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 to take care of her own children. Do you
know what will happen, Peter Rabbit? Do you know what will happen?”
Peter shook his head and confessed that he didn't. “When that egg
hatches out, that young Cowbird will be about twice as big as Chebec's
own children,” sputtered Jenny. “He'll be so big that he'll get most
of the food. He'll just rob those little Chebecs in spite of all
their mother and father can do. And Chebec and his wife will be just
soft-hearted enough to work themselves to skin and bone to feed the
young wretch because he is an orphan and hasn't anybody to look after
him. The worst of it is, Sally Sly is likely to play the same trick on
others. She always chooses the nest of some one smaller than herself.
She's terribly sly. No one has seen her about. She just sneaked into
the Old Orchard this morning when everybody was busy, laid that egg and
sneaked out again.”
“Did you say that she is a member of the Blackbird family?” asked Peter.
Jenny Wren nodded vigorously. “That's what she is,” said she. “Thank
goodness, she isn't a member of MY family. If she were I never would be
able to hold my head up. Just listen to Goldy the Oriole over in that
big elm. I don't see how he can sing like that, knowing that one of his
relatives has just done such a shameful deed. It's a queer thing that
there can be two members of the same family so unlike. Mrs. Goldy builds
one of the most wonderful nests of any one I know, and Sally Sly is too
lazy to build any. If I were in Goldy's place I--”
“Hold on!” cried Peter. “I thought you said Sally Sly is a member of
the Blackbird family. I don't see what she's got to do with Goldy the
Oriole.”
“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.