Part 15 (1/2)

Very trim and handsome was Killy. His back was reddish-brown crossed by bars of black. His tail was reddish-brown with a band of black near its end and a white tip. His wings were slaty-blue with little bars of black, the longest feathers leaving white bars. Underneath he was a beautiful buff, spotted with black. His head was bluish with a reddish patch right on top. Before and behind each ear was a black mark. His rather short bill, like the bills of all the rest of his family, was hooked.

As Peter sat there admiring Killy, for he was handsome enough for any one to admire, he noticed for the first time a hole high up in the trunk of the tree, such a hole as Yellow Wing the Flicker might have made and probably did make. Right away Peter remembered what Jenny Wren had told him about Killy's making his nest in just such a hole. ”I wonder,”

thought Peter, ”if that is Killy's home.”

Just then Killy flew over and dropped in the gra.s.s just in front of Peter, where he caught another fat gra.s.shopper. ”Is that your home up there?” asked Peter hastily.

”It certainly is, Peter,” replied Killy. ”This is the third summer Mrs.

Killy and I have had our home there.”

”You seem to be very fond of gra.s.shoppers,” Peter ventured.

”I am,” replied Killy. ”They are very fine eating when one can get enough of them.”

”Are they the only kind of food you eat?” ventured Peter.

Killy laughed. It was a shrill laugh. ”I should say not,” said he. ”I eat spiders and worms and all sorts of insects big enough to give a fellow a decent bite. But for real good eating give me a fat Meadow Mouse. I don't object to a Sparrow or some other small bird now and then, especially when I have a family of hungry youngsters to feed. But take it the season through, I live mostly on gra.s.shoppers and insects and Meadow Mice. I do a lot of good in this world, I'd have you know.”

Peter said that he supposed that this was so, but all the time he kept thinking what a pity it was that Killy ever killed his feathered neighbors. As soon as he conveniently could he politely bade Killy good-by and hurried home to the dear Old Briar-patch, there to think over how queer it seemed that a member of the hawk family should nest in a hollow tree and a member of the Swallow family should dig a hole in the ground.

CHAPTER XXIII. Some Big Mouths.

Boom! Peter Rabbit jumped as if he had been shot. It was all so sudden and unexpected that Peter jumped before he had time to think. Then he looked foolish. He felt foolish. He had been scared when there was nothing to be afraid of.

”Ha, ha, ha, ha,” t.i.ttered Jenny Wren. ”What are you jumping for, Peter Rabbit? That was only Boomer the Nighthawk.”

”I know it just as well as you do, Jenny Wren,” retorted Peter rather crossly. ”You know being suddenly startled is apt to make people feel cross. If I had seen him anywhere about he wouldn't have made me jump.

It was the unexpectedness of it. I don't see what he is out now for, anyway, It isn't even dusk yet, and I thought him a night bird.”

”So he is,” retorted Jenny Wren. ”Anyway, he is a bird of the evening, and that amounts to the same thing. But just because he likes the evening best isn't any reason why he shouldn't come out in the daylight, is it?”

”No-o,” replied Peter rather slowly. ”I don't suppose it is.”

”Of course it isn't,” declared Jenny Wren. ”I see Boomer late in the afternoon nearly every day. On cloudy days I often see him early in the afternoon. He's a queer fellow, is Boomer. Such a mouth as he has! I suppose it is very handy to have a big mouth if one must catch all one's food in the air, but it certainly isn't pretty when it is wide open.”

”I never saw a mouth yet that was pretty when it was wide open,”

retorted Peter, who was still feeling a little put out. ”I've never noticed that Boomer has a particularly big mouth.”

”Well he has, whether you've noticed it or not,” retorted Jenny Wren sharply. ”He's got a little bit of a bill, but a great big mouth. I don't see what folks call him a Hawk for when he isn't a Hawk at all. He is no more of a Hawk than I am, and goodness knows I'm not even related to the Hawk family.”

”I believe you told me the other day that Boomer is related to Sooty the Chimney Swift,” said Peter.

Jenny nodded vigorously. ”So I did, Peter,” she replied. ”I'm glad you have such a good memory. Boomer and Sooty are sort of second cousins.

There is Boomer now, way up in the sky. I do wish he'd dive and scare some one else.”

Peter tipped his head 'way back. High up in the blue, blue sky was a bird which at that distance looked something like a much overgrown Swallow. He was circling and darting about this way and that. Even while Peter watched he half closed his wings and shot down with such speed that Peter actually held his breath. It looked very, very much as if Boomer would dash himself to pieces. Just before he reached the earth he suddenly opened those wings and turned upward. At the instant he turned, the booming sound which had so startled Peter was heard. It was made by the rus.h.i.+ng of the wind through the larger feathers of his wings as he checked himself.

In this dive Boomer had come near enough for Peter to get a good look at him. His coat seemed to be a mixture of brown and gray, very soft looking. His wings were brown with a patch of white on each. There was a white patch on his throat and a band of white near the end of his tail.