The Burgess Bird Book for Children

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Peter nodded. "So I have heard," said he, "though I think that
name really belongs to Snowflake 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 summer 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 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 everything. 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 instantly 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 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 seedeaters. 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.

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 Find 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 clear 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 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
seeking 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 Snowflake 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
question ready.

"Are you going to spend the winter here, Snowflake?" he cried.

Snowflake was so busy getting his breakfast that he did not reply
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.

"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 Snowflake. "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 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 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 inclined 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 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 anything bad about me,
doesn't it?" chuckled Wanderer.

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 Wanderer 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. "Besides, 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 exclaimed, "what a long claw you have on each hind toe!"

It was true. Each hind claw was about twice as long as any other
claw. Peter couldn't see any special use for it and he was just
about to 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.

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
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 disappointment. 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 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 leave no neck at all. He 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 unhappy, 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 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 he couldn'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 insects. 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 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.

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 winter
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,
because 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 perplexed. "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 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
wonderful." 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 between 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 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."

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 anywhere 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 eating 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 Snipper'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?"

"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 evergreen 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."

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