ard this year?"

"Of course I am," replied Chebec promptly. "Mrs. Chebec and I have built
here for the last two or three years, and we wouldn't think of going
anywhere else. Mrs. Chebec is looking for a place now. I suppose I ought
to be helping her, but I learned a long time ago, Peter Rabbit, that in
matters of this kind it is just as well not to have any opinion at all.
When Mrs. Chebec has picked out just the place she wants, I'll help her
build the nest. It certainly is good to be back here in the Old Orchard
and planning a home once more. We've made a terribly long journey, and I
for one am glad it's over."

"I just saw your cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Phoebe, and they already have a
nest and eggs," said Peter.

"The Phoebes are a funny lot," replied Chebec. "They are the only
members of the family that can stand cold weather. What pleasure they
get out of it I don't understand. They are queer anyway, for they never
build their nests in trees as the rest of us do."

"Are you the smallest in the family?" asked Peter, for it had suddenly
struck him that Chebec was a very little fellow indeed.

Chebec nodded. "I'm the smallest," said he. "That's why they call me
Least Flycatcher. I may be least in size, but I can tell you one thing,
Peter Rabbit, and that is that I can catch just as many bugs and flies
as any of them." Suiting action to the word, he darted out into the air.
His little bill snapped and with a quick turn he was back on his former
perch, jerking his tail and uttering his sharp little cry of, "Chebec!
Chebec! Chebec!" until Peter began to wonder which he was the most fond
of, catching flies, or the sound of his own voice.

Presently they both heard Mrs. Chebec calling from somewhere in the
middle of the Old Orchard. "Excuse me, Peter," said Chebec, "I must go
at once. Mrs. Chebec says she has found just the place for our nest,
and now we've got a busy time ahead of us. We are very particular how we
build a nest."

"Do you start it with mud the way Welcome Robin and your cousins, the
Phoebes, do?" asked Peter.

"Mud!" cried Chebec scornfully. "Mud! I should say not! I would have you
understand, Peter, that we are very particular about what we use in our
nest. We use only the finest of rootlets, strips of soft bark, fibers of
plants, the brown cotton that grows on ferns, and perhaps a little
hair when we can find it. We make a dainty nest, if I do say it, and
we fasten it securely in the fork made by tw