The Burgess Bird Book for Children

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Kitty disappeared and Peter, having no one to talk to, decided
that the best thing he could do would be to go home to the dear
Old Briar-patch.

CHAPTER XXXV A Butcher and a Hummer.

Not far from the Old Orchard grew a thorn-tree which Peter Rabbit
often passed. He never had paid particular attention to it. One
morning he stopped to rest under it. Happening to look up, he saw
a most astonishing thing. Fastened on the sharp thorns of one of
the branches were three big grasshoppers, a big moth, two big
caterpillars, a lizard, a small mouse and a young English
Sparrow. Do you wonder that Peter thought he must be dreaming? He
couldn't imagine how those creatures could have become fastened
on those long sharp thorns. Somehow it gave him an uncomfortable
feeling and he hurried on to the Old Orchard, bubbling over with
desire to tell some one of the strange and dreadful thing he had
seen in the thorn-tree.

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

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

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

"It's simple enough," replied Skimmer. "Peter just happened to
find the storehouse of Butcher the Loggerhead Shrike. It isn't a
very pleasant sight, I must admit, but one must give Butcher
credit for being smart enough to lay up a store of food when it
is plentiful."

"And who is Butcher the Shrike?" demanded Peter. "He's a new one
to me.

"He's new to this location," replied Skimmer, "and you probably
haven't noticed him. I've seen him in the South often. There he
is now, on the tiptop of that tree over yonder."

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

"He certainly has wonderful eyes," said Skimmer admiringly. "He
mast have seen that grasshopper way over there in the grass
before he started after it, for he flew straight there. He
doesn't waste time and energy hunting aimlessly. He sits on a
high perch and watches until he sees something he wants. Many
times I've seen him sitting on top of a telegraph pole. I
understand that Bully the English Sparrow has become terribly
nervous since the arrival of Butcher. He is particularly fond of
English Sparrows. I presume it was one of Bully's children you
saw in the thorn-tree, Peter. For my part I hope he'll frighten
Bully into leaving the Old Orchard. It would he a good thing for
the rest of us."

"But I don't understand yet why he fastens his victims on those
long thorns," said Peter.

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

"Does he kill many birds?" asked Peter.

"Not many," replied Skimmer, "and most of those he does kill are
English Sparrows. The rest of us have learned to keep out of his
way. He feeds mostly on insects, worms and caterpillars, but he
is very fond of mice and he catches a good many. He is a good
deal like Killy the Sparrow Hawk in this respect. He has a
cousin, the Great Northern Shrike, who sometimes comes down in
the winter, and is very much like him. Hello! Now what's
happened?"

A great commotion had broken out not far away in the Old Orchard.
Instantly Skimmer flew over to see what it was all about and
Peter followed. He got there just in time to see Chatterer the
Red Squirrel dodging around the trunk of a tree, first on one
side, then on the other, to avoid the sharp bills of the angry
feathered folk who had discovered him trying to rob a nest of its
young.

Peter chuckled. "Chatterer is getting just what is due him, I
guess," he muttered. "It reminds me of the time I got into a
Yellow Jacket's nest. My, but those birds are mad!"

Chatterer continued to dodge from side to side of the tree while
the birds darted down at him, all screaming at the top of their
voices. Finally Chatterer saw his chance to run for the old stone
wall. Only one bird was quick enough to catch up with him and
that one was such a tiny fellow that he seemed hardly bigger than
a big insect. It was Hammer the Hummingbird. He followed
Chatterer clear to the old stone wall. A moment later Peter heard
a humming noise just over his head and looked up to see Hummer
himself alight on a twig, where he squeaked excitedly for a few
minutes, for his voice is nothing but a little squeak.

