the Phoebe did not reply at once, but darted out into the air,
and Peter heard a sharp click of that little black bill. Making a short
circle, Dear Me alighted on the mullein stalk again.

"Did you catch a fly then?" asked Peter.

"Dear me! Dear me! Of course I did," was the prompt reply. And with each
word there was a jerk of that long hanging tail. Peter almost wondered
if in some way Dear Me's tongue and tail were connected. "I suppose,"
said he, "that it is the habit of catching flies and bugs in the air
that has given your family the name of Flycatchers."

Dear Me nodded and almost at once started into the air again. Once more
Peter heard the click of that little black bill, then Dear Me was back
on his perch. Peter asked again what he was doing down there.

"Mrs. Phoebe and I are living down here," replied Dear Me. "We've made
our home down here and we like it very much."

Peter looked all around, this way, that way, every way, with the
funniest expression on his face. He didn't see anything of Mrs. Phoebe
and he didn't see any place in which he could imagine Mr. and Mrs.
Phoebe building a nest. "What are you looking for?" asked Dear Me.

"For Mrs. Phoebe and your home," declared Peter quite frankly. "I didn't
suppose you and Mrs. Phoebe ever built a nest on the ground, and I don't
see any other place around here for one."

Dear Me chuckled. "I wouldn't tell any one but you, Peter," said he,
"but I've known you so long that I'm going to let you into a little
secret. Mrs. Phoebe and our home are under the very bridge you are
sitting on."

"I don't believe it!" cried Peter.

But Dear Me knew from the way Peter said it that he really didn't mean
that. "Look and see for yourself," said Dear Me.

So Peter lay flat on his stomach and tried to stretch his head over
the edge of the bridge so as to see under it. But his neck wasn't long
enough, or else he was afraid to lean over as far as he might have.
Finally he gave up and at Mr. Phoebe's suggestion crept down the bank to
the very edge of the Laughing Brook. Dear Me darted out to catch another
fly, then flew right in under the bridge and alighted on a little ledge
of stone just beneath the floor. There, sure enough, was a nest, and
Peter could see Mrs. Phoebe's bill and the top of her head above the
edge of it. It was a nest with a foundation of mud covered with moss and
lined with feathers.

"That's perfectly splendid!" cried Peter, as Dear Me resumed his