FIELD BIRDS 123 



over which they travel leaves no trail that could 

 be retraced. But listen! What note was that? 

 A soft, whistled *'Where are you? where are you?** 

 It comes first from the right, then from the left, 

 then from far ahead near that thicket yonder. Let 

 us answer it, "Where are you? where are you?" 

 At once the responses come, and as we reply they 

 draw nearer. Soon we hear low twittering notes 

 and a moment later a Bob-white runs out into a 

 nearby opening, head erect, looking eagerly here 

 and there for the bird it was answering. Then 

 others come and we quickly withdraw while they 

 excitedly twitter their experiences to one another. 



I once heard this "scatter call," as it is termed 

 by sportsmen, from my window in the Museum of 

 Natural History in New York City. Little think- 

 ing that a Bob-white could be its author, I neverthe- 

 less immediately answered it when, to my surprise, 

 a Bob-white ran rapidly across the lawn and was 

 actually about to enter the Museum door when, 

 alarmed by visitors, he took flight and disappeared. 

 Poor little fellow, I wonder did he ever find his 

 way out of the great city into which he had so 

 strangely wandered? 



In April the flocks break up and the birds begin 

 to pair, the males battling for their mates like 

 diminutive game cocks, and challenging their rivals 



