The more we have the more we want;

At least I find that true

With almost every one I know;

Pray, is it so with you?

Peter Rabbit, who had been calling at the Smiling Pool, had learned so many curious and interesting things about Spotty the Turtle and Grandfather Frog that his head almost ached as he started for the Green Forest one morning in the spring after Ol’ Mistah Buzzard’s first appearance. You would think that Peter’s curiosity ought to have been satisfied for once, but it wasn’t. You see, curiosity is one of those things that is seldom really satisfied.

As Peter hopped along, lipperty-lipperty-lip, he looked up to see that Redtail the Hawk was not near enough to be dangerous. There was no sign of Redtail, but high up in the blue, blue sky, sailing round and round, was Ol’ Mistah Buzzard. Now ever since Ol’ Mistah Buzzard had come up the first time from way down in Ol’ Virginny to make his home in the Green Forest for the summer, Peter had been greatly interested in him. In the first place no one else could sail and sail and sail without moving his wings as could Ol’ Mistah Buzzard. In the second place Ol’ Mistah Buzzard was the only one whom Peter was acquainted with who had a bald head. King Eagle is called bald-headed, but isn’t bald at all. On the other hand Ol’ Mistah Buzzard, who isn’t a Buzzard at all but a Vulture, hasn’t a feather on his head. He had told the story of how his family first became bald-headed, and ever since then Peter had taken the liveliest interest in Ol’ Mistah Buzzard.

This spring Ol’ Mistah Buzzard had brought Mrs. Buzzard up from Ol’ Virginny with him, and Peter had spent many hours watching them sail round and round high up in the blue, blue sky, so high sometimes that they were little more than specks. This morning as he watched Ol’ Mistah Buzzard, it suddenly popped into Peter’s head that he hadn’t seen Mrs. Buzzard for some time. Ol’ Mistah Buzzard was alone now, and he had been alone every time Peter had seen him of late, only Peter hadn’t happened to think of it before.

Peter paused and gazed up at Ol’ Mistah Buzzard thoughtfully. “I wonder,” said he, thinking aloud as he sometimes does, “if anything can have happened to Ol’ Mrs. Buzzard, or if she has grown tired of the Green Forest and gone back to her old home.”

He wrinkled his forehead in a way he has when he is puzzled or trying to think. Then as a thought popped into his head his face cleared.

“I know!” he exclaimed. “It must be that Mrs. Buzzard is keeping house. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that before? All my feathered friends, and some who are not my friends, have nests now, so why shouldn’t Mistah and Mrs. Buzzard have a nest? They have. I feel it in my bones. They’ve got a nest somewhere, and Mrs. Buzzard is taking care of the eggs, and that is why I haven’t seen her lately. Now I wonder where that nest is. I should like to see it. I believe I’ll have a look around in the Green Forest. Such big folks as Ol’ Mistah and Mrs. Buzzard must have a big nest, and it ought not to be hard to find it.”

Fairly bubbling over with curiosity Peter started to run again towards the Green Forest.