"Redeye believes in singing while he works," said Jenny Wren. "For my part I should think he'd wear his throat out. When other birds sing they don't do anything else, but Redeye sings all the time he is hunting his meals and only stops long enough to swallow a worm or a bug when he finds it. Just as soon as it is down he begins to sing again while he hunts for another. I must say for the Redeyes that they are mighty good nest builders. Have you seen their nest over in that maple-tree, Peter?"

Peter shook his head.

"I don't dare go over there except very early in the morning before Farmer Brown's folks are awake," said he, "so I haven't had much chance to look for it."

"You probably couldn't see it, anyway," declared Jenny Wren. "They have placed it rather high up from the ground and those leaves are so thick that they hide it. It's a regular little basket fastened in a fork near the end of a branch and it is woven almost as nicely as is the nest of Goldy the Oriole. How anybody has the patience to weave a nest like that is beyond me."

"What's it made of?" asked Peter.

"Strips of bark, plant down, spider's web, gra.s.s, and pieces of paper!"

replied Jenny. "That's a funny thing about Redeye; he dearly loves a piece of paper in his nest. What for, I can't imagine. He's as fussy about having a sc.r.a.p of paper as Cresty the Flycatcher is about having a piece of Snakeskin. I had just a peep into that nest a few days ago and unless I am greatly mistaken Sally Sly the Cowbird has managed to impose on the Redeyes. I am certain I saw one of her eggs in that nest."

A few mornings after this talk with Jenny Wren about Redeye the Vireo Peter once more visited the Old Orchard. No sooner did he come in sight than Jenny Wren's tongue began to fly. "What did I tell you, Peter Rabbit? What did I tell you? I knew it was so, and it is!" cried Jenny.

"What is so?" asked Peter rather testily, for he hadn't the least idea what Jenny Wren was talking about.

"Sally Sly DID lay an egg in Redeye's nest, and now it has hatched and I don't know whatever is to become of Redeye's own children. It's perfectly scandalous! That's what it is, perfectly scandalous!" cried Jenny, and hopped about and jerked her tail and worked herself into a small brown fury.

"The Redeyes are working themselves to feathers and bone feeding that ugly young Cowbird while their own babies aren't getting half enough to eat," continued Jenny. "One of them has died already. He was kicked out of the nest by that young brute."

"How dreadful!" cried Peter. "If he does things like that I should think the Redeyes would throw HIM out of the nest."

"They're too soft-hearted," declared Jenny. "I can tell you I wouldn't be so soft-hearted if I were in their place. No, sir-ee, I wouldn't! But they say it isn't his fault that he's there, and that he's nothing but a helpless baby, and so they just take care of him."

"Then why don't they feed their own babies first and give him what's left?" demanded Peter.

"Because he's twice as big as any of their own babies and so strong and greedy that he simply s.n.a.t.c.hes the food out of the very mouths of the others. Because he gets most of the food, he's growing twice as fast as they are. I wouldn't be surprised if he kicks all the rest of them out before he gets through. Mr. and Mrs. Redeye are dreadfully distressed about it, but they will feed him because they say it isn't his fault.

It's a dreadful affair and the talk of the whole Orchard. I suppose his mother is off gadding somewhere, having a good time and not caring a flip of her tail feathers what becomes of him. I believe in being goodhearted, but there is such a thing as overdoing the matter. Thank goodness I'm not so weak-minded that I can be imposed on in any such way as that."

"Speaking of the Vireos, Redeye seems to be the only member of his family around here," remarked Peter.

"Listen!" commanded Jenny Wren. "Don't you hear that warbling song 'way over in the big elm in front of Farmer Brown's house where Goldy the oriole has his nest?"

Peter listened. At first he didn't hear it, and as usual Jenny Wren made fun of him for having such big ears and not being able to make better use of them. Presently he did hear it. The voice was not unlike that of Redeye, but the song was smoother, more continuous and sweeter. Peter's face lighted up. "I hear it," he cried.

"That's Redeye's cousin, the Warbling Vireo," said Jenny. "He's a better singer than Redeye and just as fond of hearing his own voice. He sings from the time jolly Mr. Sun gets up in the morning until he goes to bed at night. He sings when it is so hot that the rest of us are glad to keep still for comfort's sake. I don't know of anybody more fond of the tree tops than he is. He doesn't seem to care anything about the Old Orchard, but stays over in those big trees along the road. He's got a nest over in that big elm and it is as high up as that of Goldy the Oriole; I haven't seen it myself, but Goldy told me about it. Why any one so small should want to live so high up in the world I don't know, any more than I know why any one wants to live anywhere but in the Old Orchard."

"Somehow I don't remember just what Warble looks like," Peter confessed.

