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 snatches 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 Sunshine!” 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 Sunshine flitting about from bush
to bush.
“Oh, Sunshine!” 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. Sunshine are
going to make your home somewhere near here where I can see you every
day.”
“Hello, Peter! I am just as glad to see you as you are to see me,” cried
Sunshine 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 Sunshine. “She made us a lot of trouble
last year. But we fooled her.”
“How did you fool her?” asked Peter.
Sunshine 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. Sunshine
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.”
Sunshine 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 Sunshine. “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.
Sunshine nodded. “Yes, sir,” said he, “and it was a mighty fine nest, if
I do say it. If there's anything Mrs. Sunshine 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 grasses 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 Sunshine 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 sunshine 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. Sunshine. She was not such a bright
yellow as was Sunshine, 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 Sunshine, 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 Sunshine the Yellow Warbler because there isn't
anybody else who seems to be all yellow. My, what a lively, lovely lot
these Warblers are!”