To gossip is to talk about other people and what they are doing, or what they have done, or what they are going to do. Peter Rabbit and Winsome Bluebird were gossiping in the dear Old Briar-patch. Winsome sat in a little cherry-tree, and right under him sat Peter. Winsome had just arrived from way down South to spread the glad news that Mistress Spring was on her way and would soon reach the Green Meadows, the Green Forest and the Smiling Pool. You see, Winsome is the herald of Mistress Spring and keeps just a little way ahead of her. When the little meadow and forest people first see his beautiful blue coat, or hear his soft sweet whistle, they know that Mistress Spring is surely on the way and not very far behind, and then great joy fills their hearts. First comes gentle Sister South Wind to prepare the way, then Winsome Bluebird, and after him beautiful Mistress Spring.

Peter Rabbit was brimful of curiosity, just as he always is. You see, it was a long time since he had last seen Winsome Bluebird and all the other birds who had gone to the far-away South when the leaves began to drop in the fall, and of course he wanted to know all about his old friends and neighbors, how they were, what they had been doing, and when they were coming back.

And Winsome wanted to know all about how Peter and Reddy Fox and all the other little people who hadn’t gone to the beautiful South had spent the long winter. So there was a great deal to talk about. Yes, indeed, there was a very great deal to talk about. Winsome felt that he ought to be flying about over the Green Meadows and the Green Forest where other little people could see him and hear him and so know that he had arrived, but he had traveled a very, very great distance and he was tired, and so he sat and rested and while he rested he gossiped with Peter Rabbit.

“Is Ol’ Mistah Buzzard on his way here?” asked Peter eagerly.

“Not yet,” replied Winsome. “He won’t start until after he is sure that Mistress Spring has got here,” replied Winsome.

Peter looked a little disappointed, for there is nothing that he enjoys more than to watch Ol’ Mistah Buzzard sail round and round, way, way up in the blue, blue sky. He is rather fond of Ol’ Mistah Buzzard, is Peter, for big as he is Mistah Buzzard never offers to hurt any of the very little people, not even little Danny Meadow Mouse. “Why isn’t he starting right away?” he asked.

“Well, you see,” replied Winsome, “Mistah Buzzard doesn’t like the cold.”

“But it isn’t cold now!” interrupted Peter. “Why, this isn’t cold at all. You ought to have been here when it really was cold—when the Smiling Pool and the Laughing Brook were covered with ice, and the Green Meadows and the Green Forest were all white with snow, and poor Mrs. Grouse was a prisoner under the hard icy crust. Then it was cold! Why, this isn’t cold at all.”

Winsome Bluebird ruffled up his feathers just a little. It was almost like a shiver. “This is cold enough for me!” said he. “Tell me about poor Mrs. Grouse, Peter. Did she get out?”

“You tell me about Ol’ Mistah Buzzard first, and how he spends the winter, and then I’ll tell you about poor Mrs. Grouse,” replied Peter.

“All right,” said Winsome. “There isn’t a great deal to tell, but I’ll do the best I can. I’ll tell you how he warms his toes.”