" Hour- Bird " the Micmacs call him ; for they 

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say he sings every hour, and so tells the time, 



^i//oo/eef, " ^^1 same 's one white man's watch." And 

 i^j(lff/e indeed there is rarely an hour, day or night, 

 Vo/ce ^^ ^^^ northern woods when you cannot 

 hear Killooleet singing. Other birds grow 

 silent after they have won their mates ; or 

 they grow fat and lazy as summer advances, 

 absorbed in the care of their young, and 

 have no time nor thought for singing. But 

 not so Killooleet. He is kinder to his mate 

 after he has won her, and never lets selfish- 

 ness or the summer steal away his music; 

 for he knows that the woods are brighter 

 for his singing. 



Sometimes, at night, I would take a brand 

 from the fire, and follow a deer path that 

 wound about the mountain, or steal away 

 into a dark thicket and strike a parlor match. 

 As the flame shot up, lighting its little circle 

 of waiting leaves, there would be a stir 

 beside me in the underbrush, or overhead 

 in the fir ; then tinkling out of the darkness, 

 like a brook under the snow, would come 

 the low clear strain of melody that always 



