The Burgess Bird Book for Children

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"You don't, eh?" exclaimed Jenny. "Well, for one who pokes into
other people's affairs as you do, you don't know much. The
Orioles and the Meadow Larks and the Grackles and the Bobolinks
all belong to the Blackbird family. They're all related to
Redwing the Blackbird, and Sally Sly the Cowbird belongs in the
same family."

Peter gasped. "I--I-- hadn't the least idea that any of these
folks were related," stammered Peter.

"Well, they are," retorted Jenny Wren. "As I live, there's Sally
Sly now!"

Peter caught a glimpse of a brownish-gray bird who reminded him
somewhat of Mrs. Redwing. She was about the same size and looked
very much like her. It was plain that she was trying to keep out
of sight, and the instant she knew that she had been discovered
she flew away in the direction of the Old Pasture. It happened
that late that afternoon Peter visited the Old Pasture and saw
her again. She and some of her friends were busily walking about
close to the feet of the cows, where they seemed to be picking up
food. One had a brown head, neck and breast; the rest of his coat
was glossy black. Peter rightly guessed that this must be Mr.
Cowbird. Seeing them on such good terms with the cows he
understood why they are called Cowbirds.

Sure that Sally Sly had left the Old Orchard, the feathered folks
settled down to their personal affairs and household cares, Jenny
Wren among them. Having no one to talk to, Peter found a shady
place close to the old stone wall and there sat down to think
over the surprising things he had learned. Presently Goldy the
Baltimore Oriole alighted in the nearest apple-tree, and it
seemed to Peter that never had he seen any one more beautifully
dressed. His head, neck, throat and upper part of his back were
black. The lower part of his back and his breast were a beautiful
deep orange color. There was a dash of orange on his shoulders,
but the rest of his wings were black with an edging of white. His
tail was black and orange. Peter had heard him called the
Firebird, and now he understood why. His song was quite as rich
and beautiful as his coat.

Shortly he was joined by Mrs. Goldy. Compared with her handsome
husband she was very modestly dressed. She wore more brown than
black, and where the orange color appeared it was rather dull.
She wasted no time in singing. Almost instantly her sharp eyes
spied a piece of string caught in the bushes almost over Peter's
head. With a little cry of delight she flew down and seized it.
But the string was caught, and though she tugged and pulled with
all her might she couldn't get it free. Goldy saw the trouble
she was having and cutting his song short, flew down to help
her. Together they pulled and tugged and tugged and pulled, until
they had to stop to rest and get their breath.

"We simply must have this piece of string," said Mrs. Goldy.
"I've been hunting everywhere for a piece, and this is the first
I've found. It is just what we need to bind our nest fast to the
twigs. With this I won't have the least bit of fear that that
nest will ever tear loose, no matter how hard the wind blows."

Once more they tugged and pulled and pulled and tugged until at
last they got it free, and Mrs. Goldy flew away in triumph with
the string in her bill. Goldy himself followed. Peter watched
them fly to the top of a long, swaying branch of a big elm-tree
up near Farmer Brown's house. He could see something which looked
like a bag hanging there, and he knew that this must be the nest.

"Gracious!" said Peter. "They must get terribly tossed about when
the wind blows. I should think their babies would be thrown out."

"Don't you worry about them," said a voice.

Peter looked up to find Welcome Robin just over him. "Mrs. Goldy
makes one of the most wonderful nests I know of," continued
Welcome Robin. "It is like a deep pocket made of grass, string,
hair and bark, all woven together like a piece of cloth. It is so
deep that it is quite safe for the babies, and they seem to enjoy
being rocked by the wind. I shouldn't care for it myself because
I like a solid foundation for my home, but the Goldies like it.
It looks dangerous but it really is one of the safest nests I
know of. Snakes and cats never get 'way up there and there are
few feathered nest-robbers who can get at those eggs so deep down
in the nest. Goldy is sometimes called Golden Robin. He isn't a
Robin at all, but I would feel very proud if he were a member of
my family. He's just as useful as he is handsome, and that's
saying a great deal. He just dotes on caterpillars. There's Mrs.
Robin calling me. Good-by, Peter."

With this Welcome Robin flew away and Peter once more settled
himself to think over all he had learned.

CHAPTER XIII More of the Blackbird Family.

Peter Rabbit was dozing. Yes, sir, Peter was dozing. He didn't
mean to doze, but whenever Peter sits still for a long time and
tries to think, he is pretty sure to go to sleep. By and by he
wakened with a start. At first he didn't know what had wakened
him, but as he sat there blinking his eyes, he heard a few
rich notes from the top of the nearest apple-tree. "It's Goldy
the Oriole," thought Peter, and peeped out to see.