Often Peter had seen Hummer darting about from flower to flower
and holding himself still in mid-air in front of each as he
thrust his long bill into the heart of the blossom to get the
tiny insects there and the sweet juices he is so fond of. But
this was the first time Peter had ever seen him sitting still. He
was such a mite of a thing that it was hard to realize that he
was a bird. His back was a bright, shining green. His wings and
tail were brownish with a purplish tinge. Underneath he was
whitish, But it was his throat on which Peter fixed his eyes. It
was a wonderful ruby-red that glistened and shone in the sun like
a jewel.

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

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

"I know all about that," retorted Jenny. "You don't suppose I
hunt these trees over for food without knowing where my neighbors
are living, do you? I'd have you to understand, Peter, that that
is the daintiest nest in the Old Orchard. It is made wholly of
plant down and covered on the outside with bits of that gray
moss-like stuff that grows on the bark of the trees and is called
lichens. That is what makes that nest look like nothing more than
a knot on the branch. Chatterer made a big mistake when he
visited this tree. Hummer may he a tiny fellow but he isn't
afraid of anybody under the sun. That bill of his is so sharp and
he is so quick that few folks ever bother him more than once.
Why, there isn't a single member of the Hawk family that Hummer
won't attack. There isn't a cowardly feather on him."

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

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

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

"Just what I say," retorted Jenny Wren. "Mrs. Hummer sticks her
bill right down their throats and then pumps up the food she has
already swallowed. I guess it is a good thing that the babies
have short bills."

"Do they?" asked Peter, opening his eyes very wide with surprise.

"Yes," replied Jenny. "When they hatch out they have short bills,
but it doesn't take them a great while to grow long."

"How many babies does Mrs. Hummer usually have?" asked Peter.

"Just two," replied Jenny. "Just two. That's all that nest will
hold. But goodness gracious, Peter, I can't stop gossiping here
any longer. You have no idea what a care seven babies are."

With a jerk of her tail off flew Jenny Wren, and Peter hurried
back to tell Johnny Chuck all he had found out about Hummer the
Hummingbird.

CHAPTER XXXVI A Stranger and a Dandy.

Butcher the Shrike was not the only newcomer in the Old Orchard.
There was another stranger who, Peter Rabbit soon discovered, was
looked on with some suspicion by all the other birds of the Old
Orchard. The first time Peter saw him, he was walking about on
the ground some distance off. He didn't hop but walked, and at
that distance he looked all black. The way he carried himself and
his movements as he walked made Peter think of Creaker the
Grackle. In fact, Peter mistook him for Creaker. That was because
he didn't really look at him. If he had he would have seen at
once that the stranger was smaller than Creaker.

Presently the stranger flew up in a tree and Peter saw that his
tail was little more than half as long as that of Creaker. At
once it came over Peter that this was a stranger to him, and of
course his curiosity was aroused. He didn't have any doubt
whatever that this was a member of the Blackbird family, but
which one it could be he hadn't the least idea. "Jenny Wren will
know," thought Peter and scampered off to hunt her up.

"Who is that new member of the Blackbird family who has come
to live in the Old Orchard?" Peter asked as soon as he found
Jenny Wren.

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

"There is too," contradicted Peter. "I saw him with my own
eyes. I can see him now. He's sitting in that tree over yonder
this very minute. He's all black, so of course he must be a
member of the Blackbird family."

"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!" scolded Jenny Wren. "Tut, tut,
tut, tut, tut! That fellow isn't a member of the Blackbird
family at all, and what's more, he isn't black. Go over there
and take a good look at him; then come back and tell me if you
still think he is black."

Jenny turned her back on Peter and went to hunting worms. There
being nothing else to do, Peter hopped over where he could get
a good look at the stranger. The sun was shining full on him, and
he wasn't black at all. Jenny Wren was right. For the most part
he was very dark green. At least, that is what Peter thought at
first glance. Then, as the stranger moved, he seemed to be a
rich purple in places. In short he changed color as he turned.
His feathers were like those of Creaker the Grackle--iridescent.
All over he was speckled with tiny light spots. Underneath he
was dark brownish-gray. His wings and tail were of the same color,
with little touches of buff. His rather large bill was yellow.

