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 song: “’Tis spring. Killdee, Killdee.” —Mary Morrison.