Jumper the Hare didn't have time to reply to Peter Rabbit's question
when Peter asked if there was any one else besides the Crossbills who
had come down from the Far North.
“I have,” said a voice from a tree just back of them.
It was so unexpected that it made both Peter and Jumper hop in startled
surprise. Then they turned to see who had spoken. There sat a bird just
a little smaller than Welcome Robin, who at first glance seemed to be
dressed in strawberry-red. However, a closer look showed that there were
slate-gray markings about his head, under his wings and on his legs. His
tail was brown. His wings were brown, marked with black and white and
slate. His bill was thick and rather short.
“Who are you?” demanded Peter very bluntly and impolitely.
“I'm Piny the Pine Grosbeak,” replied the stranger, seemingly not at all
put out by Peter's bluntness.
“Oh,” said Peter. “Are you related to Rosebreast the Grosbeak who nested
last summer in the Old Orchard?”
“I certainly am,” replied Piny. “He is my very own cousin. I've never
seen him because he never ventures up where I live and I don't go down
where he spends the winter, but all members of the Grosbeak family are
cousins.”
“Rosebreast is very lovely and I'm very fond of him,” said Peter. “We
are very good friends.”
“Then I know we are going to be good friends,” replied Piny. As he said
this he turned and Peter noticed that his tail was distinctly forked
instead of being square across like that of Welcome Robin. Piny
whistled, and almost at once he was joined by another bird who in shape
was just like him, but who was dressed in slaty-gray and olive-yellow,
instead of the bright red that he himself wore. Piny introduced the
newcomer as Mrs. Grosbeak.
“Lovely weather, isn't it?” said she. “I love the snow. I wouldn't feel
at home with no snow about. Why, last spring I even built my nest before
the snow was gone in the Far North. We certainly hated to leave up
there, but food was getting so scarce that we had to. We have just
arrived. Can you tell me if there are any cedar-trees or ash-trees or
sumacs near here?”
Peter hastened to tell her just where she would find these trees and
then rather timidly asked why she wanted to find them.
“Because they hold their berries all winter,” replied Mrs. Grosbeak
promptly, “and those berries make very good eating. I rather thought
there must be some around here. If there are enough of them we certainly
shall stay a while.”
“I hope you will,” replied Peter. “I want to get better acquainted with
you. You know, if it were not for you folks who come down from the Far
North the Green Forest would be rather a lonely place in winter. There
are times when I like to be alone, but I like to feel that there is
someone I can call on when I feel lonesome. Did you and Piny come down
alone?”
“No, indeed,” replied Mrs. Grosbeak. “There is a flock of our relatives
not far away. We came down with the Crossbills. All together we made
quite a party.”
Peter and Jumper stayed a while to gossip with the Grosbeaks. Then Peter
bethought him that it was high time for him to return to the dear Old
Briar-patch, and bidding his new friends good-by, he started off through
the Green Forest, lipperty-lipperty-lip. When he reached the edge of
the Green Forest he decided to run over to the weedy field to see if the
Snowflakes and the Tree Sparrows and the Horned Larks were there.
They were, but almost at once Peter discovered that they had company.
Twittering cheerfully as he busily picked seeds out of the top of a weed
which stood above the snow, was a bird very little bigger than Chicoree
the Goldfinch. But when Peter looked at him he just had to rub his eyes.
“Gracious goodness!” he muttered, “it must be something is wrong with my
eyes so that I am seeing red. I've already seen two birds dressed in red
and now there's another. It certainly must be my eyes. There's Dotty
the Tree Sparrow over there; I hear his voice. I wonder if he will look
red.”
Peter hopped near enough to get a good look at Dotty and found him
dressed just as he should be. That relieved Peter's mind. His eyes were
quite as they should be. Then he returned to look at the happy little
stranger still busily picking seeds from that weed-top.
The top of his head was bright red. There was no doubt about it. His
back was toward Peter at the time and but for that bright red cap Peter
certainly would have taken him for one of his friends among the Sparrow
family. You see his back was grayish-brown. Peter could think of several
Sparrows with backs very much like it. But when he looked closely he saw
that just above his tail this little stranger wore a pinkish patch, and
that was something no Sparrow of Peter's acquaintance possesses.
Then the lively little stranger turned to face Peter and a pair of
bright eyes twinkled mischievously. “Well,” said he, “how do you like
my appearance? Anything wrong with me? I was taught that it is very
impolite to stare at any one. I guess your mother forgot to teach you
manners.”
Peter paid no attention to what was said but continued to stare. “My,
how pretty you are!” he exclaimed.
The little stranger WAS pretty. His breast was PINK. Below this he was
white. The middle of his throat was black and his sides were streaked
with reddish-brown. He looked pleased at Peter's exclamation.
“I'm glad you think I'm pretty,” said he. “I like pink myself. I like it
very much indeed. I suppose you've already seen my friends, Snipper the
Crossbill and Piny the Grosbeak.”
Peter promptly bobbed his head. “I've just come from making their
acquaintance,” said he. “By the way you speak, I presume you also are
from the Far North. I am just beginning to learn that there are more
folks who make their homes in the Far North than I had dreamed of. If
you please, I don't believe I know you at all.”
“I'm Redpoll,” was the prompt response. “I am called that because of my
red cap. Yes, indeed, I make my home in the Far North. There is no place
like it. You really ought to run up there and get acquainted with the
folks who make their homes there and love it.”
Redpoll laughed at his own joke, but Peter didn't see the joke at all.
“Is it so very far?” he asked innocently; then added, “I'd dearly love
to go.”
Redpoll laughed harder than ever. “Yes,” said he, “it is. I am afraid
you would be a very old and very gray Rabbit by the time you got there.
I guess the next thing is for you to make the acquaintance of some of us
who get down here once in awhile.”
Redpoll called softly and almost at once was joined by another
red-capped bird but without the pink breast, and with sides more heavily
streaked. “This is Mrs. Redpoll,” announced her lively little mate. Then
he turned to her and added, “I've just been telling Peter Rabbit that
as long as he cannot visit our beautiful Far North he must become
acquainted with those of us who come down here in the winter. I'm sure
he'll find us very friendly folks.”
“I'm sure I shall,” said Peter. “If you please, do you live altogether
on these weed seeds?”
Redpoll laughed his usual happy laugh. “Hardly, Peter,” replied he. “We
like the seeds of the birches and the alders, and we eat the seeds of
the evergreen trees when we get them. Sometimes we find them in cones
Snipper the Crossbill has opened but hasn't picked all the seeds out of.
Sometimes he drops some for us. Oh, we always manage to get plenty to
eat. There are some of our relatives over there and we must join them.
We'll see you again, Peter.”
Peter said he hoped they would and then watched them fly over to join
their friends. Suddenly, as if a signal had been given, all spread their
wings at the same instant and flew up in a birch-tree not far away. All
seemed to take wing at precisely the same instant. Up in the birch-tree
they sat for a minute or so and then, just as if another signal had been
given, all began to pick out the tiny seeds from the birch tassels. No
one bird seemed to be first. It was quite like a drill, or as if each
had thought of the same thing at the same instant. Peter chuckled over
it all the way home. And somehow he felt better for having made the
acquaintance of the Redpolls. It was the feeling that everybody so
fortunate as to meet them on a gold winter's day is sure to have.