But though he looked and looked he couldn't see Goldy anywhere,
but he did see a stranger. It was some one of about Goldy's size
and shape. In fact he was so like Goldy, but for the color of his
suit, that at first Peter almost thought Goldy had somehow changed his clothes.
Of course he knew that this couldn't be, but
it seemed as if it must be, for the song the stranger was singing
was something like that of Goldy. The stranger's head and throat
and back were black, just like Goldy's, and his wings were
trimmed with white in just the same way. But the rest of his
suit, instead of being the beautiful orange of which Goldy is so
proud, was a beautiful chestnut color.

Peter blinked and stared very hard. "Now who can this be?" said
he, speaking aloud without thinking.

"Don't you know him?" asked a sharp voice so close to Peter that
it made him jump. Peter whirled around. There sat Striped
Chipmunk grinning at him from the top of the old stone wall.
"That's Weaver the Orchard Oriole," Striped Chipmunk rattled on.
"If you don't know him you ought to, because he is one of the
very nicest persons in the Old Orchard. I just love to hear him
sing."

"Is--is--he related to Goldy?" asked Peter somewhat doubtfully.

"Of course," retorted Striped Chipmunk. "I shouldn't think you
would have to look at him more than once to know that. He's first
cousin to Goldy. There comes Mrs. Weaver. I do hope they've
decided to build in the Old Orchard this year."

"I'm glad you told me who she is because I never would have
guessed it," confessed Peter as he studied the newcomer. She did
not look at all like Weaver. She was dressed in olive-green and
dull yellow, with white markings on her wings.

Peter couldn't help thinking how much easier it must be for her
than for her handsome husband to hide among the green leaves.

As he watched she flew down to the ground and picked up a long
piece of grass. "They are building here, as sure as you live!"
cried Striped Chipmunk. "I'm glad of that. Did you ever see
their nest, Peter? Of course you haven't, because you said you
had never seen them before. Their nest is a wonder, Peter. It
really is. It is made almost wholly of fine grass and they weave
it together in the most wonderful way."

"Do they have a hanging nest like Goldy's?" asked Peter a bit
timidly.

"Not such a deep one," replied Striped Chipmunk. "They hang it
between the twigs near the end of a branch, but they bind it more
closely to the branch and it isn't deep enough to swing as
Goldy's does."

Peter had just opened his mouth to ask another question when
there was a loud sniffing sound farther up along the old stone
wall. He didn't wait to hear it again. He knew that Bowser the
Hound was coming.

"Good-by, Striped Chipmunk! This is no place for me," whispered
Peter and started for the dear Old Briar-patch. He was in such a
hurry to get there that on his way across the Green Meadows he
almost ran into Jimmy Skunk before he saw him.

"What's your hurry, Peter?" demanded Jimmy

"Bowser the Hound almost found me up in the Old Orchard," panted
Peter. "It's a wonder he hasn't found my tracks. I expect he will
any minute. I'm glad to see you, Jimmy, but I guess I'd better be
moving along."

"Don't be in such a hurry, Peter. Don't be in such a hurry,"
replied Jimmy, who himself never hurries. "Stop and talk a bit.
That old nuisance won't bother you as long as you are with me."

Peter hesitated. He wanted to gossip, but he still felt nervous
about Bowser the Hound. However, as he heard nothing of Bowser's
great voice, telling all the world that he had found Peter's
tracks, he decided to stop a few minutes. "What are you doing
down here on the Green Meadows?" he demanded.

Jimmy grinned. "I'm looking for grasshoppers and grubs, if you
must know," said he. "And I've just got a notion I may find some
fresh eggs. I don't often eat them, but once in a while one
tastes good."

"If you ask me, it's a funny place to be looking for eggs down
here on the Green Meadows," replied Peter. "When I want a thing;
I look for it where it is likely to be found."

"Just so, Peter; just so," retorted Jimmy Skunk, nodding his
head with approval. "That's why I am here."

Peter looked puzzled. He was puzzled. But before he could ask
another question a rollicking song caused both of them to look
up. There on quivering wings in mid-air was the singer. He was
dressed very much like Jimmy Skunk himself, in black and white,
save that in places the white had a tinge of yellow, especially
on the back of his neck. It was Bubbling Bob the Bobolink. And
how he did sing! It seemed as if the notes fairly tumbled over
each other.

Jimmy Skunk raised himself on his hind-legs a little to see
just where Bubbling Bob dropped down in the grass. Then Jimmy
began to move in that direction. Suddenly Peter understood. He
remembered that Bubbling Bob's nest is always on the ground.
It was his eggs that Jimmy Skunk was looking for.

