The Burgess Bird Book for Children

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"Oh, Fidget!" cried Peter, hurrying after the restless little
bird. "Oh, Fidget! I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Well, here I am," retorted Fidget. "You didn't look everywhere
or you would have found me before. What can I do for you?" All
the time Fidget was hopping and flitting about, never still an
instant.

"Yon can tell me where your nest is," replied Peter promptly.

"I can, but I won't," retorted Fidget. "Now honestly, Peter, do
yon think you have any business to ask such a question?"

Peter hung his head and then replied quite honestly, "No I don't,
Fidget. But you see Sprite told me that you had a nest not very
far from his and I've looked at bunches of moss until I've got a
crick in the back of my neck."

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

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

Fidget laughed right out. "I'm afraid you would have a worse
crick in the back of your neck than you've got now before ever
you found my nest in a bunch of moss," said he. "Moss may suit my
cousin Sprite, but it doesn't suit me at all. Besides, I don't
like those dark places where the moss grows on the trees. I build
my nest of twigs and grass and weed-stalks and I line it with
hair and rootlets and feathers. Sometimes I bind it together with
spider silk, and if you really want to know, I like a little
hemlock-tree to put it in. It isn't very far from here, but where
it is I'm not going to tell you. Have you seen my cousin, Weechi?"

"No," replied Peter. "Is he anywhere around here?"

"Right here," replied another voice and Weechi the Magnolia
Warbler dropped down on the ground for just a second right in
front of Peter.

The top of his head and the back of his neck were gray. Above his
eye was a white stripe and his cheeks were black. His throat was
clear yellow, just below which was a black band. From this black
streaks ran down across his yellow breast. At the root of his
tail he was yellow. His tail was mostly black on top and white
underneath.

His wings were black and gray with two white bars. He was a
little smaller than Fidget the Myrtle Warbler and quite as
restless.

Peter fairly itched to ask Weechi where his nest was, but by this
time he had learned a lesson, so wisely kept his tongue still.

"What were you fellows talking about?" asked Weechi.

"Nests," replied Fidget. "I've just been telling Peter that while
Cousin Sprite may like to build in that hanging moss down there,
it wouldn't suit me at all."

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

"Of course I know it," replied Fidget. "In fact I watched you
start your nest. Don't you think you have it rather near the
ground?"

"Not too near, Fidget; not too near. I am not as high-minded as
some people. I like to be within two or three feet of the
ground."

"I do myself," replied Fidget.

Fidget and Weechi became so interested in discussing nests and
the proper way of building them they quite forgot Peter Rabbit.
Peter sat around for a while listening, but being more interested
in seeing those nests than hearing about them, he finally stole
away to look for them.

He looked and looked, but there were so many young hemlock-trees
and they looked so much alike that finally Peter lost patience
and gave it up as a bad job.

CHAPTER XXVII A New Friend and an Old One.

Peter Rabbit never will forget the first time he caught a glimpse
of Glory the Cardinal, sometimes called Redbird. He had come up
to the Old Orchard for his usual morning visit and just as he
hopped over the old stone wall he heard a beautiful clear, loud
whistle which drew his eyes to the top of an apple-tree. Peter
stopped short with a little gasp of sheer astonishment and
delight. Then he rubbed his eyes and looked again. He couldn't
quite believe that he saw what he thought he saw. He hadn't
supposed that any one, even among the feathered folks, could be
quite so beautiful.

The stranger was dressed all in red, excepting a little black
around the base of his bill. Even his bill was red. He wore a
beautiful red crest which made him still more distinguished
looking, and how he could sing! Peter had noticed that quite
often the most beautifully dressed birds have the poorest songs.
But this stranger's song was as beautiful as his coat, and that
was one of the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful, that
Peter ever had seen. Of course he lost no time in hunting up
Jenny Wren. "Who is it, Jenny? Who is that beautiful stranger
with such a lovely song?" cried Peter, as soon as he caught sight
of Jenny.

"It's Glory the Cardinal," replied Jenny Wren promptly. "Isn't he
the loveliest thing you've ever seen? I do hope he is going to
stay here. As I said before, I don't often envy any one's fine
clothes, but when I see Glory I'm sometimes tempted to be
envious. If I were Mrs. Cardinal I'm afraid I should be jealous.
There she is in the very same tree with him. Did you ever see
such a difference?"

Peter looked eagerly. Instead of the glorious red of Glory, Mrs.
Cardinal wore a very dull dress. Her back was a brownish-gray.
Her throat was a grayish-black. Her breast was a dull buff with a
faint tinge of red. Her wings and tail were tinged with dull red.
Altogether she was very soberly dressed, but a trim, neat looking
little person. But if she wasn't handsomely dressed she could
sing. In fact she was almost as good a singer as her handsome
husband.

