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Updated: May 24, 2025
But one morning in February, Emily's eye fell upon an announcement in the newspaper which excited in her a wish to go up to town. Among the list of singers at a concert to be given that day she had caught the name of Miss Beatrice Redwing. It was Saturday; Wilfrid had no occasion for leaving home and already they had enjoyed in advance the two unbroken days.
"How did they look?" said I. "They is red blackbirds," he returned. This was not the first time I had heard the redwing called the ricebird. But how did the boy know me for a bird-gazer? That was a mystery. It came over me all at once that possibly I had become better known in the community than I had in the least suspected; and then I remembered my field-glass.
We are apt to think of migration in terms of the Warbler that enlivens our hedgerows in the spring after travelling hundreds of miles from the south, or of the Redwing that comes from the far north and seeks its food during the winter on the meadows, or perhaps of the American Golden Plover that each year covers a vast expanse of ocean in its journey from its breeding ground.
"No one could ever mistake him for anybody else," thought Peter, "For there isn't anybody else with such beautiful shoulder patches." "What's the news, Peter Rabbit?" cried Redwing, coming over to sit very near Peter. "There isn't much," replied Peter, "excepting that Teeter the Sandpiper has four eggs just a little way from here." Redwing chuckled. "That is no news, Peter," said he.
Bill didn't mean anything of the sort, but the tone in which he said it expressed precisely the feeling of the crowd. The voice was again heard: "Oh, that our thoughts and thanks may rise, As grateful incense to the skies; And draw from heaven that sweet repose Which none but he that feels it knows." Redwing turned abruptly on his heel. "Keep the ounces," said he.
So there are times when Peter wishes he could sing. He was wishing this very thing now, as he sat on the bank of the Smiling Pool, listening to the great spring chorus. "Tra-la-la-lee! Oka-chee! Oka-chee! There's joy in the spring for you and for me." sang Redwing the Blackbird from the bulrushes.
Beatrice Redwing was the third singer to come forward. Whilst she sang Emily frequently looked at her husband. Wilfrid did not notice it, he was absorbed in listening. Towards the end Emily, too, lost thought of everything save the magic with which the air was charged. There was vociferous demand for an encore and Beatrice gave another song.
Redwing chuckled with him. You see, they knew that Peter doesn't like water, and that nest was hidden in a certain clump of brown, broken-down rushes, with water all around. Suddenly Redwing flew up in the air with a harsh cry. "Run, Peter! Run!" he screamed. "Here comes Reddy Fox!" Peter didn't wait for a second warning. He knew by the sound of Redwing's voice that Redwing wasn't joking.
After that there was a perfect flood of music, as if all the singers of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows were in that hemlock-tree. There was the song of Mr. Redwing and the song of Jenny Wren, and the sweet notes of Carol the Meadowlark and the beautiful happy song of Little Friend the Song Sparrow. No one had ever heard anything like it, and when it ended every one shouted for more.
What wonder that she swung along with feet scarce touching the earth! A redwing called from the bracken bordering the brook, and the girl called back, trying to mimic its glad note. She snatched a flower from the roadside and tucked it in her hair; she laughed audaciously into the golden face of the sun.
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