WHITE-FLESHER VERY DELICIOUS. 43 
birds rise and fly upon a tree without a sound ; 
but only. walk up to them, and a sharp whirring 
noise is invariably produced when they flush. 
_As soon as the chickens can follow, the dark 
swamp-brush is abandoned, and the favourite 
locality is an open hillside; especially if a moun- 
tain-burn comes brawling down among the rocks, 
resting here and there in coy little pools— 
drinking-fountains of Nature’s own contriving. 
Here too grass-seeds, berries, and insects are in 
abundance, and the woolly little chickens feed 
right royally. 
They never, like the sharp-tailed grouse, pack, 
but almost invariably keep together in broods; 
they love to frequent trails or sandbanks, 
where they can dust themselves. They are 
_ bitter enemies to ants: having a weakness for the 
egos, they scrape and scatter to the winds their 
little wood-piles, the toil and labour of hundreds 
of busy architects, sending the building material 
flying far and wide, until the egg-treasury is 
reached, and ruthlessly despoiled. 
From September to Christmas the ‘ white- 
flesher’ (for so he is named) is at his best, 
having had the full benefit and advantage of the 
berry and nut season; his flesh is pure white, and 
he is most delicious before he begins to devour 
the leaves of the fir; this he does as soon as the 