"You don't happen to have seen Mrs. Bob anywhere around here,
do you, Peter?" asked Jimmy, trying to speak carelessly.

"No," replied Peter. "If I had I wouldn't tell you where. You
ought to be ashamed, Jimmy Skunk, to think of robbing such a
beautiful singer as Bubbling Bob."

"Pooh!" retorted Jimmy. "What's the harm? If I find those eggs
he and Mrs. Bob could simply build another nest and lay some
more. They won't be any the worse off, and I will have had a good
breakfast."

"But think of all the work they would have to do to build another
nest," replied Peter.

"I should worry," retorted Jimmy Skunk. "Any one who can spend so
much time singing can afford to do a little extra work."

"You're horrid, Jimmy Skunk. You're just horrid," said Peter. "I
hope you won't find a single egg, so there!"

With this, Peter once more headed for the dear Old Briar-patch,
while Jimmy Skunk continued toward the place where Bubbling Bob
had disappeared in the long grass. Peter went only a short
distance and then sat up to watch Jimmy Skunk. Just before Jimmy
reached the place where Bubbling Bob had disappeared, the latter
mounted into the air again, pouring out his rollicking song as if
there were no room in his heart for anything but happiness. Then
he saw Jimmy Shrunk and became very much excited. He flew down in
the grass a little farther on and then up again, and began to
scold.

It looked very much as if he had gone down in the grass to warn
Mrs. Bob. Evidently Jimmy thought so, for he at once headed
that way. When Bubbling Bob did the same thing all over again.
Peter grew anxious. He knew just how patient Jimmy Skunk could
be, and he very much feared that Jimmy would find that nest.
Presently he grew tired of watching and started on for the dear
Old Briar-patch. Just before he reached it a brown bird, who
reminded him somewhat of Mrs. Redwing and Sally Sly the Cowbird,
though she was smaller, ran across the path in front of him and
then flew up to the top of a last year's mullein stalk. It was
Mrs. Bobolink. Peter knew her well, for he and she were very good
friends.

"Oh!" cried Peter. "What are you doing here? Don't you know that
Jimmy Skunk, is hunting for your nest over there? Aren't you
worried to death? I would be if I were in your place."

Mrs. Bob chuckled. "Isn't he a dear? And isn't he smart?" said
she, meaning Bubbling Bob, of course, and not Jimmy Skunk. "Just
see him lead that black-and-white robber away."

Peter stared at her for a full minute. "Do you mean to say,"
said he "that your nest isn't over there at all?"

Mrs. Bob chuckled harder than ever. "Of course it isn't over
there," said she.

"Then where is it?" demanded Peter.

"That's telling," replied Mrs. Bob. "It isn't over there, and it
isn't anywhere near there. But where it is is Bob's secret and
mine, and we mean to keep it. Now I must go get something to
eat," and with a hasty farewell Mrs. Bobolink flew over to the
other side of the dear Old Briar-patch.

Peter remembered that he had seen Mrs. Bob running along the
ground before she flew up to the old mullein stalk. He went back
to the spot where he had first seen her and hunted all around in
the grass, but without success. You see, Mrs. Bobolink had been
quite as clever in fooling Peter as Bubbling Bob had been in
fooling Jimmy Skunk.

CHAPTER XIV Bob White and Carol the Meadow Lark.

"Bob--Bob White! Bob--Bob White! Bob--Bob White!" clear and
sweet, that call floated over to the dear Old Briar-patch until
Peter could stand it no longer. He felt that he just had to go
over and pay an early morning call on one of his very best
friends, who at this season of the year delights in whistling
his own name--Bob White.

"I suppose," muttered Peter, "that Bob White has got a nest. I
wish he would show it to me. He's terribly secretive about it.
Last year I hunted for his nest until my feet were sore, but it
wasn't the least bit of use. Then one morning I met Mrs. Bob
White with fifteen babies out for a walk. How she could hide a
nest with fifteen eggs in it is more than I can understand."

Peter left the Old Briar-patch and started off over the Green
Meadows towards the Old Pasture. As he drew near the fence
between the Green Meadows and the Old Pasture he saw Bob White
sitting on one of the posts, whistling with all his might. On
another post near him sat another bird very near the size of
Welcome Robin. He also was telling all the world of his
happiness. It was Carol the Meadow Lark.

