e finds it. I wouldn't trade nests with anybody I know."

"Isn't it rather lonesome over here by yourselves?" asked Peter.

"Not at all," replied Sprite. "You see, we are not as much alone as you
think. My cousin, Fidget the Myrtle Warbler, is nesting not very far
away, and another cousin Weechi the Magnolia Warbler is also quite near.
Both have begun housekeeping already."

Of course Peter was all excitement and interest at once. "Where are
their homes?" he asked eagerly. "Tell me where they are and I'll go
straight over and call."

"Peter," said Sprite severely, "you ought to know better than to ask me
to tell you anything of this kind. You have been around enough to
know that there is no secret so precious as the secret of a home. You
happened to find mine, and I guess I can trust you not to tell anybody
where it is. If you can find the homes of Fidget and Weechi, all right,
but I certainly don't intend to tell you where they are."

Peter knew that Sprite was quite right in refusing to tell the secrets
of his cousins, but he couldn't think of going home without at least
looking for those homes. He tried to look very innocent as he asked if
they also were in hanging bunches of moss. But Sprite was too smart to
be fooled and Peter learned nothing at all.

For some time Peter hopped around this way and that way, thinking every
bunch of moss he saw must surely contain a nest. But though he looked
and looked and looked, not another little round hole did he find, and
there were so many bunches of moss that finally his neck ached from
tipping his head back so much. Now Peter hasn't much patience as he
might have, so after a while he gave up the search and started on his
way home. On higher ground, just above the low swampy place where grew
the moss-covered trees, he came to a lot of young hemlock-trees. These
had no moss on them. Having given up his search Peter was thinking of
other things when there flitted across in front of him a black and gray
bird with a yellow cap, yellow sides, and a yellow patch at the root of
his tail. Those yellow patches were all Peter needed to see to recognize
Fidget the Myrtle Warbler, one of the two friends he had been so long
looking for down among the moss-covered trees.

"Oh, Fidget!" cried Peter, hurrying after the restless little bird. "Oh,
Fidget! I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Well, here I am," retorted Fidget. "You didn't look everywhere or you
would have found me b