"Soon they came up the hill, drawing their sleds behind them. I whistled again and called my name.
"'Why, hello,' cried a boy in a blue reefer and a blue stocking cap. 'Hello, chickadee, you're a jolly little fellow! We call you our fair weather friend because you sing so cheerily on these clear frosty days.'
"'Oho!' laughed another boy, who had a big scratch on his nose, 'I saw a chickadee flying about among the fir-trees on that very stormy day last week. He sang just as cheerily through the storm.' Then the boy whistled back to me and called my name."
"That was my brother Jack," laughed Phyllis. "He got that scratch while out coasting. He told me that he saw you on that stormy day. He loves the winter quite as well as you do. You should hear him sing and whistle when the snow falls for coasting. You should hear him shout when the cold skating days come. He says that Jack Frost is a fellow's best friend."
"Indeed," said the jolly little chickadee, blinking his eyes in a funny way, "my brothers say the very same thing!"
"But how do you find anything to eat in the winter-time?" Phyllis asked. "The insects and worms have long been dead. What did you have for breakfast this morning?"
"We had eggs and—"
"Eggs?" cried Phyllis, not waiting for the bird to finish. "You had eggs?"
"Yes, moth's eggs," said the bird. "The moths leave their eggs about in all sorts of places. We chickadees know where to find them!"
"Are they—good?" asked Phyllis.