The Burgess Bird Book for Children

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"I've noticed," said Peter, "that birds who do not sing at any
other time of year sing in the spring. Do you have a spring song,
Tommy Tit?"

"Well, I don't know as you would call it a song, Peter," chuckled
Tommy. "No, I hardly think you would call it a song. But I have a
little love call then which goes like this: Phoe-be! Phoe-be!"

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

"I guess you guess right," replied Tommy Tit. "Now I can't stop
to talk any longer. These trees need my attention. I want Farmer
Brown's boy to feel that I have earned that suet I am sure he
will put out for me as soon as the snow and ice come. I'm not the
least bit afraid of Farmer Brown's boy. I had just as soon take
food from his hand as from anywhere else. He knows I like
chopped-up nut-meats, and last winter I used to feed from his
hand every day." Peter's eyes opened very wide with surprise.
"Do you mean to say," said he, "that you and Farmer Brown's boy
are such friends that you dare sit on his hand?"

Tommy Tit nodded his little black-capped head vigorously.
"Certainly," said he. "Why not? What's the good of having friends
if you can't trust them? The more you trust them the better
friends they'll be."

Just the same, I don't see how you dare to do it," Peter replied.
"I know Farmer Brown's boy is the friend of all the little
people, and I'm not much afraid of him myself, but just the same
I wouldn't dare go near enough for him to touch me."

"Pooh!" retorted Tommy Tit. "That's no way of showing true
friendship. You've no idea, Peter, what a comfortable feeling it
is to know that you can trust a friend, and I feel that Farmer
Brown's boy is one of the best friends I've got. I wish more boys
and girls were like him."

CHAPTER XXXVIII Honker and Dippy Arrive.

The leaves of the trees turned yellow and red and brown and then
began to drop, a few at first, then more and more every day until
all but the spruce-trees and the pine-trees and the hemlock-trees
and the fir-trees and the cedar-trees were bare. By this time
most of Peter's feathered friends of the summer had departed, and
there were days when Peter had oh, such a lonely feeling. The fur
of his coat was growing thicker. The grass of the Green Meadows
had turned brown. All these things were signs which Peter knew
well. He knew that rough Brother North Wind and Jack Frost were
on their way down from the Far North.

Peter had few friends to visit now. Johnny Chuck had gone to
sleep for the winter 'way down in his little bedroom under
ground. Grandfather Frog had also gone to sleep. So had Old Mr.
Toad. Peter spent a great deal of time in the dear Old
Briar-patch just sitting still and listening. What he was
listening for he didn't know. It just seemed to him that there
was something he ought to hear at this time of year, and so he
sat listening and listening and wondering what he was listening
for. Then, late one afternoon, there came floating down to him
from high up in the sky, faintly at first but growing louder, a
sound unlike any Peter had heard all the long summer through. The
sound was a voice. Rather it was many voices mingled "Honk, honk,
honk, honk, honk, honk, honk!" Peter gave a little jump.

"That's what I've been listening for!" he cried. "Honker the
Goose and his friends are coming. Oh, I do hope they will stop
where I can pay them a call."

He hopped out to the edge of the dear Old Briar-patch that he
might see better, and looked up in the sky. High up, flying in
the shape of a letter V, he saw a flock of great birds flying
steadily from the direction of the Far North. By the sound of
their voices he knew that they had flown far that day and were
tired. One bird was in the lead and this he knew to be his old
friend, Honker. Straight over his head they passed and as Peter
listened to their voices he felt within him the very spirit of
the Far North, that great, wild, lonely land which he had never
seen but of which he had so often heard.

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

Peter could hardly wait for the coming of the Black Shadows, and
just as soon as they had crept out over the Green Meadows he
started for the Big River. He knew just where to go, because he
knew that Honker and his friends would rest and spend the night
in the same place they had stopped at the year before. He knew
that they would remain out in the middle of the Big River until
the Black Shadows had made it quite safe for them to swim in. He
reached the bank of the Big River just as sweet Mistress Moon was
beginning to throw her silvery light over the Great World. There
was a sandy bar in the Great River at this point, and Peter
squatted on the bank just where this sandy bar began.

It seemed to Peter that he had sat there half the night, but
really it was only a short time, before he heard a low signal out
in the Black Shadows which covered the middle of the Big River.
It was the voice of Honker. Then Peter saw little silvery lines
moving on the water and presently a dozen great shapes appeared
in the moonlight. Honker and his friends were swimming in. The
long neck of each of those great birds was stretched to its full
height, and Peter knew that each bird was listening for the
slightest suspicious sound. Slowly they drew near, Honker in the
lead. They were a picture of perfect caution. When they reached
the sandy bar they remained quiet, looking and listening for some
time. Then, sure that all was safe, Honker gave a low signal and
at once a low gabbling began as the big birds relaxed their
watchfulness and came out on the sandy bar, all save one. That
one was the guard, and he remained with neck erect on watch. Some
swam in among the rushes growing in the water very near to where
Peter was sitting and began to feed. Others sat on the sandy bar
and dressed their feathers. Honker himself came ashore close to
where Peter was sitting.

