The Burgess Bird Book for Children Part 16

CHAPTER XXIV. The Warblers Arrive.

If there is one family of feathered friends which perplexes Peter Rabbit more than another, it is the Warbler family.

"So many of them come together and they move about so constantly that a fellow doesn't have a chance to look at one long enough to recognize him," complained Peter to Jenny Wren one morning when the Old Orchard was fairly alive with little birds no bigger than Jenny Wren herself.

And such restless little folks as they were!

They were not still an instant, flitting from tree to tree, twig to twig, darting out into the air and all the time keeping up an endless chattering mingled with little s.n.a.t.c.hes of song. Peter would no sooner fix his eyes on one than another entirely different in appearance would take its place. Occasionally he would see one whom he recognized, one who would stay for the nesting season. But the majority of them would stop only for a day or two, being bound farther north to make their summer homes.

Apparently, Jenny Wren did not look upon them altogether with favor.

Perhaps Jenny was a little bit envious, for compared with the bright colors of some of them Jenny was a very homely small person indeed.

Then, too, there were so many of them and they were so busy catching all kinds of small insects that it may be Jenny was a little fearful they would not leave enough for her to get her own meals easily.

"I don't see what they have to stop here for," scolded Jenny. "They could just as well go somewhere else where they would not be taking the food out of the mouths of honest folk who are here to stay all summer.

Did you ever in your life see such uneasy people? They don't keep still an instant. It positively makes me tired just to watch them."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle, for Jenny Wren herself is a very restless and uneasy person. As for Peter, he was thoroughly enjoying this visit of the Warblers, despite the fact that he was having no end of trouble trying to tell who was who. Suddenly one darted down and snapped up a fly almost under Peter's very nose and was back up in a tree before Peter could get his breath. "It's Zee Zee the Redstart!"

cried Peter joyously. "I would know Zee Zee anywhere. Do you know who he reminds me of, Jenny Wren?"

"Who?" demanded Jenny.

"Goldy the Oriole," replied Peter promptly. "Only of course he's ever and ever so much smaller. He's all black and orange-red and white something as Goldy is, only there isn't quite so much orange on him."

For just an instant Zee Zee sat still with his tail spread. His head, throat and back were black and there was a black band across the end of his tail and a black stripe down the middle of it. The rest was bright orange-red. On each wing was a band of orange-red and his sides were the same color. Underneath he was white tinged more or less with orange.

It was only for an instant that Zee Zee sat still; then he was in the air, darting, diving, whirling, going through all sorts of antics as he caught tiny insects too small for Peter to see. Peter began to wonder how he kept still long enough to sleep at night. And his voice was quite as busy as his wings. "Zee, zee, zee, zee!" he would cry. But this was only one of many notes. At times he would sing a beautiful little song and then again it would seem as if he were trying to imitate other members of the Warbler family.

"I do hope Zee Zee is going to stay here," said Peter. "I just love to watch him."

"He'll stay fast enough," retorted Jenny Wren. "I don't imagine he'll stay in the Old Orchard and I hope he won't, because if he does it will make it just that much harder for me to catch enough to feed my big family. Probably he and Mrs. Redstart will make their home on the edge of the Green Forest. They like it better over there, for which I am thankful. There's Mrs Redstart now. Just notice that where Zee Zee is bright orange-y red she is yellow, and instead of a black head she has a gray head and her back is olive-green with a grayish tinge. She isn't nearly as handsome as Zee Zee, but then, that's not to be expected. She lets Zee Zee do the singing and the showing off and she does the work.

I expect she'll build that nest with almost no help at all from him. But Zee Zee is a good father, I'll say that much for him. He'll do his share in feeding their babies."

Just then Peter caught sight of a bird all in yellow. He was about the same size as Zee Zee and was flitting about among the bushes along the old stone wall. "There's Suns.h.i.+ne!" cried Peter, and without being polite enough to even bid Jenny Wren farewell, he scampered over to where he could see the one he called Suns.h.i.+ne flitting about from bush to bush.

"Oh, Suns.h.i.+ne!" he cried, as he came within speaking distance, "I'm ever and ever so glad to see you back. I do hope you and Mrs. Suns.h.i.+ne are going to make your home somewhere near here where I can see you every day."

"h.e.l.lo, Peter! I am just as glad to see you as you are to see me," cried Suns.h.i.+ne the Yellow Warbler. "Yes, indeed, we certainly intend to stay here if we can find just the right place for our nest. It is lovely to be back here again. We've journeyed so far that we don't want to go a bit farther if we can help it. Have you seen Sally Sly the Cowbird around here this spring?"

Peter nodded. "Yes," said he, "I have."

"I'm sorry to hear it," declared Suns.h.i.+ne. "She made us a lot of trouble last year. But we fooled her."

"How did you fool her?" asked Peter.

Suns.h.i.+ne paused to pick a tiny worm from a leaf. "Well," said he, "she found our nest just after we had finished it and before Mrs. Suns.h.i.+ne had had a chance to lay an egg. Of course you know what she did."

