Peter Rabbit likes winter. At least he doesn't mind it so very much,
even though he has to really work for a living. Perhaps it is a good
thing that he does, for he might grow too fat to keep out of the way of
Reddy Fox. You see when the snow is deep Peter is forced to eat whatever
he can, and very often there isn't much of anything for him but the bark
of young trees. It is at such times that Peter gets into mischief, for
there is no bark he likes better than that of young fruit trees. Now
you know what happens when the bark is taken off all the way around the
trunk of a tree. That tree dies. It dies for the simple reason that it
is up the inner layer of bark that the life-giving sap travels in the
spring and summer. Of course, when a strip of bark has been taken off
all the way around near the base of a tree, the sap cannot go up and the
tree must die.
Now up near the Old Orchard Farmer Brown had set out a young orchard.
Peter knew all about that young orchard, for he had visited it many
times in the summer. Then there had been plenty of sweet clover and
other green things to eat, and Peter had never been so much as tempted
to sample the bark of those young trees. But now things were very
different, and it was very seldom that Peter knew what it was to have a
full stomach. He kept thinking of that young orchard. He knew that if he
were wise he would keep away from there. But the more he thought of it
the more it seemed to him that he just must have some of that tender
young bark. So just at dusk one evening, Peter started for the young
orchard.
Peter got there in safety and his eyes sparkled as he hopped over to
the nearest young tree. But when he reached it, Peter had a dreadful
disappointment. All around the trunk of that young tree was wire
netting. Peter couldn't get even a nibble of that bark. He tried the
next tree with no better result. Then he hurried on from tree to tree,
always with the same result. You see Farmer Brown knew all about Peter's
liking for the bark of young fruit trees, and he had been wise enough to
protect his young orchard.
At last Peter gave up and hopped over to the Old Orchard. As he passed a
certain big tree he was startled by a voice. “What's the matter, Peter?”
said the voice. “You don't look happy.”
Peter stopped short and stared up in the big apple-tree. Look as he
would he couldn't see anybody. Of course there wasn't a leaf on that
tree, and he could see all through it. Peter blinked and felt foolish.
He knew that had there been any one sitting on any one of those branches
he couldn't have helped seeing him.
“Don't look so high, Peter; don't look so high,” said the voice with a
chuckle. This time it sounded as if it came right out of the trunk of
the tree. Peter stared at the trunk and then suddenly laughed right out.
Just a few feet above the ground was a good sized hole in the tree, and
poking his head out of it was a funny little fellow with big eyes and a
hooked beak.
“You certainly did fool me that time, Spooky,” cried Peter. “I ought to
have recognized your voice, but I didn't.”
Spooky the Screech Owl, for that is who it was, came out of the hole in
the tree and without a sound from his wings flew over and perched just
above Peter's head. He was a little fellow, not over eight inches high,
but there was no mistaking the family to which he belonged. In fact he
looked very much like a small copy of Hooty the Great Horned Owl, so
much so that Peter felt a little cold shiver run over him, although he
had nothing in the world to fear from Spooky.
His head seemed to be almost as big around as his body, and he seemed
to leave no neck at all. He was dressed in bright reddish-brown, with
little streaks and bars of black. Underneath he was whitish, with little
streaks and bars of black and brown. On each side of his head was a tuft
of feathers. They looked like ears and some people think they are ears,
which is a mistake. His eyes were round and yellow with a fierce hungry
look in them. His bill was small and almost hidden among the feathers of
his face, but it was hooked just like the bill of Hooty. As he settled
himself he turned his head around until he could look squarely behind
him, then brought it back again so quickly that to Peter it looked as
if it had gone clear around. You see Spooky's eyes are fixed in their
sockets and he cannot move them from side to side. He has to turn his
whole head in order to see to one side or the other.
“You haven't told me yet why you look so unhappy, Peter,” said Spooky.
“Isn't an empty stomach enough to make any fellow unhappy?” retorted
Peter rather shortly.
Spooky chuckled. “I've got an empty stomach myself, Peter,” said he,
“but it isn't making me unhappy. I have a feeling that somewhere there
is a fat Mouse waiting for me.”
Just then Peter remembered what Jenny Wren had told him early in the
spring of how Spooky the Screech Owl lives all the year around in a
hollow tree, and curiosity made him forget for the time being that he
was hungry. “Did you live in that hole all summer, Spooky?” he asked.
Spooky nodded solemnly. “I've lived in that hollow summer and winter for
three years,” said he.
Peter's eyes opened very wide. “And till now I never even guessed it,”
he exclaimed. “Did you raise a family there?”
“I certainly did,” replied Spooky. “Mrs. Spooky and I raised a family of
four as fine looking youngsters as you ever have seen. They've gone out
into the Great World to make their own living now. Two were dressed just
like me and two were gray.”
“What's that?” exclaimed Peter.
“I said that two were dressed just like me and two were gray,” replied
Spooky rather sharply.
“That's funny,” Peter exclaimed.
“What's funny?” snapped Spooky rather crossly.
“Why that all four were not dressed alike,” said Peter.
“There's nothing funny about it,” retorted Spooky, and snapped his
bill sharply with a little cracking sound. “We Screech Owls believe in
variety. Some of us are gray and some of us are reddish-brown. It is
a case of where you cannot tell a person just by the color of his
clothes.”
Peter nodded as if he quite understood, although he couldn't understand
at all. “I'm ever so pleased to find you living here,” said he politely.
“You see, in winter the Old Orchard is rather a lonely place. I don't
see how you get enough to eat when there are so few birds about.”
“Birds!” snapped Spooky. “What have birds to do with it?”
“Why, don't you live on birds?” asked Peter innocently.
“I should say not. I guess I would starve if I depended on birds for
my daily food,” retorted Spooky. “I catch a Sparrow now and then, to
be sure, but usually it is an English Sparrow, and I consider that I am
doing the Old Orchard a good turn every time I am lucky enough to catch
one of the family of Bully the English Sparrow. But I live mostly on
Mice and Shrews in winter and in summer I eat a lot of grasshoppers and
other insects. If it wasn't for me and my relatives I guess Mice would
soon overrun the Great World. Farmer Brown ought to be glad I've come to
live in the Old Orchard and I guess he is, for Farmer Brown's boy knows
all about this house of mine and never disturbs me. Now if you'll excuse
me I think I'll fly over to Farmer Brown's young orchard. I ought to
find a fat Mouse or two trying to get some of the bark from those young
trees.”
“Huh!” exclaimed Peter. “They can try all they want to, but they won't
get any; I can tell you that.”
Spooky's round yellow eyes twinkled. “It must be you have been trying to
get some of that bark yourself,” said he.
Peter didn't say anything but he looked guilty, and Spooky once more
chuckled as he spread his wings and flew away so soundlessly that he
seemed more like a drifting shadow than a bird. Then Peter started for
a certain swamp he knew of where he would be sure to find enough bark to
stay his appetite.