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

Honker gave a little start, but instantly recognizing Peter, came
over close to him. As he stood there in the moonlight he was
truly handsome. His throat and a large patch on each side of his
head were white. The rest of his head and long, slim neck were
black. His short tail was also black. His back, wings, breast and
sides were a soft grayish-brown. He was white around the base of
his tail and he wore a white collar.

"Hello, Peter," said he. "It is good to have an old friend greet
me. I certainly am glad to be back safe and sound, for the
hunters with terrible guns have been at almost every one of our
resting places, and it has been hard work to get enough to eat.
It is a relief to find one place where there are no terrible
guns."

"Have you come far?" asked Peter.

"Very far, Peter; very far," replied Honker. "And we still have
very far to go. I shall be thankful when the journey is over, for
on me depends the safety of all those with me, and it is a great
responsibility."

"Will winter soon be here?" asked Peter eagerly.

"Rough Brother North Wind and Jack Frost were right behind us,"
replied Honker. "You know we stay in the Far North just as long
as we can. Already the place where we nested is frozen and
covered with snow. For the first part of the journey we kept only
just ahead of the snow and ice, but as we drew near to where men
make their homes we were forced to make longer journeys each day,
for the places where it is safe to feed and rest are few and far
between. Now we shall hurry on until we reach the place in the
far-away South where we will make our winter home."

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

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

"He may, but I doubt it," replied Honker. "He and his mate are
great people to keep by themselves. Then, too, they don't have
to come ashore for food. You know Dippy feeds altogether on fish.
He really has an easier time on the long journey than we do,
because he can get his food without running so much risk of being
shot by the terrible hunters. He practically lives on the water.
He's about the most awkward fellow on land of any one I know."

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

"Because," replied Honker, "Old Mother Nature has given him very
short legs and has placed them so far back on his body that he
can't keep his balance to walk, and has to use his wings and bill
to help him over the ground. On shore he is about the most
helpless thing you can imagine. But on water he is another fellow
altogether. He's just as much at home under water as on top. My,
how that fellow can dive! When he sees the flash of a gun he will
get under water before the shot can reach him. That's where he
has the advantage of us Geese. You know we can't dive. He could
swim clear across this river under water if he wanted to, and he
can go so fast under water that he can catch a fish. It is
because his legs have been placed so far back that he can swim so
fast. You know his feet are nothing but big paddles. Another
funny thing is that he can sink right down in the water when he
wants to, with nothing but his head out. I envy him that. It
would be a lot easier for us Geese to escape the dreadful hunters
if we could sink down that way."

"Has he a bill like yours?" asked Peter innocently.

"Of course not," replied Honker. "Didn't I tell you that he lives
on fish? How do you suppose he would hold on to his slippery fish
if he had a broad bill like mine? His bill is stout, straight and
sharp pointed. He is rather a handsome fellow. He is pretty
nearly as big as I am, and his back, wings, tail and neck are
black with bluish or greenish appearance in the sun. His back and
wings are spotted with white, and there are streaks of white on
his throat and the sides of his neck. On his breast and below he
is all white. You certainly ought to get acquainted with Dippy,
Peter, for there isn't anybody quite like him."

"I'd like to," replied Peter. "But if he never comes to shore,
how can I? I guess I will have to be content to know him just by
his voice. I certainly never will forget that. It's about as
crazy sounding as the voice of Old Man Coyote, and that is saying
a great deal."

"There's one thing I forgot to tell you," said Honker. "Dippy
can't fly from the land; he must be on the water in order to get
up in the air."

"You can, can't you?" asked Peter.

"Of course I can," replied Honker. "Why, we Geese get a lot of
our food on land. When it is safe to do so we visit the grain
fields and pick up the grain that has been shaken out during
harvest. Of course we couldn't do that if we couldn't fly from
the land. We can rise from either land or water equally well. Now
if you'll excuse me, Peter, I'll take a nap. My, but I'm tired!
And I've got a long journey to-morrow."

So Peter politely bade Honker and his relatives good-night and
left them in peace on the sandy bar in the Big River.

CHAPTER XXXIX Peter Discovers Two Old Friends.