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

"But you haven't told me who he is," protested Peter.

"He is Speckles the Starling, and he isn't really an American at
all," replied Jenny. "He comes from across the ocean the same as
Bully the English Sparrow. Thank goodness he hasn't such a
quarrelsome disposition as Bully. Just the same, the rest of us
would be better satisfied if he were not here. He has taken
possession of one of the old homes of Yellow Wing the Flicker,
and that means one less house for birds who really belong here.
If his family increases at the rate Bully's family does, I'm
afraid some of us will soon be crowded out of the Old Orchard.
Did you notice that yellow bill of his?"

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

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

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

"I guess he must do some good," admitted Jenny Wren rather
grudgingly. "I've seen him picking up worms and grubs, but he
likes grain, and I have a suspicion that if his family becomes
very numerous, and I suspect it will, they will eat more of
Farmer Brown's grain than they will pay for by the worms and bugs
they destroy. Hello! There's Dandy the Waxwing and his friends."

A flock of modestly dressed yet rather distinguished looking
feathered folks had alighted in a cherry-tree and promptly began
to help themselves to Farmer Brown's cherries. They were about
the size of Winsome Bluebird, but did not look in the least like
him, for they were dressed almost wholly in beautiful, rich, soft
grayish-brown. Across the end of each tail was a yellow band. On
each, the forehead, chin and a line through each eye was
velvety-black. Each wore a very stylish pointed cap, and on the
wings of most of them were little spots of red which looked like
sealing-wax, and from which they get the name of Waxwings. They
were slim and trim and quite dandified, and in a quiet way were
really beautiful.

As Peter watched them he began to wonder if Farmer Brown would
have any cherries left. Peter himself can do pretty well in the
matter of stuffing his stomach, but even he marvelled at the way
those birds put the cherries out of sight. It was quite clear to
him why they are often called Cberrybirds.

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

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

"Bow's that?" demanded Peter.

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

There were five of the Waxwings and they were now seated side by
side on a branch of the cherry tree. One of them had a plump
cherry which he passed to the next one. This one passed it on to
the next, and so it went to the end of the row and halfway back
before it was finally eaten. Peter laughed right out. "Never in
my life have I seen such politeness," said he.

"Huh!" exclaimed Jenny Wren. "I don't believe it was politeness
at all. I guess if you got at the truth of the matter you would
find that each one was stuffed so full that he thought he didn't
have room for that cherry and so passed it along."

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

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

Late in the fall Peter saw Mr. and Mrs. Waxwing and their family
together. They were in a cedar tree and were picking off and
eating the cedar berries as busily as the five Waxwings had picked
Farmer Brown's cherries in the early summer. Peter didn't know it
but because of their fondness for cedar berries the Waxwings were
often called Cedarbirds or Cedar Waxwings.

CHAPTER XXXVII Farewells and Welcomes.

All through the long summer Peter Rabbit watched his feathered
friends and learned things in regard to their ways he never had
suspected. As he saw them keeping the trees of the Old Orchard
free of insect pests working in Farmer Brown's garden, and
picking up the countless seeds of weeds everywhere, he began to
understand something of the wonderful part these feathered
folks have in keeping the Great World beautiful and worth while
living in.

He had many a hearty laugh as he watched the bird babies learn
to fly and to find their own food. All summer long they were
going to school all about him, learning how to watch out for
danger, to use their eyes and ears, and all the things a bird
must know who would live to grow up.

As autumn drew near Peter discovered that his friends were
gathering in flocks, roaming here and there. It was one of the
first signs that summer was nearly over, and it gave him just a
little feeling of sadness. He heard few songs now, for the
singing season was over. Also he discovered that many of the most
beautifully dressed of his feathered friends had changed their
finery for sober traveling suits in preparation for the long
journey to the far South where they would spend the winter. In
fact he actually failed to recognize some of them at first.

