Peter Rabbit never will forget the first time he caught a glimpse of
Glory the Cardinal, sometimes called Redbird. He had come up to the Old
Orchard for his usual morning visit and just as he hopped over the old
stone wall he heard a beautiful clear, loud whistle which drew his eyes
to the top of an apple-tree. Peter stopped short with a little gasp
of sheer astonishment and delight. Then he rubbed his eyes and looked
again. He couldn't quite believe that he saw what he thought he saw. He
hadn't supposed that any one, even among the feathered folks, could be
quite so beautiful.
The stranger was dressed all in red, excepting a little black around the
base of his bill. Even his bill was red. He wore a beautiful red crest
which made him still more distinguished looking, and how he could sing!
Peter had noticed that quite often the most beautifully dressed birds
have the poorest songs. But this stranger's song was as beautiful as his
coat, and that was one of the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful,
that Peter ever had seen. Of course he lost no time in hunting up Jenny
Wren. “Who is it, Jenny? Who is that beautiful stranger with such a
lovely song?” cried Peter, as soon as he caught sight of Jenny.
“It's Glory the Cardinal,” replied Jenny Wren promptly. “Isn't he the
loveliest thing you've ever seen? I do hope he is going to stay here. As
I said before, I don't often envy any one's fine clothes, but when I see
Glory I'm sometimes tempted to be envious. If I were Mrs. Cardinal I'm
afraid I should be jealous. There she is in the very same tree with him.
Did you ever see such a difference?”
Peter looked eagerly. Instead of the glorious red of Glory, Mrs.
Cardinal wore a very dull dress. Her back was a brownish-gray. Her
throat was a grayish-black. Her breast was a dull buff with a faint
tinge of red. Her wings and tail were tinged with dull red. Altogether
she was very soberly dressed, but a trim, neat looking little person.
But if she wasn't handsomely dressed she could sing. In fact she was
almost as good a singer as her handsome husband.
“I've noticed,” said Peter, “that people with fine clothes spend most of
their time thinking about them and are of very little use when it comes
to real work in life.”
“Well, you needn't think that of Glory,” declared Jenny in her vigorous
way. “He's just as fine as he is handsome. He's a model husband. If they
make their home around here you'll find him doing his full share in the
care of their babies. Sometimes they raise two families. When they do
that, Glory takes charge of the first lot of youngsters as soon as they
are able to leave the nest so that Mrs. Cardinal has nothing to worry
about while she is sitting on the second lot of eggs. He fusses over
them as if they were the only children in the world. Everybody loves
Glory. Excuse me, Peter, I'm going over to find out if they are really
going to stay.”
When Jenny returned she was so excited she couldn't keep still a minute.
“They like here, Peter!” she cried. “They like here so much that if they
can find a place to suit them for a nest they're going to stay. I told
them that it is the very best place in the world. They like an evergreen
tree to build in, and I think they've got their eyes on those evergreens
up near Farmer Brown's house. My, they will add a lot to the quality of
this neighborhood.”
Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal whistled and sang as if their hearts were bursting
with joy, and Peter sat around listening as if he had nothing else
in the world to do. Probably he would have sat there the rest of the
morning had he not caught sight of an old friend of whom he is very
fond, Kitty the Catbird. In contrast with Glory, Kitty seemed a regular
little Quaker, for he was dressed almost wholly in gray, a rather dark,
slaty-gray. The top of his head and tail were black, and right at the
base of his tail was a patch of chestnut color. He was a little smaller
than Welcome Robin. There was no danger of mistaking him for anybody
else, for there is no one dressed at all like him.
Peter forgot all about Glory in his pleasure at discovering the returned
Kitty and hurried over to welcome him. Kitty had disappeared among the
bushes along the old stone wall, but Peter had no trouble in finding
him by the queer cries he was uttering, which were very like the meow
of Black Pussy the Cat. They were very harsh and unpleasant and Peter
understood perfectly why their maker is called the Catbird. He did
not hurry in among the bushes at once but waited expectantly. In a few
minutes the harsh cries ceased and then there came from the very same
place a song which seemed to be made up of parts of the songs of all the
other birds of the Old Orchard. It was not loud, but it was charming. It
contained the clear whistle of Glory, and there was even the tinkle of
Little Friend the Song Sparrow. The notes of other friends were in that
song, and with them were notes of southern birds whose songs Kitty had
learned while spending the winter in the South. Then there were notes
all his own.
Peter listened until the song ended, then scampered in among the bushes.
At once those harsh cries broke out again. You would have thought that
Kitty was scolding Peter for coming to see him instead of being glad.
But that was just Kitty's way. He is simply brimming over with fun and
mischief, and delights to pretend.
When Peter found him, he was sitting with all his feathers puffed out
until he looked almost like a ball with a head and tail. He looked
positively sleepy. Then as he caught sight of Peter he drew those
feathers down tight, cocked his tail up after the manner of Jenny Wren,
and was as slim and trim looking as any bird of Peter's acquaintance.
He didn't look at all like the same bird of the moment before. Then he
dropped his tail as if he hadn't strength enough to hold it up at all.
It hung straight down. He dropped his wings and all in a second made
himself look fairly disreputable. But all the time his eyes were
twinkling and snapping, and Peter knew that these changes in appearance
were made out of pure fun and mischief.
“I've been wondering if you were coming hack,” cried Peter. “I don't
know of any one of my feathered friends I would miss so much as you.”
“Thank you,” responded Kitty. “It's very nice of you to say that, Peter.
If you are glad to see me I am still more glad to get back.”
“Did you pass a pleasant winter down South?” asked Peter.
“Fairly so. Fairly so,” replied Kitty. “By the way, Peter, I picked up
some new songs down there. Would you like to hear them?”
“Of course,” replied Peter, “but I don't think you need any new songs.
I've never seen such a fellow for picking up other people's songs
excepting Mocker the Mockingbird.”
At the mention of Mocker a little cloud crossed Kitty's face for just an
instant. “There's a fellow I really envy,” said he. “I'm pretty good at
imitating others, but Mocker is better. I'm hoping that, if I practice
enough, some day I can be as good. I saw a lot of him in the South and
he certainly is clever.”
“Huh! You don't need to envy him,” retorted Peter. “You are some
imitator yourself. How about those new notes you got when you were in
the South?”
Kitty's face cleared, his throat swelled and he began to sing. It was a
regular medley. It didn't seem as if so many notes could come from one
throat. When it ended Peter had a question all ready.
“Are you going to build somewhere near here?” he asked.
“I certainly am,” replied Kitty. “Mrs. Catbird was delayed a day or two.
I hope she'll get here to-day and then we'll get busy at once. I think
we shall build in these bushes here somewhere. I'm glad Farmer Brown has
sense enough to let them grow. They are just the kind of a place I like
for a nest. They are near enough to Farmer Brown's garden, and the Old
Orchard is right here. That's just the kind of a combination that suits
me.”
Peter looked somewhat uncertain. “Why do you want to be near Farmer
Brown's garden?” he asked.
“Because that is where I will get a good part of my living,” Kitty
responded promptly. “He ought to be glad to have me about. Once in a
while I take a little fruit, but I pay for it ten times over by the
number of bugs and worms I get in his garden and the Old Orchard. I
pride myself on being useful. There's nothing like being useful in this
world, Peter.”
Peter nodded as if he quite agreed. Though, as you know and I know,
Peter himself does very little except fill his own big stomach.