“No, I don't mean Welcome Robin's song,” snapped Jenny. “What good are a pair of long ears if they can't tell one song from another? That song may sound something like Welcome Robin's, but if your ears were good for anything at all you'd know right away that that isn't Welcome Robin singing. That's a better song than Welcome Robin's. Welcome Robin's song is one of good cheer, but this one is of pure happiness. I wouldn't have a pair of ears like yours for anything in the world, Peter Rabbit.” Peter laughed right out as he tried to picture to himself Jenny Wren with a pair of long ears like his. “What are you laughing at?” demanded Jenny crossly. “Don't you dare laugh at me! If there is any one thing I can't stand it is being laughed at.” “I wasn't laughing at you,” replied Peter very meekly. “I was just laughing, at the thought of how funny you would look with a pair of long ears like mine. Now you speak of it, Jenny, that song IS quite different from Welcome Robin's.” “Of course it is,” retorted Jenny. “That is Rosebreast singing up there, and there he is right in the top of that tree. Isn't he handsome?” Peter looked up to see a bird a little smaller than Welcome Robin. His head, throat and back were black. His wings were black with patches of white on them. But it was his breast that made Peter catch his breath with a little gasp of admiration, for that breast was a beautiful rose-red. The rest of him underneath was white. It was Rosebreast the Grosbeak. “Isn't he lovely!”' cried Peter, and added in the next breath, “Who is that with him?” “Mrs. Grosbeak, of course. Who else would it be?” sputtered Jenny rather crossly, for she was still a little put out because she had been laughed at. “I would never have guessed it,” said Peter. “She doesn't look the least bit like him.” This was quite true. There was no beautiful rose color about Mrs. Grosbeak. She was dressed chiefly in brown and grayish colors with a little buff here and there and with dark streaks on her breast. Over each eye was a whitish line. Altogether she looked more as if she might be a big member of the Sparrow family than the wife of handsome Rosebreast. While Rosebreast sang, Mrs. Grosbeak was very busily picking buds and blossoms from the tree. “What is she doing that for?” inquired Peter. “For the same reason that you bite off sweet clover blossoms and leaves,” replied Jenny Wren tartly. “Do you mean to say that they live on buds and blossoms?” cried Peter. “I never heard of such a thing.”