birds,
and, like them, care for their young and provide for their future,
homes would be full and happy, and our tribe be strong and prosperous.

"When this man became a priest, he told the story of the bird's nest
and sang its song; and so it has come down to us from the days of our
fathers."

[Music: SONG OF THE BIRD'S NEST.

_Pawnee._

Transcribed from Graphophone and harmonized by EDWIN S. TRACY.

Ho-o
Ha-re ha-re re ha-re
Ha-re ha-re e ha-re
Re wha-ka ha-re re ha-re, wha-ka ha-re re ha-re
Re wha-ka ha-re re ha-re.]

A TRYSTING LOVE-SONG.

One of the few delights of life in camp is the opportunity the tent
affords of ready access to the open air. There is no traversing of
stairways, no crossing of halls, and no opening of reluctant doors,
but only the parting of the canvas, and our world is as wide as the
horizon and high as the heavens. Even when the tent door-flap is
snugly closed, nature is not wholly shut out. Often I have lain
looking up at the stars as they passed slowly across the central
opening, and listened to the flight of the birds as they travelled
northward at the coming of spring. And I have watched the birth of
many a day, from the first quivering primrose hue to the full flush
and glow of rosy colour, and then the stirring breeze, the waking
leaves, and the call of the birds breaking into song.

One morning I rose from my blankets and stepped out under the broad
dome of the sky, while all about me in their shadowy tents the people
slept. I wandered toward a glen, down which the water from a little
spring hurried to the brook. As I sat among the fresh undergrowth, I
watched the stars grow dim and the thin line of smoke rise from the
tents, telling that the mother had risen to blow the embers to a
blaze and to put another stick or two upon the fire.

As I sat, thinking a multitude of thoughts, I heard a rustling upon
the hill opposite me. Then there was silence, quickly broken by
movements in another direction; while from the hill came the clear
voice of a young man singing. In a moment more two women, whom I
recognised as aunt and niece, appeared at the spring, the one elderly,
the other young and pretty; but the singer was still invisible. The
cadences of the song were blithe and glad, like the birds and the
breezes laden with summer fragrance. The words, "I see them coming!"
carried a double meaning. The girl for whom he had waited was in truth
coming, but to the singer was a