''There was a very beautiful youth, 

 mythology tells us, who was devotedly 

 loved by a wood nymph, Echo. But she 

 had incurred the displeasure of Juno, 

 their goddess of the heavens, and by her 

 had been condemned to have the power 

 to speak only the last word and was for- 

 bidden any other. For this reason she 

 could not address Narcissus, much as she 

 desired to do so. When he did speak, 

 finally. Echo answered by repeating his 

 last word. Her heart was full of joy, 

 for she was sure that at last her oppor- 

 tunity had come. But in spite of her 

 beauty and purity the youth repelled her, 

 and left her to haunt the recesses of the 

 woods. In her disappointment she pined 

 for him until her form faded because of 

 grief. Her bones were changed to rocks 

 and there was nothing. left but her voice. 

 AVith that she is still ready to reply to 

 anyone who calls to her and keeps up her 

 old habit of having the last word. 



"Narcissus was cruel not in this case 

 alone. He shunned every one else as he 

 had done poor Echo. One day one of 

 those whom he repelled so heartlessly 

 breathed a prayer that he should some 

 day feel what it was to receive no return 

 of affection. The wish was granted. 



"There was a fountain, with water like 

 silver, to which the shepherds never drove 



their flocks. In fact, nothing ever dis- 

 turbed its water, and here one day Nar- 

 cissus chanced to stop to drink. He saw 

 his own likeness in the water and, think- 

 ing it a beautiful water spirit living in 

 tlie fountain, admired and loved it. He 

 talked to it, but it would not answer ; he 

 tried to catch it, but it fled whenever he 

 touched the water. He could not tear 

 himself away from the spot, for he was 

 so captivated by the lovely face in the 

 fountain that he ignored all else. So 

 there he stayed until he lost his color, his 

 vigor, and the beauty which had so 

 charmed Echo. She kept near him, how- 

 ever, and when, in his grief, he exclaimed, 

 'x\las ! alas !' she answered with the same 

 words. He pined away and died. The 

 nymphs prepared a funeral pile and 

 would have burned the body, but it was 

 nowhere to be found ; in its place was a 

 flower, purple within and surrounded 

 with white leaves, which bears the name 

 and preserves the memory of Narcissus." 



When Aunt Chatty had finished, Grace, 

 after gazing out at the white Easter lilies 

 a few moments, said : 



'T like the story, but I don't like Nar- 

 cissus. He was too selfish and ungrate- 

 ful. I like the story best that you told 

 me in the garden, the one about the 'lilies 

 of the field.' " Claudia May Ferrix. 



THE CALL OF THE KILLDEE. 



"Killdee, killdee." 

 The pleasantest sight to me 

 Is a little brown bird with a curious word; 

 A queer little word that to-day I have heard 

 For the very first time this spring, you see, 

 And that queer little word is " Killdee, killdee." 

 That curious word is " Killdee." 



"Killdee, killdee." 

 It is cheery and clear as can be. 

 And there's snow in the gully not melted away, 

 And ice in the river ; I saw it to-day. 

 Yet there he goes dipping and skimming along 

 And singing so blithely his queer little £ong : 

 " 'Tis spring. Killdee, Killdee." 



— Mary Morrison. 



109 