"He looks a lot like his cousin, Redeye," replied Jenny. "His coat is a little duller olive-green and underneath he is a little bit yellowish instead of being white. Of course he doesn't have red eyes, and he is a little smaller than Redeye. The whole family looks pretty much alike anyway."

"You said something then, Jenny Wren," declared Peter. "They get me all mixed up. If only some of them had some bright colors it would be easier to tell them apart."

"One has," replied Jenny Wren. "He has a bright yellow throat and breast and is called the Yellow-throated Vireo. There isn't the least chance of mistaking him."

"Is he a singer, too?" asked Peter.

"Of course," replied Jenny. "Every one of that blessed family loves the sound of his own voice. It's a family trait. Sometimes it just makes my throat sore to listen to them all day long. A good thing is good, but more than enough of a good thing is too much. That applies to gossiping just as well as to singing and I've wasted more time on you than I've any business to. Now hop along, Peter, and don't bother me any more to-day."

Peter hopped.

CHAPTER x.x.x. Jenny Wren's Cousins.

Peter Rabbit never will forget his surprise when Jenny Wren asked him one spring morning if he had seen anything of her big cousin. Peter hesitated. As a matter of fact, he couldn't think of any big cousin of Jenny Wren. All the cousins he knew anything about were very nearly Jenny's own size.

Now Jenny Wren is one of the most impatient small persons in the world.

"Well, well, well, Peter, have you lost your tongue?" she chattered.

"Can't you answer a simple question without talking all day about it?

Have you seen anything of my big cousin? It is high time for him to be here."

"You needn't be so cross about it if I am slow," replied Peter. "I'm just trying to think who your big cousin is. I guess, to be quite honest, I don't know him."

"Don't know him! Don't know him!" Sputtered Jenny. "Of course you know him. You can't help but know him. I mean Brownie the Thrasher."

In his surprise Peter fairly jumped right off the ground. "What's that?"

he exclaimed. "Since when was Brownie the Thrasher related to the Wren family?"

"Ever since there have been any Wrens and Thrashers," retorted Jenny.

"Brownie belongs to one branch of the family and I belong to another, and that makes him my second cousin. It certainly is surprising how little some folks know."

"But I have always supposed he belonged to the Thrush family," protested Peter. "He certainly looks like a Thrush."

"Looking like one doesn't make him one," snapped Jenny. "By this time you ought to leave learned that you never can judge anybody just by looks. It always makes me provoked to hear Brownie called the Brown Thrush. There isn't a drop of Thrush blood in him. But you haven't answered my question yet, Peter Rabbit. I want to know if he has got here yet."

"Yes," said Peter. "I saw him only yesterday on the edge of the Old Pasture. He was fussing around in the bushes and on the ground and jerking that long tail of his up and down and sidewise as if he couldn't decide what to do with it. I've never seen anybody twitch their tail around the way he does."

Jenny Wren giggled. "That's just like him," said she. "It is because he thrashes his tail around so much that he is called a Thrasher. I suppose he was wearing his new spring suit."

"I don't know whether it was a new suit or not, but it was mighty good looking," replied Peter. "I just love that beautiful reddish-brown of his back, wings and tail, and it certainly does set off his white and buff waistcoat with those dark streaks and spots. You must admit, Jenny Wren, that any one seeing him dressed so much like the Thrushes is to be excused for thinking him a Thrush."

"I suppose so," admitted Jenny rather grudgingly. "But none of the Thrushes have such a bright brown coat. Brownie is handsome, if I do say so. Did you notice what a long bill he has?"

Peter nodded. "And I noticed that he had two white bars on each wing,"

said he.

"I'm glad you're so observing," replied Jenny dryly. "Did you hear him sing?"

"Did I hear him sing!" cried Peter, his eyes shining at the memory. "He sang especially for me. He flew up to the top of a tree, tipped his head back and sang as few birds I know of can sing. He has a wonderful voice, has Brownie. I don't know of anybody I enjoy listening to more. And when he's singing he acts as if he enjoyed it himself and knows what a good singer he is. I noticed that long tail of his hung straight down the same way Mr. Wren's does when he sings."

"Of course it did," replied Jenny promptly. "That's a family trait. The tails of both my other big cousins do the same thing."

"Wha-wha-what's that? Have you got more big cousins?" cried Peter, staring up at Jenny as if she were some strange person he never had seen before.

"Certainly," retorted Jenny. "Mocker the Mockingbird and Kitty the Catbird belong to Brownie's family, and that makes them second cousins to me."

Such a funny expression as there was on Peter's face. He felt that Jenny Wren was telling the truth, but it was surprising news to him and so hard to believe that for a few minutes he couldn't find his tongue to ask another question. Finally he ventured to ask very timidly, "Does Brownie imitate the songs of other birds the way Mocker and Kitty do?"