“You needn't be so cross about it if I am slow,” replied Peter. “I'm just trying to think who your big cousin is. I guess, to be quite honest, I don't know him.” “Don't know him! Don't know him!” Sputtered Jenny. “Of course you know him. You can't help but know him. I mean Brownie the Thrasher.” In his surprise Peter fairly jumped right off the ground. “What's that?” he exclaimed. “Since when was Brownie the Thrasher related to the Wren family?” “Ever since there have been any Wrens and Thrashers,” retorted Jenny. “Brownie belongs to one branch of the family and I belong to another, and that makes him my second cousin. It certainly is surprising how little some folks know.” “But I have always supposed he belonged to the 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.”