WHAT BIRDS SAY AND SING 255 



I am wide awake every spring at the sound of 

 the first note of the killdeer over the lake. He 

 always conies calling about half past three or four 

 in the morning, crying in tones that one could im- 

 agine were plaintive, if it were not remembered 

 that the bird is coming home and probably as 

 happy to arrive as a human being after a time of 

 exile. I feel bound to claim my location as the 

 home of the killdeer, because he comes to me some- 

 times in late February, always in March, and stays 

 until late November, and where a bird or human 

 spends nine months out of twelve certainly is the 

 location that could be justly called home for him. 

 This bird has a plaintive tribal call, as it flashes 

 around the lake shore, sweeping low on wing, try- 

 ing to guard the flashing feet of its young too 

 small to fly. At these times, the old bird cries: 

 "Te-dit! te-dit!" and the youngsters take up this 

 cry in the cunningest baby talk that it has been 

 my experience to hear among any youngsters of 

 birdland. 



In commonly accepted interpretation of what 

 the birds say, I once wrote the following for the 

 children of Limberlost Cabin: 



BOB WHITE AND PHOEBE BEECHER 



Bob White tilled the acres of an Indiana farm, 



Phoebe Beecher was his neighbour, full of youthful charm. 



As Bob did his farming, Phoebe lingered near. 



The birds all helped him woo her, with their notes of cheer. 



