The Burgess Bird Book for Children

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mrs. Teeter chuckled softly. "It's the safest place in the world,
Peter," said she. "They look so much like these pebbles around
here that no one sees them. The only time they are in danger is
when somebody comes along, as you did, and is likely to step on
them without seeing them. But that doesn't happen often."

CHAPTER X Redwing and Yellow Wing.

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

As soon as Peter appeared in sight Redwing left his high perch
and flew down to light among the broken-down bulrushes. As he
flew, Peter saw the beautiful red patch on the bend of each wing,
from which Redwing gets his name. "No one could ever mistake him
for anybody else," thought Peter, "For there isn't anybody else
with such beautiful shoulder patches."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter couldn't help thinking that Old Mother Nature had been very
unfair indeed in dressing Mrs. Redwing. She was, if anything, a
little bit smaller than her handsome husband, and such a plain,
not to say homely, little body that it was hard work to realize
that she was a Blackbird at all. In the first place she wasn't
black. She was dressed all over in grayish-brown with streaks of
darker brown which in places were almost black. She wore no
bright-colored shoulder patches. In fact, there wasn't a bright
feather on her anywhere. Peter wanted to ask why it was that she
was so plainly dressed, but he was too polite and decided to wait
until he should see Jenny Wren. She would be sure to know.
Instead, he exclaimed, "How do you do, Mrs. Redwing? I'm ever so
glad to see you. I was wondering where you were. Where did you
come from?"

"Straight from my home," replied Mrs. Redwing demurely. "And if I
do say it, it is the best home we've ever had."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Woodpecker family," replied Yellow Wing proudly.

CHAPTER XI Drummers and Carpenters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter was sitting with his head tipped back trying to see Downy.
At first he couldn't make him out. Then he caught a little
movement on top of a dead limb. It was Downy's head flying back
and forth as he beat his long roll. He was dressed all in black
and white. On the back of his head was a little scarlet patch. He
was making a tremendous racket for such a little chap, only a
little bigger than one of the Sparrow family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter stared and blinked and stared again, then slowly shook his
head. "No," he confessed, "I don't."

"That shows you haven't learned to use your eyes, Peter," said
Jenny rather sharply. "Look at the outside feathers of his tail;
they are all white. Downy's outside tail feathers have little
bars of black. Hairy is just as good a carpenter as is Downy, but
for that matter I don't know of a member of the Woodpecker family
who isn't a good carpenter. Where did you say Yellow Wing the
Flicker is making his home this year?"

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

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

Peter shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jenny Wren tossed her head. "You didn't mention the eggs of some
of your neighbors," said she sharply.

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

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

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

CHAPTER XII Some Unlikely Relatives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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