A few days after Chebec and his wife started building their nest in
the Old Orchard Peter dropped around as usual for a very early call. He
found Chebec very busy hunting for materials for that nest, because, as
he explained to Peter, Mrs. Chebec is very particular indeed about what
her nest is made of. But he had time to tell Peter a bit of news.
“My fighting cousin and my handsomest cousin arrived together yesterday,
and now our family is very well represented in the Old Orchard,” said
Chebec proudly.
Slowly Peter reached over his back with his long left hind foot and
thoughtfully scratched his long right ear. He didn't like to admit that
he couldn't recall those two cousins of Chebec's. “Did you say your
fighting cousin?” he asked in a hesitating way.
“That's what I said,” replied Chebec. “He is Scrapper the Kingbird, as
of course you know. The rest of us always feel safe when he is about.”
“Of course I know him,” declared Peter, his face clearing. “Where is he
now?”
At that very instant a great racket broke out on the other side of the
Old Orchard and in no time at all the feathered folks were hurrying from
every direction, screaming at the top of their voices. Of course, Peter
couldn't be left out of anything like that, and he scampered for the
scene of trouble as fast as his legs could take him. When he got there
he saw Redtail the Hawk flying up and down and this way and that way, as
if trying to get away from something or somebody.
For a minute Peter couldn't think what was the trouble with Redtail, and
then he saw. A white-throated, white-breasted bird, having a black cap
and back, and a broad white band across the end of his tail, was darting
at Redtail as if he meant to pull out every feather in the latter's
coat.
He was just a little smaller than Welcome Robin, and in comparison with
him Redtail was a perfect giant. But this seemed to make no difference
to Scrapper, for that is who it was. He wasn't afraid, and he intended
that everybody should know it, especially Redtail. It is because of his
fearlessness that he is called Kingbird. All the time he was screaming
at the top of his lungs, calling Redtail a robber and every other
bad name he could think of. All the other birds joined him in calling
Redtail bad names. But none, not even Bully the English Sparrow, was
brave enough to join him in attacking big Redtail.
When he had succeeded in driving Redtail far enough from the Old Orchard
to suit him, Scrapper flew back and perched on a dead branch of one of
the trees, where he received the congratulations of all his feathered
neighbors. He took them quite modestly, assuring them that he had done
nothing, nothing at all, but that he didn't intend to have any of the
Hawk family around the Old Orchard while he lived there. Peter couldn't
help but admire Scrapper for his courage.
As Peter looked up at Scrapper he saw that, like all the rest of the
flycatchers, there was just the tiniest of hooks on the end of his bill.
Scrapper's slightly raised cap seemed all black, but if Peter could have
gotten close enough, he would have found that hidden in it was a patch
of orange-red. While Peter sat staring up at him Scrapper suddenly
darted out into the air, and his bill snapped in quite the same way
Chebec's did when he caught a fly. But it wasn't a fly that Scrapper
had. It was a bee. Peter saw it very distinctly just as Scrapper snapped
it up. It reminded Peter that he had often heard Scrapper called the Bee
Martin, and now he understood why.
“Do you live on bees altogether?” asked Peter.
“Bless your heart, Peter, no,” replied Scrapper with a chuckle. “There
wouldn't be any honey if I did. I like bees. I like them first rate. But
they form only a very small part of my food. Those that I do catch are
mostly drones, and you know the drones are useless. They do no work at
all. It is only by accident that I now and then catch a worker. I eat
all kinds of insects that fly and some that don't. I'm one of Farmer
Brown's best friends, if he did but know it. You can talk all you please
about the wonderful eyesight of the members of the Hawk family, but if
any one of them has better eyesight than I have, I'd like to know who it
is. There's a fly 'way over there beyond that old apple-tree; watch me
catch it.”
Peter knew better than to waste any effort trying to see that fly. He
knew that he couldn't have seen it had it been only one fourth that
distance away. But if he couldn't see the fly he could hear the sharp
click of Scrapper's bill, and he knew by the way Scrapper kept opening
and shutting his mouth after his return that he had caught that fly and
it had tasted good.
