h Farmer Brown had dug for gravel to put on the
roadway up near his house. As Peter was scampering past this place
where Farmer Brown had dug he caught sight of some one very busy in that
gravel pit. Peter stopped short, then sat up to stare.

It was Mourner the Dove whom Peter saw, an old friend of whom Peter is
very fond. His body was a little bigger than that of Welcome Robin,
but his long slender neck, and longer tail and wings made him appear
considerably larger. In shape he reminded Peter at once of the
Pigeons up at Farmer Brown's. His back was grayish-brown, varying to
bluish-gray. The crown and upper parts of his head were bluish-gray.
His breast was reddish-buff, shading down into a soft buff. His bill was
black and his feet red. The two middle feathers of his tail were longest
and of the color of his back. The other feathers were slaty-gray with
little black bands and tipped with white. On his wings were a few
scattered black spots. Just under each ear was a black spot. But it
was the sides of his slender neck which were the most beautiful part of
Mourner. When untouched by the Jolly Little Sunbeams the neck feathers
appeared to be in color very like his breast, but the moment they
were touched by the Jolly Little Sunbeams they seemed to be constantly
changing, which, as you know, is called iridescence. Altogether Mourner
was lovely in a quiet way.

But it was not his appearance which made Peter stare; it was what he was
doing. He was walking about and every now and then picking up something
quite as if he were getting his breakfast in that gravel pit, and Peter
couldn't imagine anything good to eat down there. He knew that there
were not even worms there. Besides, Mourner is not fond of worms; he
lives almost altogether on seeds and grains of many kinds. So Peter was
puzzled. But as you know he isn't the kind to puzzle long over anything
when he can use his tongue.

"Hello, Mourner!" he cried. "What under the sun are you doing in there?
Are you getting your breakfast?"

"Hardly, Peter; hardly," cooed Mourner in the softest of voices.
"I've had my breakfast and now I'm picking up a little gravel for my
digestion." He picked up a tiny pebble and swallowed it.

"Well, of all things!" cried Peter. "You must be crazy. The idea of
thinking that gravel is going to help your digestion. I should say the
chances are that it will work just the other way."

Mourner laughed. It was the softest of little cooing laug