early March mornings. As I was answering him, another Rid-bird began call to the east - a different call sharp and short. Filled with a desire to see this songster, I hastened across frozen meadows to a little thicket, where I had heard him call; in my eagerness I only cast a hasty glance at the skies; the clouds were breaking up and beginning to yellow. I hurried on thru the woods. Now the song seemed to come from a tall tree nearby; I looked and looked in, but I could see nothing, again he cried.
     “Cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p,!”
     Forcing my way over the frozen leaves and branches, I came to the top of a little valley, and on a small tree on the other side of a road, which run along the top of the opposite hill, I saw the Red-bird, swinging in the wind, with feathers ruffled, and tail flopping, pouring forth his song:
     “Cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p, cheer’p!” he whistled perilously swaying on the slender branch. The sky was yellowing behind him and he appeared black to me. The wind stole thru the swaying trees, and over the leaf covered ground, rustling and whispering, rustling and whispering whispering, whispering promises of spring.