The Burgess Bird Book for Children - Thornton W. Burgess (books for 5 year olds to read themselves txt) 📗

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 SeedEaters.

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