Rough Brother North Wind and Jack Frost were not far behind
Honker the Goose. In a night Peter Rabbit's world was
transformed. It had become a new world, a world of pure white.
The last laggard among Peter's feathered friends who spend the
winter in the far-away South had hurried away. Still Peter was
not lonely. Tommy Tit's cheery voice greeted Peter the very first
thing that morning after the storm. Tommy seemed to be in just as
good spirits as ever he had been in summer.

Now Peter rather likes the snow. He likes to run about in it, and
so he followed Tommy Tit up to the Old Orchard. He felt sure that
he would find company there besides Tommy Tit, and he was not
disappointed. Downy and Hairy the Woodpeckers were getting their
breakfast from a piece of suet Farmer Brown's boy had
thoughtfully fastened in one of the apple-trees for them. Sammy
Jay was there also, and his blue coat never had looked better
than it did against the pure white of the snow.

These were the only ones Peter really had expected to find in the
Old Orchard, and so you can guess how pleased he was as he hopped
over the old stone wall to hear the voice of one whom he had
almost forgotten. It was the voice of Yank-Yank the Nuthatch, and
while it was far from being sweet there was in it something of
good cheer and contentment. At once Peter hurried in the
direction from which it came.

On the trunk of an apple-tree he caught sight of a gray and black
and white bird about the size of Downy the Woodpecker. The top of
his head and upper part of his back were shining black. The rest
of his back was bluish-gray. The sides of his head and his breast
were white. The outer feathers of his tail were black with white
patches near their tips.

But Peter didn't need to see how Yank-Yank was dressed in order
to recognize him. Peter would have known him if he had been so
far away that the colors of his coat did not show at all. You
see, Yank-Yank was doing a most surprising thing, something no
other bird can do. He was walking head first down the trunk of
that tree, picking tiny eggs of insects from the bark and
seemingly quite as much at home and quite as unconcerned in that
queer position as if he were right side up.

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

"Welcome home, Yank-Yank!" cried Peter, hurrying up quite out of
breath.

Yank-Yank turned around so that he was once more head down, and
his eyes twinkled as he looked down at Peter. "You're mistaken
Peter," said he. "This isn't home. I've simply come down here for
the winter. You know home is where you raise your children, and
my home is in the Great Woods farther north. There is too much
ice and snow up there, so I have come down here to spend the
winter."

"Well anyway, it's a kind of home; it's your winter home,"
protested Peter, "and I certainly am glad to see you back. The
Old Orchard wouldn't be quite the same without you. Did you have
a pleasant summer? And if you please, Yank-Yank, tell me where
you built your home and what it was like."

"Yes, Mr. Curiosity, I had a very pleasant summer," replied
Yank-Yank. "Mrs. Yank-Yank and I raised a family of six and that
is doing a lot better than some folks I know, if I do say it. As
to our nest, it was made of leaves and feathers and it was in a
hole in a certain old stump that not a soul knows of but Mrs.
Yank-Yank and myself. Now is there anything else you want to
know?"

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

Yank-Yank chuckled happily. "I discovered a long time ago,
Peter," said he, "that the people who get on best in this world
are those who make the most of what they have and waste no time
wishing they could have what other people have. I suppose you
have noticed that all the Woodpecker family have stiff tail
feathers and use them to brace themselves when they are climbing
a tree. They have become so dependent on them that they don't
dare move about on the trunk of a tree without using them. If
they want to come down a tree they have to back down.

"Now Old Mother Nature didn't give me stiff tail feathers, but
she gave me a very good pair of feet with three toes in front and
one behind and when I was a very little fellow I learned to make
the most of those feet. Each toe has a sharp claw. When I go up a
tree the three front claws on each foot hook into the bark. When
I come down a tree I simply twist one foot around so that I can
use the claws of this foot to keep me from falling. It is just as
easy for me to go down a tree as it is to go up, and I can go
right around the trunk just as easily and comfortably." Suiting
action to the word, Yank-Yank ran around the trunk of the
apple-tree just above Peter's head. When he reappeared Peter had
another question ready.

"Do you live altogether on grubs and worms and insects and their
eggs?" he asked.

"I should say not!" exclaimed Yank-Yank. "I like acorns and
beechnuts and certain kinds of seeds."

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

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

As Yank-Yank spoke, a little brown bird alighted at the very foot
of the next tree. He was just a trifle bigger than Jenny Wren but
not at all like Jenny, for while Jenny's tail usually is cocked
up in the sauciest way, Seep-Seep's tail is never cocked up at
all. In fact, it bends down, for Seep-Seep uses his tail just as
the members of the Woodpecker family use theirs. He was dressed
in grayish-brown above and grayish-white beneath. Across each
wing was a little band of buffy-white, and his bill was curved
just a little.

