so
he followed Tommy Tit up to the Old Orchard. He felt sure that he would
find company there besides Tommy Tit, and he was not disappointed. Downy
and Hairy the Woodpeckers were getting their breakfast from a piece
of suet Farmer Brown's boy had thoughtfully fastened in one of the
apple-trees for them. Sammy Jay was there also, and his blue coat never
had looked better than it did against the pure white of the snow.

These were the only ones Peter really had expected to find in the Old
Orchard, and so you can guess how pleased he was as he hopped over the
old stone wall to hear the voice of one whom he had almost forgotten. It
was the voice of Yank-Yank the Nuthatch, and while it was far from being
sweet there was in it something of good cheer and contentment. At once
Peter hurried in the direction from which it came.

On the trunk of an apple-tree he caught sight of a gray and black and
white bird about the size of Downy the Woodpecker. The top of his head
and upper part of his back were shining black. The rest of his back was
bluish-gray. The sides of his head and his breast were white. The outer
feathers of his tail were black with white patches near their tips.

But Peter didn't need to see how Yank-Yank was dressed in order to
recognize him. Peter would have known him if he had been so far away
that the colors of his coat did not show at all. You see, Yank-Yank was
doing a most surprising thing, something no other bird can do. He was
walking head first down the trunk of that tree, picking tiny eggs of
insects from the bark and seemingly quite as much at home and quite as
unconcerned in that queer position as if he were right side up.

As Peter approached, Yank-Yank lifted his head and called a greeting
which sounded very much like the repetition of his own name. Then he
turned around and began to climb the tree as easily as he had come down
it.

"Welcome home, Yank-Yank!" cried Peter, hurrying up quite out of breath.

Yank-Yank turned around so that he was once more head down, and his eyes
twinkled as he looked down at Peter. "You're mistaken Peter," said he.
"This isn't home. I've simply come down here for the winter. You know
home is where you raise your children, and my home is in the Great Woods
farther north. There is too much ice and snow up there, so I have come
down here to spend the winter."

"Well anyway, it's a kind of home; it's your winter home," protested
Peter, "and I certainly am glad to se