STORIES ABOUT BIRDS. 



Ishe fruit-trees in the orchards, and picked off the young buds; and also 

 among the grain in the fields. 



The farmer used to set his children to frighten them away with rattles 

 frpm morning till night ; and he set traps for them, and did all he could to 

 destroy them. In the winter they were so tame they would "come into the 

 farmyard and feed with the poultry, or even walk in the village street like 

 the cocks and the hens. And when they were shot they were often left to lie 

 dead on the ground. The hunter did not care to pick them up, for he had 

 eaten so much grouse that he was more than satisfied. 



But times have altered strangely since then. There is scarcely a grouse 

 to be seen now, so have they been hunted down. Farther and farther have 

 the little remnant retired into spots where they can escape the hunter, and 

 game laws have been made for their protection. The sportsman now travels 

 far and wide with his dogs to get the chance of a shot. And in the markets 

 of New York and the large cities a brace of these birds sells for one or two 

 sovereigns. 



The open ground of the prairie is the place chosen by the mother bird to 

 make her nest. It is carelessly built of dry leaves and grass woven together, 

 and is placed in a large tuft of grass or at the foot of a small bush. 



There are seldom more than twelve eggs, and as soon as the young ones 

 are hatched the mother leads them away, and is deserted by her partner. 



The little birds enjoy themselves in the boundless home of the prairie, 

 and find an ample store of food. They squat so close to the ground that it is 

 hardly possible to see them. When there is the least danger the mother 

 gives an expressive cluck. The little birds know what it means, and do what 

 she wishes them. They spring up for a moment on the wing, so as to 

 confuse the eye of the enemy, and then lie down quite flat. Nor is he able, 

 with all his searching, to find out where they are, although, at the same time, 

 he may nearly tread some of them under foot. While the young ones are 

 skulking in this manner, the mother bird does all she can to entice away the 

 intruder from the spot. She droops her wing as if she were lame, and limps 

 j-bout, and even rolls over on the ground, and diverts his attention until he is 

 at a safe distance from the brood. 



They have other enemies besides the sportsman. The owl, the hawk, 

 and a disagreeable small animal called the skunk, prey upon them when they 

 are young and feeble. In winter their stock of berries gets less, and they fly 



