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his people called the bird, he answered with 

 a smile. Since then I have asked other 

 Ch'geepee-lokh-sis Indians ; and always a smile, a pleased look 

 ^ lit up the dark grim faces as they told me. 



It is another tribute to the bright little bird's 

 influence. 



Chickadee wears well. He is not in the 

 least a creature of moods. You step out of 

 your door some bright morning, and there he 

 is among the shrubs, flitting from twig to 

 twig ; now hanging head down from the very 

 tip to look into a terminal bud ; now winding 

 upward about a branch, looking industriously 

 into every crevice. An insect must hide well 

 to escape those bright eyes. He is helping 

 you raise your plants. He looks up brightly 

 as you approach, hops fearlessly down and 

 looks at you with frank, innocent eyes. Chick 

 a dee dee dee dee ! Tsic a de-e-e ? — this last 

 with a rising inflection, as if he were asking 

 how you were, after he had said good-morning. 

 Then he turns to his insect hunting again; 

 for he never wastes more than a moment 

 talking. But he twitters sociably as he works. 



You meet him again, in the depths of the 



