“For goodness' sake, Peter Rabbit, you don't mean to say you don't know whose voice that is,” she cried. “That's Rosebreast. He and Mrs. Rosebreast have been here for quite a little while. I didn't suppose there was any one who didn't know those sharp, squeaky voices. They rather get on my nerves. What anybody wants to squeak like that for when they can sing as Rosebreast can, is more than I can understand.”
At that very instant Mr. Wren began to scold as only he and Jenny can. Peter looked up at Jenny and winked slyly. “And what anybody wants to scold like that for when they can sing as Mr. Wren can, is too much for me,” retorted Peter. “But you haven't told me who Rosebreast is.”
“The Grosbeak, of course, stupid,” sputtered Jenny. “If you don't know Rosebreast the Grosbeak, Peter Rabbit, you certainly must have been blind and deaf ever since you were born. Listen to that! Just listen to that song!”
Peter listened. There were many songs, for it was a very beautiful morning and all the singers of the Old Orchard were pouring out the joy that was within them. One song was a little louder and clearer than the others because it came from a tree very close at hand, the very tree from which those squeaky notes had come just a few minutes before. Peter suspected that that must be the song Jenny Wren meant. He looked puzzled. He was puzzled. “Do you mean Welcome Robin's song?” he asked rather sheepishly, for he had a feeling that he would be the victim of Jenny Wren's sharp tongue.
“No, I don't mean Welcome Robin's song,” snapped Jenny. “What good are a pair of long ears if they can't tell one song from another? That song may sound something like Welcome Robin's, but if your ears were good for anything at all you'd know right away that that isn't Welcome Robin singing. That's a better song than Welcome Robin's. Welcome Robin's song is one of good cheer, but this one is of pure happiness. I wouldn't have a pair of ears like yours for anything in the world, Peter Rabbit.”
Peter laughed right out as he tried to picture to himself Jenny Wren with a pair of long ears like his. “What are you laughing at?” demanded Jenny crossly. “Don't you dare laugh at me! If there is any one thing I can't stand it is being laughed at.”
“I wasn't laughing at you,” replied Peter very meekly. “I was just laughing, at the thought of how funny you would look with a pair of long ears like mine. Now you speak of it, Jenny, that song IS quite different from Welcome Robin's.”
“Of course it is,” retorted Jenny. “That is Rosebreast singing up there, and there he is right in the top of that tree. Isn't he handsome?”
Peter looked up to see a bird a little smaller than Welcome Robin. His head, throat and back were black. His wings were black with patches of white on them. But it was his breast that made Peter catch his breath with a little gasp of admiration, for that breast was a beautiful rose-red. The rest of him underneath was white. It was Rosebreast the Grosbeak.
“Isn't he lovely!”' cried Peter, and added in the next breath, “Who is that with him?”