September came, and as the days grew shorter, some of Peter's
friends bade him good-by. They were starting on the long journey,
planning to take it in easy stages for the most part. Each day
saw some slip away. As Peter thought of the dangers of the long
trip before them he wondered if he would ever see them again. But
some there were who lingered even after Jack Frost's first visit.
Welcome and Mrs. Robin, Winsome and Mrs. Bluebird. Little Friend
the Song Sparrow and his wife were among these. By and by even
they were forced to leave.

Sad indeed and lonely would these days have been for Peter had it
not been that with the departure of the friends he had spent so
many happy hours with came the arrival of certain other friends
from the Far North where they had made their summer homes. Some
of these stopped for a few days in passing. Others came to stay,
and Peter was kept busy looking for and welcoming them.

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

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

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

"Not a bit," replied Tommy. "I like winter. I like cold weather.
It makes a fellow feel good from the tips of his claws to the
tip of his bill. I'm thankful I don't have to take that long
journey most of the birds have to. I discovered a secret a long
time ago, Peter; shall I tell it to you?"

"Please, Tommy," cried Peter. "You know how I love secrets."

"Well," replied Tommy Tit, "this is it: If a fellow keeps his
stomach filled he will beep his toes warm."

Peter looked a, little puzzled. "I--I--don't just see what your
stomach has to do with your toes," said he.

Tommy Tit chuckled. It was a lovely throaty little chuckle. "Dee,
dee, dee!" said he. "What I mean is, if a fellow has plenty to
eat he will keep the cold out, and I've found that if a fellow
uses his eyes and isn't afraid of a little work, he can find
plenty to eat. At least I can. The only time I ever get really
worried is when the trees are covered with ice. If it were not
that Farmer Brown's boy is thoughtful enough to hang a piece of
suet in a tree for me, I should dread those ice storms more than
I do. As I said before, plenty of food keeps a fellow warm."

"I thought it was your coat of feathers that kept you warm," said
Peter.

"Oh, the feathers help," replied Tommy Tit. "Food makes heat and
a warm coat keeps the heat in the body. But the heat has got to
be there first, or the feathers will do no good. It's just the
same way with your own self, Peter. You know you are never really
warm in winter unless you have plenty to eat..."

"That's so," replied Peter thoughtfully. "I never happened to
think of it before. Just the same, I don't see how you find food
enough on the trees when they are all bare in winter."

"Dee, Dee, Chickadee!
Leave that matter just to me,"

Chuckled Tommy Tit. "You ought to know by this time Peter Rabbit,
that a lot of different kinds of bugs lay eggs on the twigs and
trunks of trees. Those eggs would stay there all winter and in
the spring hatch out into lice and worms if it were not for me.
Why, sometimes in a single day I find and eat almost five hundred
eggs of those little green plant lice that do so much damage in
the spring and summer. Then there are little worms that bore in
just under the bark, and there are other creatures who sleep the
winter away in little cracks in the bark. Oh, there is plenty for
me to do in the winter. I am one of the policemen of the trees.
Downy and Hairy the Woodpeckers, Seep-Seep the Brown Creeper and
Yank-Yank the Nuthatch are others. If we didn't stay right here
on the job all winter, I don't know what would become of the Old
Orchard."

Tommy Tit hung head downward from a twig while he picked some tiny
insect eggs from the under side of it. It didn't seem to make the
least difference to Tommy whether he was right side up or upside
down. He was a little animated bunch of black and white feathers,
not much bigger than Jenny Wren. The top of his head, back of his
neck and coat were shining black. The sides of his head and neck
were white. His back was ashy. His sides were a soft cream-buff,
and his wing and tail feathers were edged with white. His tiny
bill was black, and his little black eyes snapped and twinkled in
a way good to see. Not one among all Peter's friends is such a
merry-hearted little fellow as Tommy Tit the Chickadee. Merriment
and happiness bubble out of him all the time, no matter what the
weather is. He is the friend of everyone and seems to feel that
everyone is his friend.

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