Peter was so intent watching these two friends of his that he
took no heed to his footsteps. Suddenly there was a whirr from
almost under his very nose and he stopped short, so startled that
he almost squealed right out. In a second he recognized Mrs.
Meadow Lark. He watched her fly over to where Carol was singing.
Her stout little wings moved swiftly for a moment or two, then
she sailed on without moving them at all. Then they fluttered
rapidly again until she was flying fast enough to once more sail
on them outstretched. The white outer feathers of her tail
showed clearly and reminded Peter of the tail of Sweetvoice the
Vesper Sparrow, only of course it was ever so much bigger.

Peter sat still until Mrs. Meadow Lark had alighted on the fence
near Carol. Then he prepared to hurry on, for he was anxious for
a bit of gossip with these good friends of his. But just before
he did this he just happened to glance down and there, almost at
his very feet, he caught sight of something that made him squeal
right out. It was a nest with four of the prettiest eggs Peter
ever had seen. They were white with brown spots all over them.
Had it not been for the eggs he never would have seen that nest,
never in the world. It was made of dry, brown grass and was
cunningly hidden is a little clump of dead grass which fell over
it so as to almost completely hide it. But the thing that
surprised Peter most was the clever way in which the approach to
it was hidden. It was by means of a regular little tunnel of
grass.

"Oh!" cried Peter, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure. "This
must be the nest of Mrs. Meadow Lark. No wonder I have never been
able to find it, when I have looked for it. It is just luck and
nothing else that I have found it this time. I think it is
perfectly wonderful that Mrs. Meadow Lark can hide her home in
such a way. I do hope Jimmy Skunk isn't anywhere around."

Peter sat up straight and anxiously looked this way and that way.
Jimmy Skunk was nowhere to be seen and Peter gave a little sigh
of relief. Very carefully he walked around that nest and its
little tunnel, then hurried over toward the fence as fast as he
could go.

"It's perfectly beautiful, Carol!" he cried, just as soon as he
was near enough. "And I won't tell a single soul!"

"I hope not. I certainly hope not," cried Mrs. Meadow Lark in an
anxious tone. "I never would have another single easy minute if I
thought you would tell a living soul about my nest. Promise that
you won't, Peter. Cross your heart and promise that you won't."

Peter promptly crossed his heart and promised that he wouldn't
tell a single soul. Mrs. Meadow Lark seemed to feel better. Right
away she flew back and Peter turned to watch her. He saw her
disappear in the grass, but it wasn't where he had found the
nest. Peter waited a few minutes, thinking that he would see her
rise into the air again and fly over to the nest. But he waited
in vain. Then with a puzzled look on his face, he turned to look
up at Carol.

Carol's eyes twinkled. "I know what you're thinking, Peter," he
chuckled. "You are thinking that it is funny Mrs. Meadow Lark
didn't go straight hack to our nest when she seemed so anxious
about it. I would have you to know that she is too clever to do
anything so foolish as that. She knows well enough that somebody
might see her and so find our secret. She has walked there from
the place where yon saw her disappear in the grass. That is the
way we always do when we go to our nest. One never can be too
careful these days."

Then Carol began to pour out his happiness once more, quite as if
nothing had interrupted his song.

Somehow Peter never before had realized how handsome Carol the
Meadow Lark was. As he faced Peter, the latter saw a beautiful
yellow throat and waistcoat, with a broad black crescent on his
breast. There was a yellow line above each eye. His back was of
brown with black markings. His sides were whitish, with spats and
streaks of black. The outer edges of his tail were white.
Altogether he was really handsome, far handsomer than one would
suspect, seeing him at a distance.

Having found out Carol's secret, Peter was doubly anxious to find
Bob White's home, so he hurried over to the post where Bob was
whistling with all his might. "Bob!" cried Peter. "I've just
found Carol's nest and I've promised to keep it a secret. Won't
you show me your nest, too, if I'll promise to keep THAT a
secret?"

Rob threw back his head and laughed joyously. "You ought to know,
Peter, by this time," said he, "that there are secrets never to
be told to anybody. My nest is one of these. If you find it, all
right; but I wouldn't show it to my very best friend, and I guess
I haven't any better friend than you, Peter." Then from sheer
happiness he whistled, "--Bob White! Bob--Bob White!" with all
his might.

Peter was disappointed and a little put out. "I guess", said he,
"I could find it if I wanted to. I guess it isn't any better
hidden than Mrs. Meadow Lark's, and I found that. Some folks
aren't as smart as they think they are."

Bob White, who is sometimes called Quail and sometimes called
Partridge, and who is neither, chuckled heartily. "Go ahead, old
Mr. Curiosity, go ahead and hunt all you please," said he. "It's
funny to me how some folks think themselves smart when the truth
is they simply have been lucky. You know well enough that you
just happened to find Carol's nest. If you happen to find mine, I
won't have a word to say."

