Thrush family," protested
Peter. "He certainly looks like a Thrush."

"Looking like one doesn't make him one," snapped Jenny. "By this time
you ought to leave learned that you never can judge anybody just by
looks. It always makes me provoked to hear Brownie called the Brown
Thrush. There isn't a drop of Thrush blood in him. But you haven't
answered my question yet, Peter Rabbit. I want to know if he has got
here yet."

"Yes," said Peter. "I saw him only yesterday on the edge of the Old
Pasture. He was fussing around in the bushes and on the ground and
jerking that long tail of his up and down and sidewise as if he couldn't
decide what to do with it. I've never seen anybody twitch their tail
around the way he does."

Jenny Wren giggled. "That's just like him," said she. "It is because he
thrashes his tail around so much that he is called a Thrasher. I suppose
he was wearing his new spring suit."

"I don't know whether it was a new suit or not, but it was mighty good
looking," replied Peter. "I just love that beautiful reddish-brown of
his back, wings and tail, and it certainly does set off his white and
buff waistcoat with those dark streaks and spots. You must admit, Jenny
Wren, that any one seeing him dressed so much like the Thrushes is to be
excused for thinking him a Thrush."

"I suppose so," admitted Jenny rather grudgingly. "But none of the
Thrushes have such a bright brown coat. Brownie is handsome, if I do say
so. Did you notice what a long bill he has?"

Peter nodded. "And I noticed that he had two white bars on each wing,"
said he.

"I'm glad you're so observing," replied Jenny dryly. "Did you hear him
sing?"

"Did I hear him sing!" cried Peter, his eyes shining at the memory. "He
sang especially for me. He flew up to the top of a tree, tipped his head
back and sang as few birds I know of can sing. He has a wonderful voice,
has Brownie. I don't know of anybody I enjoy listening to more. And when
he's singing he acts as if he enjoyed it himself and knows what a good
singer he is. I noticed that long tail of his hung straight down the
same way Mr. Wren's does when he sings."

"Of course it did," replied Jenny promptly. "That's a family trait. The
tails of both my other big cousins do the same thing."

"Wha-wha-what's that? Have you got more big cousins?" cried Peter,
staring up at Jenny as if she were some strange person he never had seen
before.

"Certainly," retorted Jenny. "Mocker the Mockingb