Seep-Seep didn't stop an instant but started up the trunk of that
tree, going round and round it as he climbed, and picking out
things to eat from under the bark. His way of climbing that tree
was very like creeping, and Peter thought to himself that
Seep-Seep was well named the Brown Creeper. He knew it was quite
useless to try to get Seep-Seep to talk, He knew that Seep-Seep
wouldn't waste any time that way.

Round and round up the trunk of the tree he went, and when he
reached the top at once flew down to the bottom of the next tree
and without a pause started up that. He wasted no time exploring
the branches, but stuck to the trunk. Once in a while he would
cry in a thin little voice, "Seep! Seep!" but never paused to
rest or look around. If he had felt that on him alone depended
the job of getting all the insect eggs and grubs on those trees
he could not have been more industrious.

"Does he build his nest in a hole in a tree?" asked Peter of
Yank-Yank. Yank-Yank shook his head. "No," he replied. "He hunts
for a tree or stub with a piece of loose bark hanging to it. In
behind this he tucks his nest made of twigs, strips of bark and
moss. He's a funny little fellow and I don't know of any one in
all the great world who more strictly attends to his own business
than does Seep-Seep the Brown Creeper. By the way, Peter, have
you seen anything of Dotty the Tree Sparrow?"

"Not yet," replied Peter, "but I think he must be here. I'm glad
you reminded me of him. I'll go look for him.

CHAPTER XL Some Merry Seed-Eaters.

Having been reminded of Dotty the Tree Sparrow, Peter Rabbit
became possessed of a great desire to find this little friend of
the cold months and learn how he had fared through the summer.

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

So Peter hurried over to the weedy field and there, sure enough,
he found Dotty with a lot of his friends. They were very busy
getting their breakfast. Some were clinging to the weed-stalks
picking the seeds out of the tops, while others were picking up
the seeds from the ground. It was cold. Rough Brother North Wind
was doing his best to blow up another snow-cloud. It wasn't at
all the kind of day in which one would expect to find anybody in
high spirits. But Dotty was. He was even singing as Peter came
up, and all about Dotty's friends and relatives were twittering
as happily and merrily as if it were the beginning of spring
instead of winter.

Dotty was very nearly the size of Little Friend the Song Sparrow
and looked somewhat like him, save that his breast was clear
ashy-gray, all but a little dark spot in the middle, the little
dot from which he gets his name. He wore a chestnut cap, almost
exactly like that of Chippy the Chipping Sparrow. It reminded
Peter that Dotty is often called the Winter Chippy.

"Welcome back, Dotty!" cried Peter. "It does my heart good to see
you."

"Thank you, Peter," twittered Dotty happily. "In a way it is
good to be back. Certainly, it is good to know that an old friend
is glad to see me."

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

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

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

"Thank you again, Peter," cried Dotty, "and please let me return
the compliment. I like cold weather. I like winter when there
isn't too much ice and bad weather. I always feel good in cold
weather. That is one reason I go north to nest."

"Speaking of nests, do you build in a tree?" inquired Peter.

"Usually on or near the ground," replied Dotty. "You know I am
really a ground bird although I am called a Tree Sparrow. Most of
us Sparrows spend our time on or near the ground."

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

Dotty laughed. It was a tinkling little laugh, good to hear.
"Cousin Chippy would starve to death," he declared. "It is all a
matter of food. You ought to know that by this time, Peter.
Cousin Chippy lives chiefly on worms and bugs and I live almost
wholly on seeds, and that is what makes the difference. Cousin
Chippy must go where he can get plenty to eat. I can get plenty
here and so I stay."

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

"No," replied Dotty promptly. "Slaty the Junco and his relatives
came along with us and we had a very merry party."

Peter pricked up his ears. "Is Slaty here now?" he asked
eagerly.

"Very much here," replied a voice right behind Peter's back. It
was so unexpected that it made Peter jump. He turned to find
Slaty himself chuckling merrily as he picked up seeds. He was
very nearly the same size as Dotty but trimmer. In fact he was
one of the trimmest, neatest appearing of all of Peter's
friends. There was no mistaking Slaty the Junco for any other
bird. His head, throat and breast were clear slate color.
Underneath he was white. His sides were grayish. His outer tail
feathers were white. His bill was flesh color. It looked almost
white.

"Welcome! Welcome!" cried Peter. "Are you here to stay all
winter?"

I certainly am," was Slaty's prompt response. "It will take
pretty bad weather to drive me away from here. If the snow gets
too deep I'll just go up to Farmer Brown's barnyard. I can always
pick up a meal there, for Farmer Brown's boy is a very good
friend of mine. I know he won't let me starve, no matter what the
weather is. I think it is going to snow some more. I like the
snow. You know I am sometimes called the Snowbird."

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