I Love Animal Stories. Aesop

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

       Table of Contents

      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 СКАЧАТЬ