BOB WHITE. 



HALF a mile away you can hear Bob White whis- 

 tling his name, " Bob White ! " " Bob White ! " 

 The sound is so distinct that dogs, w^hen they hear it 

 first, show that they take it for the call of a human 

 being. Following the sound and keeping a sharp 

 lookout, you may find him on the fence rail, and if 

 you creep cautiously near, you will see what a hand- 

 some bird he is. 



His throat is pure w^hite, his head marked with 

 black and white, and his short, fat body a rich brown. 

 Why is he whistling so clearly ? 



If you answer him, — for you can learn to whistle 

 the notes almost as clearly as he does, — you may see 

 a very fierce little Quail come flying to the spot w^here 

 you are hidden, for the whistling of the Quail, like the 

 drumming of the Grouse, is a call to his mate and a 

 challenge to all his rivals. 



Under the blackberry vines, along the wall, or in a 

 tuft of grass in the open fields, his mate is covering, 

 or trying to cover, a set of eggs which it would be a 

 joy for you to see — row within row of pure white 

 beautiful eggs, sometimes as many as twenty in a 

 nest. 



