting for Peter, for he found big, gray, old Jed
Thumper, who tried to drive Peter home. Perhaps
Peter would not have stayed, if he had not met
Little Miss Fuzzytail, but he liked her so well that
he would not leave until she had promised to go with
him. Finally she agreed to become Mrs. Peter
Rabbit, and off the two went, back to the Old
Briar-patch.

Here Mrs. Peter set up housekeeping, and Mr.
Burgess tells how she made Peter's old friends hers,
and how she helped and advised him, and how they
brought up their family of four cunning, furry, little
baby rabbits.

LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS

34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON.

25886

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