grayish-brown. He was a little darker on his wings and tail. His breast,
instead of being all snowy white, was crossed with a brownish band. His
tail was more nearly square across the end than is the case with other
members of the Swallow family.

"Wha--wha--what were you doing there?" stuttered Peter, his eyes popping
right out with curiosity and excitement.

"Why, that's my home," twittered Banker.

"Do--do--do you mean to say that you live in a hole in the ground?"
cried Peter.

"Certainly; why not?" twittered Banker as he snapped up a fly just over
Peter's head.

"I don't know any reason why you shouldn't," confessed Peter. "But
somehow it is hard for me to think of birds as living in holes in the
ground. I've only just found out that Rattles the Kingfisher does. But
I didn't suppose there were any others. Did you make that hole yourself,
Banker?"

"Of course," replied Banker. "That is, I helped make it. Mrs. Banker did
her share. 'Way in at the end of it we've got the nicest little nest of
straw and feathers. What is more, we've got four white eggs in there,
and Mrs. Banker is sitting on them now."

By this time the air seemed to be full of Banker's friends, skimming and
circling this way and that, and going in and out of the little holes in
the bank.

"I am like my big cousin, Twitter the Purple Martin, fond of society,"
explained Banker. "We Bank Swallows like our homes close together. You
said that you had just learned that Rattles the Kingfisher has his home
in a bank. Do you know where it is?"

"No," replied Peter. "I was looking for it when I discovered your home.
Can you tell me where it is?"

"I'll do better than that;" replied Banker. "I'll show you where it is."

He darted some distance up along the bank and hovered for an instant
close to the top. Peter scampered over there and looked up. There, just
a few inches below the top, was another hole, a very much larger hole
than those he had just left. As he was staring up at it a head with a
long sharp bill and a crest which looked as if all the feathers on the
top of his head had been brushed the wrong way, was thrust out. It was
Rattles himself. He didn't seem at all glad to see Peter. In fact, he
came out and darted at Peter angrily. Peter didn't wait to feel that
sharp dagger-like bill. He took to his heels. He had seen what he
started out to find and he was quite content to go home.

Peter took a short cut across the Green Meadows. It t