"I can guess," replied Peter. "She laid one of her own eggs in your nest."

Suns.h.i.+ne stopped to pick two or three more worms from the leaves. "Yes,"

said he. "She did just that, the lazy good-for-nothing creature! But it didn't do her a bit of good, not a bit. That egg never hatched. We fooled her and that's what we'll do again if she repeats that trick this year."

"What did you do, throw that egg out?" asked Peter.

"No," replied Suns.h.i.+ne. "Our nest was too deep for us to get that egg out. We just made a second bottom in our nest right over that egg and built the sides of the nest a little higher. Then we took good care that she didn't have a chance to lay another egg in there."

"Then you had a regular two-story nest, didn't you?" cried Peter, opening his eyes very wide.

Suns.h.i.+ne nodded. "Yes, sir," said he, "and it was a mighty fine nest, if I do say it. If there's anything Mrs. Suns.h.i.+ne and I pride ourselves on it is our nest. There are no babies who have a softer, cozier home than ours."

"What do you make your nest of?" asked Peter.

"Fine gra.s.ses and soft fibers from plants, some hair when we can find it, and a few feathers. But we always use a lot of that nice soft fern-cotton. There is nothing softer or nicer that I know of."

All the time Peter had been admiring Suns.h.i.+ne and thinking how wonderfully well he was named. At first glance he seemed to be all yellow, as if somehow he had managed to catch and hold the suns.h.i.+ne in his feathers. There wasn't a white feather on him. When he came very close Peter could see that on his breast and underneath were little streaks of reddish brown and his wings and tail were a little blackish.

Otherwise he was all yellow.

Presently he was joined by Mrs. Suns.h.i.+ne. She was not such a bright yellow as was Suns.h.i.+ne, having an olive-green tint on her back. But underneath she was almost clear yellow without the reddish-brown streaks. She too was glad to see Peter but couldn't stop to gossip, for already, as she informed Suns.h.i.+ne, she had found just the place for their nest. Of course Peter begged to be told where it was. But the two little folks in yellow snapped their bright eyes at him and told him that that was their secret and they didn't propose to tell a living soul.

Perhaps if Peter had not been so curious and eager to get acquainted with other members of the Warbler family he would have stayed and done a little spying. As it was, he promised himself to come back to look for that nest after it had been built; then he scurried back among the trees of the Old Orchard to look for other friends among the busy little Warblers who were making the Old Orchard such a lively place that morning.

"There's one thing about it," cried Peter. "Any one can tell Zee Zee the Redstart by his black and flame colored suit. There is no other like it. And any one can tell Suns.h.i.+ne the Yellow Warbler because there isn't anybody else who seems to be all yellow. My, what a lively, lovely lot these Warblers are!"

CHAPTER XXV. Three Cousins Quite Unlike.

As Peter Rabbit pa.s.sed one of the apple-trees in the Old Orchard, a thin, wiry voice hailed him. "It's a wonder you wouldn't at least say you're glad to see me back, Peter Rabbit," said the voice.

Peter, who had been hopping along rather fast, stopped abruptly to look up. Running along a limb just over his head, now on top and now underneath, was a little bird with a black and white striped coat and a white waistcoat. Just as Peter looked it flew down to near the base of the tree and began to run straight up the trunk, picking things from the bark here and there as it ran. Its way of going up that tree trunk reminded Peter of one of his winter friends, Seep Seep the Brown Creeper.

"It strikes me that this is a mighty poor welcome for one who has just come all the way from South America," said the little black and white bird with twinkling eyes.

"Oh, Creeper, I didn't know you were here!" cried Peter. "You know I'm glad to see you. I'm just as glad as glad can be. You are such a quiet fellow I'm afraid I shouldn't have seen you at all if you hadn't spoken.

You know it's always been hard work for me to believe that you are really and truly a Warbler."

"Why so?" demanded Creeper the Black and White Warbler, for that is the name by which he is commonly known. "Why so? Don't I look like a Warbler?"

"Ye-es," said Peter slowly. "You do look like one but you don't act like one."

"In what way don't I act like one I should like to know?" demanded Creeper.

"Well," replied Peter, "all the rest of the Warblers are the uneasiest folks I know of. They can't seem to keep still a minute. They are everlastingly flitting about this way and that way and the other way. I actually get tired watching them. But you are not a bit that way.

Then the way you run up tree trunks and along the limbs isn't a bit Warbler-like. Why don't you flit and dart about as the others do?"

Creeper's bright eyes sparkled.

"I don't have to," said he. "I'm going to let you into a little secret, Peter. The rest of them get their living from the leaves and twigs and in the air, but I've discovered an easier way. I've found out that there are lots of little worms and insects and eggs on the trunks and big limbs of the trees and that I can get the best kind of a living there without flitting about everlastingly. I don't have to share them with anybody but the Woodp.e.c.k.e.rs, Nuthatches, and Tommy t.i.t the Chickadee."