h Jenny Wren and his other friends there had become a regular thing with Peter Ra

le the snow still lingered in patches. He was, as he always is, the herald of sweet Mistress Spring. And when Peter had heard for the first time Winsome's soft, sweet whistle, which seemed to come from nowhere in particular and from everywhere in general, h

he had known them so long and so well that he thought he knew all there was to

ey?" remarked Jenny Wren, as she poked her

taring very hard in the direction

er there. Where are your eyes, Pet

other post sat Welcome Robin. "I don't see anybody but Winsome and Welcome

nsense as that? Of course they are related. They are cousins. I thought everybody knew that. They belong t

t believe a word of what Jenny Wren had said. J

n't believe me, go ask one of them," she snapped, and disappeared in

e foot of the fence post on which Winsome Bluebird was sitting. "Jenny Wren says that you and

know what she is talking about, every time. I sometimes think she knows more about other people's affairs than about her own. Welc

olitely. "I just love that sky-blue coat of yours. What is the re

d, and before Peter could say another word he

d her and that he never would again. Then he begged Jenny to tell him w

need a lot of care," replied Jenny. "Besides, when Winsome is about he attracts all the attention and that gives her a cha

it's over in that little house put up by Farmer Brown's boy," he ventured. "I saw both Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird

shows good sense. She knows a good house when she sees it. The hole in that post is one of the best holes anywhere around here. If I had arrived here early enough I would have taken it myself. But Mrs. Bluebird already had her nest built in it and four eggs there, so there

. "The other day I saw Welcome Robin getting mud and carrying it away. Pretty soon he was joined by Mrs. Robin, a

ome fellow, and Mrs. Robin is only a little less handsome. How they can be content to build the kind of a home they do is more than I can understand. People think that Mr. Wren and I use a lot of trash in our nest. Perhaps we do, but I can

ommon, ordinary mud. They cover this with dead grass, and sometimes there is mighty little of this over the inside walls of mud. I know because I've seen the inside of their nest often. Anybody with any eye

ead on one side as if listening. Then he reached down and tugged at something, and presently out of the ground came a long, wriggling angleworm. Welcome gulped it down

rms in the ground," said Peter,

rway just as Peter spoke. "How do you suppose he would fin

ar them?" a

come Robin may enjoy eating them, but for my part I want something smaller and daint

e just had to make at the mention of such things as foo

loves fruit like strawberries and cherries and all sorts of small berries. Well, I can't stop

om falling as she whispered, "I've got seven eggs in my nest, so if you don't see much of me for