st chance I have had to come 'way over
here in the Green Forest. You see, I have been learning a lot of things
about you feathered folks, things I hadn't even guessed. There is
something I wish you'd tell me, Teacher; will you?"

"That depends on what it is," replied Teacher, eyeing Peter a little
suspiciously.

"It is why you are called Oven Bird," said Peter.

"Is that all?" asked Teacher. Then without waiting for a reply he added,
"It is because of the way Mrs. Teacher and I build our nest. Some people
think it is like an oven and so they call us Oven Birds. I think that is
a silly name myself, quite as silly as Golden Crowned Thrush, which is
what some people call me. I'm not a Thrush. I'm not even related to the
Thrush family. I'm a Warbler, a Wood Warbler."

"I suppose," said Peter, looking at Teacher thoughtfully, "they've given
you that name because you are dressed something like the Thrushes. That
olive-green coat, and white waistcoat all streaked and spotted with
black, certainly does remind me of the Thrush family. If you were not so
much smaller than any of the Thrushes I should almost think you were
one myself. Why, you are not very much bigger than Chippy the Chipping
Sparrow, only you've got longer legs. I suppose that's because you spend
so much time on the ground. I think that just Teacher is the best name
for you. No one who has once heard you could ever mistake you for any
one else. By the way, Teacher, where did you say your nest is?"

"I didn't say," retorted Teacher. "What's more, I'm not going to say."

"Won't you at least tell me if it is in a tree?" begged Peter.

Teacher's eyes twinkled. "I guess it won't do any harm to tell you that
much," said he. "No, it isn't in a tree. It is on the ground and, if I
do say it, it is as well hidden a nest as anybody can build. Oh, Peter,
watch your step! Watch your step!" Teacher fairly shrieked this warning.

Peter, who had just started to hop off to his right, stopped short
in sheer astonishment. Just in front of him was a tiny mound of dead
leaves, and a few feet beyond Mrs. Teacher was fluttering about on the
ground as if badly hurt. Peter simply didn't know what to make of it.
Once more he made a movement as if to hop. Teacher flew right down in
front of him. "You'll step on my nest!" he cried.

Peter stared, for he didn't see any nest. He said as much.

"It's under that little mound of leaves right in front of your feet!"
cried Teacher. "I wa