“I didn't know it,” replied Peter, “but if you say it is so I suppose it must be so. It is easier to believe than it is to believe that you are related to the Sparrows.” “Nevertheless I am,” retorted Chewink. “What were you scratching for when I first saw you?” asked Peter. “Oh, worms and bugs that hide under the leaves,” replied Chewink carelessly. “You have no idea how many of them hide under dead leaves.” “Do you eat anything else?” asked Peter. “Berries and wild fruits in season,” replied Chewink. “I'm very fond of them. They make a variety in the bill of fare.” “I've noticed that I seldom see you up in the tree tops,” remarked Peter. “I like the ground better,” replied Chewink. “I spend more of my time on the ground than anywhere else.” “I suppose that means that you nest on the ground,” ventured Peter. Chewink nodded. “Of course,” said he. “As a matter of fact, I've got a nest in this very thicket. Mrs. Towhee is on it right now, and I suspect she's worrying and anxious to know what happened over here when you warned me about Reddy Fox. I think I must go over and set her mind at rest.” Peter was just about to ask if he might go along and see that nest when a new voice broke in. “What are you fellows talking about?” it demanded, and there flitted just in front of Peter a little bird the size of a Sparrow but lovelier than any Sparrow of Peter's acquaintance. At first glance he seemed to be all blue, and such a lovely bright blue. But as he paused for an instant Peter saw that his wings and tail were mostly black and that the lovely blue was brightest on his head and back. It was Indigo the Bunting. “We were talking about our family,” replied Chewink. “I was telling Peter that we belong to the largest family among the birds.” “But you didn't say anything about Indigo,” interrupted Peter. “Do you mean to say that he belongs to the same family?” “I surely do,” replied Indigo. “I'm rather closely related to the Sparrow branch. Don't I look like a Sparrow?” Peter looked at Indigo closely. “In size and shape you do,” he confessed, “but just the same I should never in the world have thought of connecting you with the Sparrows.” “How about me?” asked another voice, and a little brown bird flew up beside Indigo, twitching her tail nervously. She looked very Sparrow-like indeed, so much so, that if Peter had not seen her with her handsome mate, for she was Mrs. Indigo, he certainly would have taken her for a Sparrow. Only on her wings and tail was there any of the blue which made Indigo's coat so beautiful, and this was only a faint tinge. “I'll have to confess that so far as you are concerned it isn't hard to think of you as related to the Sparrows,” declared Peter. “Don't you sometimes wish you were as handsomely dressed as Indigo?”