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

"Well, you needn't think that of Glory," declared Jenny in her
vigorous way. "He's just as fine as he is handsome. He's a model
husband. If they make their home around here you'll find him
doing his full share in the care of their babies. Sometimes they
raise two families. When they do that, Glory takes charge of the
first lot of youngsters as soon as they are able to leave the
nest so that Mrs. Cardinal has nothing to worry about while she
is sitting on the second lot of eggs. He fusses over them as if
they were the only children in the world. Everybody loves Glory.
Excuse me, Peter, I'm going over to find out if they are really
going to stay."

When Jenny returned she was so excited she couldn't keep still a
minute. "They like here, Peter!" she cried. "They like here so
much that if they can find a place to suit them for a nest
they're going to stay. I told them that it is the very best place
in the world. They like an evergreen tree to build in, and I
think they've got their eyes on those evergreens up near Farmer
Brown's house. My, they will add a lot to the quality of this
neighborhood."

Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal whistled and sang as if their hearts were
bursting with joy, and Peter sat around listening as if he had
nothing else in the world to do. Probably he would have sat there
the rest of the morning had he not caught sight of an old friend
of whom he is very fond, Kitty the Catbird. In contrast with
Glory, Kitty seemed a regular little Quaker, for he was dressed
almost wholly in gray, a rather dark, slaty-gray. The top of his
head and tail were black, and right at the base of his tail was a
patch of chestnut color. He was a little smaller than Welcome
Robin. There was no danger of mistaking him for anybody else, for
there is no one dressed at all like him.

Peter forgot all about Glory in his pleasure at discovering the
returned Kitty and hurried over to welcome him. Kitty had
disappeared among the bushes along the old stone wall, but Peter
had no trouble in finding him by the queer cries he was uttering,
which were very like the meow of Black Pussy the Cat. They were
very harsh and unpleasant and Peter understood perfectly why
their maker is called the Catbird. He did not hurry in among the
bushes at once but waited expectantly. In a few minutes the harsh
cries ceased and then there came from the very same place a song
which seemed to be made up of parts of the songs of all the other
birds of the Old Orchard. It was not loud, but it was charming.
It contained the clear whistle of Glory, and there was even the
tinkle of Little Friend the Song Sparrow. The notes of other
friends were in that song, and with them were notes of southern
birds whose songs Kitty had learned while spending the winter in
the South. Then there were notes all his own.

Peter listened until the song ended, then scampered in among the
bushes. At once those harsh cries broke out again. You would have
thought that Kitty was scolding Peter for coming to see him
instead of being glad. But that was just Kitty's way. He is
simply brimming over with fun and mischief, and delights to
pretend.

When Peter found him, he was sitting with all his feathers puffed
out until he looked almost like a ball with a head and tail. He
looked positively sleepy. Then as he caught sight of Peter he
drew those feathers down tight, cocked his tail up after the
manner of Jenny Wren, and was as slim and trim looking as any
bird of Peter's acquaintance. He didn't look at all like the same
bird of the moment before. Then he dropped his tail as if he
hadn't strength enough to hold it up at all. It hung straight
down. He dropped his wings and all in a second made himself look
fairly disreputable. But all the time his eyes were twinkling and
snapping, and Peter knew that these changes in appearance were
made out of pure fun and mischief.

"I've been wondering if you were coming hack," cried Peter. "I
don't know of any one of my feathered friends I would miss so
much as you."

"Thank you," responded Kitty. "It's very nice of you to say that,
Peter. If you are glad to see me I am still more glad to get
back."

"Did you pass a pleasant winter down South?" asked Peter.

"Fairly so. Fairly so," replied Kitty. "By the way, Peter, I
picked up some new songs down there. Would you like to hear
them?"

"Of course," replied Peter, "but I don't think you need any new
songs. I've never seen such a fellow for picking up other
people's songs excepting Mocker the Mockingbird."

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

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

Kitty's face cleared, his throat swelled and he began to sing. It
was a regular medley. It didn't seem as if so many notes could
come from one throat. When it ended Peter had a question all
ready.

"Are you going to build somewhere near here?" he asked.

"I certainly am," replied Kitty. "Mrs. Catbird was delayed a day
or two. I hope she'll get here to-day and then we'll get busy at
once. I think we shall build in these bushes here somewhere. I'm
glad Farmer Brown has sense enough to let them grow. They are
just the kind of a place I like for a nest. They are near enough
to Farmer Brown's garden, and the Old Orchard is right here.
That's just the kind of a combination that suits me."

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

"Because that is where I will get a good part of my living,"
Kitty responded promptly. "He ought to be glad to have me about.
Once in a while I take a little fruit, but I pay for it ten times
over by the number of bugs and worms I get in his garden and the
Old Orchard. I pride myself on being useful. There's nothing like
being useful in this world, Peter."