“Are you going to build in the Old Orchard this year?” asked Peter.
“Of course I am,” declared Scrapper. “I--”
Just then he spied Blacky the Crow and dashed out to meet him. Blacky
saw him coming and was wise enough to suddenly appear to have no
interest whatever in the Old Orchard, turning away toward the Green
Meadows instead.
Peter didn't wait for Scrapper to return. It was getting high time for
him to scamper home to the dear Old Briar-patch and so he started along,
lipperty-lipperty-lip. Just as he was leaving the far corner of the
Old Orchard some one called him. “Peter! Oh, Peter Rabbit!” called the
voice. Peter stopped abruptly, sat up very straight, looked this way,
looked that way and looked the other way, every way but the right way.
“Look up over your head,” cried the voice, rather a harsh voice. Peter
looked, then all in a flash it came to him who it was Chebec had meant
by the handsomest member of his family. It was Cresty the Great Crested
Flycatcher. He was a wee bit bigger than Scrapper the Kingbird, yet not
quite so big as Welcome Robin, and more slender. His throat and breast
were gray, shading into bright yellow underneath. His back and head were
of a grayish-brown with a tint of olive-green. A pointed cap was all
that was needed to make him quite distinguished looking. He certainly
was the handsomest as well as the largest of the Flycatcher family.
“You seem to be in a hurry, so don't let me detain you, Peter,” said
Cresty, before Peter could find his tongue. “I just want to ask one
little favor of you.”
“What is it?” asked Peter, who is always glad to do any one a favor.
“If in your roaming about you run across an old cast-off suit of Mr.
Black Snake, or of any other member of the Snake family, I wish you
would remember me and let me know. Will you, Peter?” said Cresty.
“A--a--a--what?” stammered Peter.
“A cast-off suit of clothes from any member of the Snake family,”
replied Cresty somewhat impatiently. “Now don't forget, Peter. I've
got to go house hunting, but you'll find me there or hereabouts, if it
happens that you find one of those cast-off Snake suits.”
Before Peter could say another word Cresty had flown away. Peter
hesitated, looking first towards the dear Old Briar-patch and then
towards Jenny Wren's house. He just couldn't understand about those
cast-off suits of the Snake family, and he felt sure that Jenny Wren
could tell him. Finally curiosity got the best of him, and back he
scampered, lipperty-lipperty-lip, to the foot of the tree in which Jenny
Wren had her home.
“Jenny!” called Peter. “Jenny Wren! Jenny Wren!” No one answered him.
He could hear Mr. Wren singing in another tree, but he couldn't see him.
“Jenny! Jenny Wren! Jenny Wren!” called Peter again. This time Jenny
popped her head out, and her little eyes fairly snapped. “Didn't I tell
you the other day, Peter Rabbit, that I'm not to be disturbed? Didn't
I tell you that I've got seven eggs in here, and that I can't spend any
time gossiping? Didn't I, Peter Rabbit? Didn't I? Didn't I?”
“You certainly did, Jenny. You certainly did, and I'm sorry to disturb
you,” replied Peter meekly. “I wouldn't have thought of doing such a
thing, but I just didn't know who else to go to.”
“Go to for what?” snapped Jenny Wren. “What is it you've come to me
for?”
“Snake skins,” replied Peter.
“Snake skins! Snake skins!” shrieked Jenny Wren. “What are you talking
about, Peter Rabbit? I never have anything to do with Snake skins and
don't want to. Ugh! It makes me shiver just to think of it.”
“You don't understand,” cried Peter hurriedly. “What I want to know
is, why should Cresty the Flycatcher ask me to please let him know if
I found any cast-off suits of the Snake family? He flew away before I
could ask him why he wants them, and so I came to you, because I know
you know everything, especially everything concerning your neighbors.”
Jenny Wren looked as if she didn't know whether to feel flattered or
provoked. But Peter looked so innocent that she concluded he was trying
to say something nice.