Having been reminded of Dotty the Tree Sparrow, Peter Rabbit became
possessed of a great desire to find this little friend of the cold
months and learn how he had fared through the summer.
He was at a loss just where to look for Dotty until he remembered a
certain weedy field along the edge of which the bushes had been left
growing. “Perhaps I'll find him there,” thought Peter, for he remembered
that Dotty lives almost wholly on seeds, chiefly weed seeds, and that he
dearly loves a weedy field with bushes not far distant in which he can
hide.
So Peter hurried over to the weedy field and there, sure enough, he
found Dotty with a lot of his friends. They were very busy getting their
breakfast. Some were clinging to the weed-stalks picking the seeds out
of the tops, while others were picking up the seeds from the ground. It
was cold. Rough Brother North Wind was doing his best to blow up another
snow-cloud. It wasn't at all the kind of day in which one would expect
to find anybody in high spirits. But Dotty was. He was even singing
as Peter came up, and all about Dotty's friends and relatives were
twittering as happily and merrily as if it were the beginning of spring
instead of winter.
Dotty was very nearly the size of Little Friend the Song Sparrow and
looked somewhat like him, save that his breast was clear ashy-gray, all
but a little dark spot in the middle, the little dot from which he gets
his name. He wore a chestnut cap, almost exactly like that of Chippy
the Chipping Sparrow. It reminded Peter that Dotty is often called the
Winter Chippy.
“Welcome back, Dotty!” cried Peter. “It does my heart good to see you.”
“Thank you, Peter,” twittered Dotty happily. “In a way it is good to be
back. Certainly, it is good to know that an old friend is glad to see
me.”
“Are you going to stay all winter, Dotty?” asked Peter.
“I hope so,” replied Dotty. “I certainly shall if the snow does not get
so deep that I cannot get enough to eat. Some of these weeds are so tall
that it will take a lot of snow to cover them, and as long as the tops
are above the snow I will have nothing to worry about. You know a lot of
seeds remain in these tops all winter. But if the snow gets deep enough
to cover these I shall have to move along farther south.”
“Then I hope there won't be much snow,” declared Peter very
emphatically. “There are few enough folks about in winter at best,
goodness knows, and I don't know of any one I enjoy having for a
neighbor more than I do you.”
“Thank you again, Peter,” cried Dotty, “and please let me return the
compliment. I like cold weather. I like winter when there isn't too much
ice and bad weather. I always feel good in cold weather. That is one
reason I go north to nest.”
“Speaking of nests, do you build in a tree?” inquired Peter.
“Usually on or near the ground,” replied Dotty. “You know I am really
a ground bird although I am called a Tree Sparrow. Most of us Sparrows
spend our time on or near the ground.”
“I know,” replied Peter. “Do you know I'm very fond of the Sparrow
family. I just love your cousin Chippy, who nests in the Old Orchard
every spring. I wish he would stay all winter. I really don't see why he
doesn't. I should think he could if you can.”
Dotty laughed. It was a tinkling little laugh, good to hear. “Cousin
Chippy would starve to death,” he declared. “It is all a matter of food.
You ought to know that by this time, Peter. Cousin Chippy lives chiefly
on worms and bugs and I live almost wholly on seeds, and that is what
makes the difference. Cousin Chippy must go where he can get plenty to
eat. I can get plenty here and so I stay.”
“Did you and your relatives come down from the Far North alone?” asked
Peter.
“No,” replied Dotty promptly. “Slaty the Junco and his relatives came
along with us and we had a very merry party.”
Peter pricked up his ears. “Is Slaty here now?” he asked eagerly.
“Very much here,” replied a voice right behind Peter's back. It was
so unexpected that it made Peter jump. He turned to find Slaty himself
chuckling merrily as he picked up seeds. He was very nearly the same
size as Dotty but trimmer. In fact he was one of the trimmest, neatest
appearing of all of Peter's friends. There was no mistaking Slaty the
Junco for any other bird. His head, throat and breast were clear slate
color. Underneath he was white. His sides were grayish. His outer tail
feathers were white. His bill was flesh color. It looked almost white.
“Welcome! Welcome!” cried Peter. “Are you here to stay all winter?”
“I certainly am,” was Slaty's prompt response. “It will take pretty bad
weather to drive me away from here. If the snow gets too deep I'll just
go up to Farmer Brown's barnyard. I can always pick up a meal there, for
Farmer Brown's boy is a very good friend of mine. I know he won't let me
starve, no matter what the weather is. I think it is going to snow some
more. I like the snow. You know I am sometimes called the Snowbird.”
Peter nodded. “So I have heard,” said he, “though I think that name
really belongs to Snowflake the Snow Bunting.”
“Quite right, Peter, quite right,” replied Slaty. “I much prefer my own
name of Junco. My, these seeds are good!” All the time he was busily
picking up seeds so tiny that Peter didn't even see them.
“If you like here so much why don't you stay all the year?” inquired
Peter.
“It gets too warm,” replied Slaty promptly,
“I hate hot weather. Give me cold weather every time.”
“Do you mean to tell me that it is cold all summer where you nest in the
Far North?” demanded Peter.
“Not exactly cold,” replied Slaty, “but a lot cooler than it is down
here. I don't go as far north to nest as Snowflake does, but I go far
enough to be fairly comfortable. I don't see how some folks can stand
hot weather.”
“It is a good thing they can,” interrupted Dotty. “If everybody liked
the same things it wouldn't do at all. Just suppose all the birds ate
nothing but seeds. There wouldn't be seeds enough to go around, and a
lot of us would starve. Then, too, the worms and the bugs would eat up
everything. So, take it all together, it is a mighty good thing that
some birds live almost wholly on worms and bugs and such things, leaving
the seeds to the rest of us. I guess Old Mother Nature knew what she was
about when she gave us different tastes.”
Peter nodded his head in approval. “You can always trust Old Mother
Nature to know what is best,” said he sagely. “By the way, Slaty, what
do you make your nest of and where do you put it?”
“My nest is usually made of grasses, moss and rootlets. Sometimes it is
lined with fine grasses, and when I am lucky enough to find them I use
long hairs. Often I put my nest on the ground, and never very far above
it. I am like my friend Dotty in this respect. It always seems to me
easier to hide a nest on the ground than anywhere else. There is nothing
like having a nest well hidden. It takes sharp eyes to find my nest, I
can tell you that, Peter Rabbit.”
Just then Dotty, who had been picking seeds out of the top of a weed,
gave a cry of alarm and instantly there was a flit of many wings as
Dotty and his relatives and Slaty sought the shelter of the bushes along
the edge of the field. Peter sat up very straight and looked this way
and looked that way. At first he saw nothing suspicious. Then, crouching
flat among the weeds, he got a glimpse of Black Pussy, the cat from
Farmer Brown's house. She had been creeping up in the hope of catching
one of those happy little seedeaters. Peter stamped angrily. Then
with long jumps he started for the dear Old Briar-patch,
lipperty-lipperty-lip, for truth to tell, big as he was, he was a little
afraid of Black Pussy.