The Burgess Bird Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess (books for new readers TXT) 📖

all I have to do is to sit perfectly still when there was no wind to carry my scent. I have had Reddy Fox pass within a few feet of me and never suspect that I was near. I hope this snow will last all winter. It is only when there isn’t any snow that I am particularly worried. Then I am not easy for a minute, because my white coat can be seen a long distance against the brown of the dead leaves.”

Peter chuckled. “that is just when I feel safest,” he replied. “I like the snow, but this brown-gray coat of mine certainly does show up against it. Don’t you find it pretty lonesome over here in the Green Forest with all the birds gone, Cousin Jumper?”

Jumper shook his head. “Not all have gone, Peter, you know,” said he. “Strutter the Grouse and Mrs. Grouse are here, and I see them every day. They’ve got snowshoes now.”

Peter blinked his eyes and looked rather perplexed. “Snowshoes!” he exclaimed. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Come with me,” replied Jumper, “and I’ll show you.”

So Jumper led the way and Peter followed close at his heels. Presently they came to some tracks in the snow. At first glance they reminded Peter of the queer tracks Farmer Brown’s ducks made in the mud on the edge of the Smiling Pool in summer. “What funny tracks those are!” he exclaimed. “Who made them?”

“Just keep on following me and you’ll see,” retorted Jumper.

So they continued to follow the tracks until presently, just ahead of them, they saw Strutter the Grouse. Peter opened his eyes with surprise when he discovered that those queer tracks were made by Strutter.

“Cousin Peter wants to see your snowshoes, Strutter,” said Jumper as they came up with him.

Strutter’s bright eyes sparkled. “He’s just as curious as ever, isn’t he?” said he. “Well, I don’t mind showing him my snowshoes because I think myself that they are really quite wonderful.” He held up one foot with the toes spread apart and Peter saw that growing out from the sides of each toe were queer little horny points set close together. They quite filled the space between his toes. Peter recalled that when he had seen Strutter in the summer those toes had been smooth and that his tracks on soft ground had shown the outline of each toe clearly. “How funny!” exclaimed Peter.

“There’s nothing funny about them,” retorted Strutter. “If Old Mother Nature hadn’t given me something of this kind I certainly would have a hard time of it when there is snow on the ground. If my feet were just the same as in summer I would sink right down in when the snow is soft and wouldn’t be able to walk about at all. Now, with these snowshoes I get along very nicely. You see I sink in but very little.”

He took three or four steps and Peter saw right away how very useful those snowshoes were. “My!” he exclaimed. “I wish Old Mother Nature would give me snowshoes too.” Strutter and Jumper both laughed and after a second Peter laughed with them, for he realized how impossible it would be for him to have anything like those snowshoes of Strutter’s.

“Cousin Peter was just saying that he should think I would find it lonesome over here in the Green Forest. He forgot that you and Mrs. Grouse stay all winter, and he forgot that while most of the birds who spent the summer here have left, there are others who come down from the Far North to take their place.”

“Who, for instance?” demanded Peter.

“Snipper the Crossbill,” replied Jumper promptly. “I haven’t seen him yet this winter, but I know he is here because only this morning I found some pine seeds on the snow under a certain tree.”

“Huh!” Peter exclaimed. “That doesn’t prove anything. Those seeds might have just fallen, or Chatterer the Red Squirrel might have dropped them.”

“This isn’t the season for seeds to just fall, and I know by the signs that Chatterer hasn’t been about,” retorted Jumper. “Let’s go over there now and see what we will see.”

Once more he led the way and Peter followed. As they drew near that certain pine-tree, a short whistled note caused them to look up. Busily at work on a pine cone near the top of a tree was a bird about the size of Bully the English Sparrow. He was dressed wholly in dull red with brownish-black wings and tail.

“What did I tell you?” cried Jumper. “There’s Snipper this very minute, and over in that next tree are a lot of his family and relatives. See in what a funny way they climb about among the branches. They don’t flit or hop, but just climb around. I don’t know of any other bird anywhere around here that does that.”

Just then a seed dropped and landed on the snow almost in front of Peter’s nose. Almost at once Snipper himself followed it, picking it up and eating it with as much unconcern as if Peter and Jumper were a mile away instead of only a foot or so. The very first thing Peter noticed was Snipper’s bill. The upper and lower halves crossed at the tips. That bill looked very much as if Snipper had struck something hard and twisted the tips over.

“Have—have—you met with an accident?” he asked a bit hesitatingly.

Snipper looked surprised. “Are you talking to me?” he asked. “Whatever put such an idea into your head?”

“Your bill,” replied Peter promptly. “How did it get twisted like that?”

Snipper laughed. “It isn’t twisted,” said he. “It is just the way Old Mother Nature made it, and I really don’t know what I’d do if it were any different.”

Peter scratched one long ear, as is his way when he is puzzled. “I don’t see,” said he, “how it is possible for you to pick up food with a bill like that.”

“And I don’t see how I would get my food if I didn’t have a bill like this,” retorted Snipper. Then, seeing how puzzled Peter really was, he went on to explain. “You see, I live very largely on the seeds that grow in pine cones and the cones of other trees. Of course I eat some other food, such as seeds and buds of trees. But what I love best of all are the seeds that grow in the cones of evergreen trees. If you’ve ever looked at one of those cones, you will understand that those seeds are not very easy to get at. But with this kind of a bill it is no trouble at all. I can snip them out just as easily as birds with straight bills can pick up seeds. You see my bill is very much like a pair of scissors.”

“It really is very wonderful,” confessed Peter. “Do you mind telling me, Snipper, why I never have seen you here in summer?”

“For the same reason that in summer you never see Snowflake and Wanderer the Horned Lark and some others I might name,” replied Snipper. “Give me the Far North every time. I would stay there the year through but that sometimes food gets scarce up there. That is why I am down here now. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go finish my breakfast.”

Snipper flew up in the tree where the other Crossbills were at work and Peter and Jumper watched them.

“I suppose you know,” said Jumper, “that Snipper has a cousin who looks almost exactly like him with the exception of two white bars on each wing. He is called the White-winged Crossbill.”

“I didn’t know it,” replied Peter, “but I’m glad you’ve told me. I certainly shall watch out for him. I can’t get over those funny bills. No one could ever mistake it for any other bird. Is there anyone else now from the Far North whom I haven’t seen?”

 

CHAPTER XLIV More Folks in Red.

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. A11 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