Peter nodded as if he quite agreed. Though, as you know and I
know, Peter himself does very little except fill his own big
stomach.

CHAPTER XXVIII Peter Sees Rosebreast and Finds Redcoat.

"Who's that?" Peter Rabbit pricked up his long ears and stared up
at the tops of the trees of the Old Orchard.

Instantly Jenny Wren popped her head out of her doorway. She
cocked her head on one side to listen, then looked down at Peter,
and her sharp little eyes snapped.

"I don't hear any strange voice," said she. "The way you are
staring, Peter Rabbit, one would think that you had really heard
something new and worth while."

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

"For goodness' sake, Peter Rabbit, you don't mean to say you
don't know whose voice that is," she cried. "That's Rosebreast.
He and Mrs. Rosebreast have been here for quite a little while.
I didn't suppose there was any one who didn't know those sharp,
squeaky voices. They rather get on my nerves. What anybody wants
to squeak like that for when they can sing as Rosebreast can, is
more than I can understand."

At that very instant Mr. Wren began to scold as only he and Jenny
can. Peter looked up at Jenny and winked slyly. "And what anybody
wants to scold like that for when they can sing as Mr. Wren can,
is too much for me," retorted Peter. "But you haven't told me who
Rosebreast is."

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

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

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

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

"I wasn't laughing at you," replied Peter very meekly. "I was
just laughing, at the thought of how funny you would look with a
pair of long ears like mine. Now you speak of it, Jenny, that
song IS quite different from Welcome Robin's."

"Of course it is," retorted Jenny. "That is Rosebreast singing up
there, and there he is right in the top of that tree. Isn't he
handsome?"

Peter looked up to see a bird a little smaller than Welcome
Robin. His head, throat and back were black. His wings were black
with patches of white on them. But it was his breast that made
Peter catch his breath with a little gasp of admiration, for that
breast was a beautiful rose-red. The rest of him underneath was
white. It was Rosebreast the Grosbeak.

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

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

"I would never have guessed it," said Peter. "She doesn't look
the least bit like him."

This was quite true. There was no beautiful rose color about Mrs.
Grosbeak. She was dressed chiefly in brown and grayish colors
with a little buff here and there and with dark streaks on her
breast. Over each eye was a whitish line. Altogether she looked
more as if she might be a big member of the Sparrow family than
the wife of handsome Rosebreast. While Rosebreast sang, Mrs.
Grosbeak was very busily picking buds and blossoms from the tree.

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

"For the same reason that you bite off sweet clover blossoms and
leaves," replied Jenny Wren tartly.

"Do you mean to say that they live on buds and blossoms?" cried
Peter. "I never heard of such a thing."

"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut! You can ask more silly questions than
anybody of my acquaintance," retorted Jenny Wren. "Of course they
don't live on buds and blossoms. If they did they would soon
starve to death, for buds and blossoms don't last long. They eat
a few just for variety, but they live mostly on bugs and insects.
You ask Farmer Brown's boy who helps him most in his potato
patch, and he'll tell you it's the Grosbeaks. They certainly do
love potato bugs. They eat some fruit, but on the whole they are
about as useful around a garden as any one I know. Now run along,
Peter Rabbit, and don't bother me any more.

Seeing Farmer Brown's boy coming through the Old Orchard Peter
decided that it was high time for him to depart. So he scampered
for the Green Forest, lipperty-lipperty-lip. Just within the edge
of the Green Forest he caught sight of something which for the
time being put all thought of Farmer Brown's boy out of his head.
Fluttering on the ground was a bird than whom not even Glory the
Cardinal was more beautiful. It was about the size of Redwing the
Blackbird. Wings and tail were pure black and all the rest was a
beautiful scarlet. It was Redcoat the Tanager. At first Peter had
eyes only for the wonderful beauty of Redcoat. Never before had
he seen Redcoat so close at hand. Then quite suddenly it came
over Peter that something was wrong with Redcoat, and he hurried
forward to see what the trouble might be.

Redcoat heard the rustle of Peter's feet among the dry leaves and
at once began to flap and flutter in an effort to fly away, but
he could not get off the ground. "What is it, Redcoat? Has
something happened to you? It is just Peter Rabbit. You don't
have anything to fear from me," cried Peter.

The look of terror which had been in the eyes of Redcoat died
out, and he stopped fluttering and simply lay panting.

"Oh, Peter," he gasped, "you don't know how glad I am that it is
only you. I've had a terrible accident, and I don't know what I
am to do. I can't fly, and if I have to stay on the ground some
enemy will be sure to get me. What shall I do, Peter? What shall
I do?"

Right away Peter was full of sympathy. "What kind of an accident
was it, Redcoat, and how did it happen?" he asked.

"Broadwing the Hawk tried to catch me," sobbed Redcoat. "In
dodging him among the trees I was heedless for a moment and did
not see just where I was going. I struck a sharp-pointed dead
twig and drove it right through my right wing."