Bob White took a long breath, tipped his head back until his
bill was pointing right up in the blue, blue sky, and with all
his might whistled his name, "Bob--Bob White! Bob--Bob White!"

As Peter looked at him it came over him that Bob White was the
plumpest bird of his acquaintance. He was so plump that his body
seemed almost round. The shortness of his tail added to this
effect, for Bob has a very short tail. The upper part of his coat
was a handsome reddish-brown with dark streaks and light edgings.
His sides and the upper part of his breast were of the same
handsome reddish-brown, while underneath he was whitish with
little bars of black. His throat was white, and above each eye
was a broad white stripe. His white throat was bordered with
black, and a band of black divided the throat from the white line
above each eye. The top of his head was mixed black and brown.
Altogether he was a handsome little fellow in a modest way.

Suddenly Bob White stopped whistling and looked down at Peter
with a twinkle in his eye. "Why don't you go hunt for that nest,
Peter?" said he.

"I'm going," replied Peter rather shortly, for he knew that Bob
knew that he hadn't the least idea where to look. It might be
somewhere on the Green Meadows or it might be in the Old Pasture;
Bob hadn't given the least hint. Peter had a feeling that the
nest wasn't far away and that it was on the Green Meadows, so he
began to hunt, running aimlessly this way and that way, all the
time feeling very foolish, for of course he knew that Bob White
was watching him and chuckling down inside.

It was very warm down there on the Green Meadows, and Peter grew
hot and tired. He decided to run up in the Old Pasture in the
shade of an old bramble-tangle there. Just the other side of the
fence was a path made by the cows and often used by Farmer
Brown's boy and Reddy Fox and others who visited the Old Pasture.
Along this Peter scampered, lipperty-lipperty-lip, on his way to
the bramble-tangle. He didn't look either to right or left. It
didn't occur to him that there would be any use at all, for of
course no one would build a nest near a path where people passed
to and fro every day.

And so it was that in his happy-go-lucky way Peter scampered
right past a clump of tall weeds close beside the path without
the least suspicion that cleverly hidden in it was the very thing
he was looking for. With laughter in her eyes, shrewd little
Mrs. Bob White, with sixteen white eggs under her, watched him
pass. She had chosen that very place for her nest because she
knew that it was the last place anyone would expect to find it.
The very fact that it seemed the most dangerous place she could
have chosen made it the safest.

CHAPTER XV A Swallow and One Who Isn't.

Johnny and Polly Chuck had made their home between the roots of
an old apple-tree in the far corner of the Old Orchard. You know
they have their bedroom way down in the ground, and it is reached
by a long hall. They had dug their home between the roots of that
old apple-tree because they had discovered that there was just
room enough between those spreading roots for them to pass in and
out, and there wasn't room to dig the entrance any larger. So
they felt quite safe from Reddy Fox; and Bowser the Hound, either
of whom would have delighted to dig them out but for those roots.

Right in front of their doorway was a very nice doorstep of
shining sand where Johnny Chuck delighted to sit when he had a
full stomach and nothing else to do. Johnny's nearest neighbors
had made their home only about five feet above Johnny's head when
he sat up on his doorstep. They were Skimmer the Tree Swallow
and his trim little wife, and the doorway of their home was a
little round hole in the trunk of that apple-tree, a hole which
had been cut some years before by one of the Woodpeckers.

Johnny and Skimmer were the best of friends. Johnny used to
delight in watching Skimmer dart out from beneath the branches of
the trees and wheel and turn and glide, now sometimes high in the
blue, blue sky, and again just skimming the tops of the grass, on
wings which seemed never to tire. But he liked still better the
bits of gossip when Skimmer would sit in his doorway and chat
about his neighbors of the Old Orchard and his adventures out in
the Great World during his long journeys to and from the far-away
South.

To Johnny Chuck's way of thinking, there was no one quite so trim
and neat appearing as Skimmer with his snowy white breast and
blue-green back and wings. Two things Johnny always used to
wonder at, Skimmer's small bill and short legs. Finally he
ventured to ask Skimmer about them.

"Gracious, Johnny!" exclaimed Skimmer. "I wouldn't have a big
bill for anything. I wouldn't know what to do with it; it would
be in the way. You see, I get nearly all my food in the air when
I am flying, mosquitoes and flies and all sorts of small insects
with wings. I don't have to pick them off trees and bushes or
from the ground and so I don't need any more of a bill than I
have. It's the same way with my legs. Have you ever seen me
walking on the ground?"

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