“Because that is where I will get a good part of my living,” Kitty responded promptly. “He ought to be glad to have me about. Once in a while I take a little fruit, but I pay for it ten times over by the number of bugs and worms I get in his garden and the Old Orchard. I pride myself on being useful. There's nothing like being useful in this world, Peter.” Peter nodded as if he quite agreed. Though, as you know and I know, Peter himself does very little except fill his own big stomach. CHAPTER XXVIII. Peter Sees Rosebreast and Finds Redcoat. “Who's that?” Peter Rabbit pricked up his long ears and stared up at the tops of the trees of the Old Orchard. Instantly Jenny Wren popped her head out of her doorway. She cocked her head on one side to listen, then looked down at Peter, and her sharp little eyes snapped. “I don't hear any strange voice,” said she. “The way you are staring, Peter Rabbit, one would think that you had really heard something new and worth while.” Just then there were two or three rather sharp, squeaky notes from the top of one of the trees. “There!” cried Peter. “There! Didn't you hear that, Jenny Wren?” “For goodness' sake, Peter Rabbit, you don't mean to say you don't know whose voice that is,” she cried. “That's Rosebreast. He and Mrs. Rosebreast have been here for quite a little while. I didn't suppose there was any one who didn't know those sharp, squeaky voices. They rather get on my nerves. What anybody wants to squeak like that for when they can sing as Rosebreast can, is more than I can understand.” At that very instant Mr. Wren began to scold as only he and Jenny can. Peter looked up at Jenny and winked slyly. “And what anybody wants to scold like that for when they can sing as Mr. Wren can, is too much for me,” retorted Peter. “But you haven't told me who Rosebreast is.” “The Grosbeak, of course, stupid,” sputtered Jenny. “If you don't know Rosebreast the Grosbeak, Peter Rabbit, you certainly must have been blind and deaf ever since you were born. Listen to that! Just listen to that song!” Peter listened. There were many songs, for it was a very beautiful morning and all the singers of the Old Orchard were pouring out the joy that was within them. One song was a little louder and clearer than the others because it came from a tree very close at hand, the very tree from which those squeaky notes had come just a few minutes before. Peter suspected that that must be the song Jenny Wren meant. He looked puzzled. He was puzzled. “Do you mean Welcome Robin's song?” he asked rather sheepishly, for he had a feeling that he would be the victim of Jenny Wren's sharp tongue.