28 A CALL FROM BOB WHITE. 



or two departing near the ground behind some 

 shrub. Slowly and quietly, however, I took my 

 seat on a bank close under a thick bush, — 

 while the silence around me was as profound as 

 if no wing had ever fluttered there, — and be- 

 came as motionless as circumstances would al- 

 low, for beside the birds there were other tenants 

 not half so shy. 



After a few moments, when the ripple I 

 caused had died away, sounds of life began 

 again ; unknown water creatures made queer 

 noises in the pool below, low bird tones, unfa- 

 miliar scraps of song fell on the ear, ordinary 

 ways were resumed. 



In this pleasant place I made acquaintance 

 with the painted-finch, or nonpareil, who was 

 least frightened of the small birds, and stood pa- 

 tiently on a cedar twig till I became quiet, then 

 came down in plain sight, waded up to the tops 

 of his firm little legs in the water, and deliber- 

 ately took his bath before my very face. Here 

 also I had a call from Bob White, who cau- 

 tiously lifted a striped cap and a very bright 

 eye above the grass tops to look at me. He did 

 not introduce himself ; indeed, after a moment's 

 steady gaze his head dropped and I saw him no 

 more, but I heard him rustle in the grass on 

 the way to the strawberries, of which he de- 

 mands — and gets — his share. 



