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Updated: May 1, 2025
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.
The Old Orchard wouldn't be quite the same without you. Did you have a pleasant summer? And if you please, Yank-Yank, tell me where you built your home and what it was like." "Yes, Mr. Curiosity, I had a very pleasant summer," replied Yank-Yank. "Mrs. Yank-Yank and I raised a family of six and that is doing a lot better than some folks I know, if I do say it.
Once in a while he would cry in a thin little voice, "Seep! Seep!" but never paused to rest or look around. If he had felt that on him alone depended the job of getting all the insect eggs and grubs on those trees he could not have been more industrious. "Does he build his nest in a hole in a tree?" asked Peter of Yank-Yank. Yank-Yank shook his head. "No," he replied.
Suiting action to the word, Yank-Yank ran around the trunk of the apple-tree just above Peter's head. When he reappeared Peter had another question ready. "Do you live altogether on grubs and worms and insects and their eggs?" he asked. "I should say not!" exclaimed Yank-Yank. "I like acorns and beechnuts and certain kinds of seeds."
"I've noticed that he is very fond of the same house year after year. Is there anybody else?" Again Jenny Wren nodded. "Yank-Yank the Nuthatch uses an old house, I'm told, but he usually goes up North for his nesting," said she. "Tommy Tit the Chickadee sometimes uses an old house. Then again he and Mrs. Chickadee get fussy and make a house for themselves.
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.
As to our nest, it was made of leaves and feathers and it was in a hole in a certain old stump that not a soul knows of but Mrs. Yank-Yank and myself. Now is there anything else you want to know?" "Yes," retorted Peter promptly. "I want to know how it is that you can walk head first down the trunk of a tree without losing your balance and tumbling off." Yank-Yank chuckled happily.
It really is quite easy when you know how. Cracking a nut open that way is sometimes called hatching, and that is how I come by the name of Nuthatch. Hello! There's Seep-Seep. I haven't seen him since we were together up North. His home was not far from mine." As Yank-Yank spoke, a little brown bird alighted at the very foot of the next tree.
Then there are little worms that bore in just under the bark, and there are other creatures who sleep the winter away in little cracks in the bark. Oh, there is plenty for me to do in the winter. I am one of the policemen of the trees. Downy and Hairy the Woodpeckers, Seep-Seep the Brown Creeper and Yank-Yank the Nuthatch are others.
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.
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