Killooleet , Little Sweet -Voice. 27 



of a rubber bag, when I heard a white-throated spar- 

 row calling cheerily his Indian name, O hear, sweet 

 Killooleet-lillooleet-lillooleet ! And the sound was so 

 sunny, so good to hear in the steady drip of rain on 

 the roof, that I went out to see the little fellow who 

 had bid us welcome to the wilderness. 



Simmo had heard too. He was on his hands and 

 knees, just his dark face peering by the corner stake 

 of his commoosie, so as to see better the little singer 

 on my tent. " Have better weather and better luck 

 now. Killooleet sing on ridgepole," he said confi- 

 dently. Then we spread some cracker crumbs for 

 the guest and turned in to sleep till better times. 



That was the beginning of a long acquaintance. 

 It was also the first of many social calls from a whole 

 colony of white-throats (Tom-Peabody birds) that 

 lived on the mountain-side just behind my tent, and 

 that came one by one to sing to us, and to get 

 acquainted, and to share our crumbs. Sometimes, 

 too, in rainy weather, when the woods seemed wetter 

 than the lake, and Simmo would be sleeping philo- 

 sophically, and I reading, or tying trout flies in the 

 tent, I would hear a gentle stir and a rustle or two 

 just outside, under the tent fly. Then, if I crept out 

 quietly, I would find Killooleet exploring my goods 

 to find where the crackers grew, or just resting 