Redcoat held up his right wing and sure enough there was a little
stick projecting from both sides close up to the shoulder. The
wing was bleeding a little.

"Oh, dear, whatever shall I do, Peter Rabbit? Whatever shall I
do?" sobbed Redcoat.

"Does it pain you dreadfully?" asked Peter.

Redcoat nodded. "But I don't mind the pain," he hastened to say.
"It is the thought of what MAY happen to me."

Meanwhile Mrs. Tanager was flying about in the tree tops near at
hand and calling anxiously. She was dressed almost wholly in
light olive-green and greenish-yellow. She looked no more like
beautiful Redcoat than did Mrs. Grosbeak like Rosebreast.

"Can't you fly up just a little way so as to get off the ground?"
she cried anxiously. "Isn't it dreadful, Peter Rabbit, to have
such an accident? We've just got our nest half built, and I don't
know what I shall do if anything happens to Redcoat. Oh, dear,
here comes somebody! Hide, Redcoat! Hide!" Mrs. Tanager flew off
a short distance to one side and began to cry as if in the
greatest distress. Peter knew instantly that she was crying to
get the attention of whoever was coming.

Poor Redcoat, with the old look of terror in his eyes, fluttered
along, trying to find something under which to hide. But there
was nothing under which he could crawl, and there was no hiding
that wonderful red coat. Peter heard the sound of heavy
footsteps, and looking back, saw that Farmer Brown's boy was
coming. "Don't be afraid, Redcoat," he whispered. "It's Farmer
Brown's boy and I'm sure he won't hurt you. Perhaps he can help
you." Then Peter scampered off for a short distance and sat up to
watch what would happen.

Of coarse Farmer Brown's boy saw Redcoat. No one with any eyes at
all could have helped seeing him, because of that wonderful
scarlet coat. He saw, too, by the way Redcoat was acting, that he
was in great trouble. As Farmer Brown's boy drew near and Redcoat
saw that he was discovered, he tried his hardest to flutter away.
Farmer Brown's boy understood instantly that something was wrong
with one wing, and running forward, he caught Redcoat.

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

Somehow at that gentle touch Redcoat lost much of his fear, and a
little hope sprang in his heart. He saw, too, this was no enemy,
but a friend. Farmer Brown's boy took out his knife and carefully
cut off the twig on the upper side of the wing. Then, doing his
best to be careful and to hurt as little as possible, he worked
the other part of the twig out from the under side. Carefully he
examined the wing to see if any bones were broken. None were, and
after holding Redcoat a few minutes he carefully set him up in a
tree and withdrew a short distance. Redcoat hopped from branch to
branch until he was halfway up the tree. Then he sat there for
some time as if fearful of trying that injured wing. Meanwhile
Mrs. Tanager came and fussed about him and talked to him and
coaxed him and made as much of him as if he were a baby.

Peter remained right where he was until at last he saw Redcoat
spread his black wings and fly to another tree. From tree to tree
he flew, resting a bit in each until he and Mrs. Tanager
disappeared in the Green Forest.

"I knew Farmer Brown's boy would help him, and I'm so glad he
found him," cried Peter happily and started for the dear Old
Briar-patch.

CHAPTER XXIX The Constant Singers.

Over in a maple-tree on the edge of Farmer Brown's door yard
lived Mr. and Mrs. Redeye the Vireos. Peter Rabbit knew that they
had a nest there because Jenny Wren had told him so. He would
have guessed it anyway, because Redeye spent so much time in that
tree during the nesting season. No matter what hour of the day
Peter visited the Old Orchard he heard Redeye singing over in the
maple-tree. Peter used to think that if song is an expression of
happiness, Redeye must be the happiest of all birds.

He was a little fellow about the size of one of the larger
Warblers and quite as modestly dressed as any of Peter's
acquaintances. The crown of his head was gray with a little
blackish border on either side. Over each eye was a white line.
Underneath he was white. For the rest he was dressed in light
olive-green. The first time he came down near enough for Peter to
see him well Peter understood at once why he is called Redeye.
His eyes were red. Yes, sir, his eyes were red and this fact
alone was enough to distinguish him from any other members of his
family.

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

"Redeye believes in singing while he works," said Jenny Wren.
"For my part I should think he'd wear his throat out. When other
birds sing they don't do anything else, but Redeye sings all the
time he is hunting his meals and only stops long enough to
swallow a worm or a bug when he finds it. Just as soon as it is
down he begins to sing again while he hunts for another. I must
say for the Redeyes that they are mighty good nest builders. Have
you seen their nest over in that maple-tree, Peter?"

Peter shook his head.

"I don't dare go over there except very early in the morning
before Farmer Brown's folks are awake," said he, "so I haven't
had much chance to look for it."

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