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leaves a bit of sunshine behind him. He 

 goes with you, as you force your way heavily 

 (^'geej^ee-ZoA/i-s/s through the fir thickets on snowshoes. He 

 .^ is hungry, perhaps, like you, but his note is 

 none the less cheery and hopeful. 



When the sun shines hot in August, he 

 finds you lying under the alders, with the lake 

 breeze in your face, and he opens his eyes 

 wide and says : " Tsic a dee-e-e ? I saw you 

 last winter. Those were hard times. But 

 it 's good to be here now." And when the 

 rain pours down, and the woods are drenched, 

 and camp life seems beastly altogether, he 

 appears suddenly with greeting cheery as 

 the sunshine. " Tsic a de-e-e-e ? Don't you 

 remember yesterday? It rains, to be sure, 

 but the insects are plenty, and to-morrow 

 the sun will shine." His cheerfulness is 

 contagious. Your thoughts are better than 

 before he came. 



Really, he is a wonderful little fellow; 

 there is no end to the good he does. Again 

 and again I have seen a man grow better 

 tempered or more cheerful, without know- 

 ing why he did so, just because Chickadee 



