A BOBWHITE FAMILY 



149 



the partridge fluttered wildly away. One, two, three yards 

 it had gone and then the soft arms of Weasel, the blood- 

 thirsty, closed about its neck. Two sets of sharp teeth 

 met, there was a despairing cry, a flutter of wings and the 

 night sounds in the forest went on as before. 



The days of the winter months were drawing to a close. 

 One afternoon late in February the bobwhite family, now 

 numbering only eight, was lying in the sand of a road 

 which ran through 

 the woods half a 

 mile from the 

 farm. They 

 scratched and 

 kicked the warm 

 dry dust upon 

 their sides and 

 backs, and had 

 the delicious 

 pleasure of feel- 

 ing it scatter and sift down between their feathers. The sun 

 yet rode high in the heavens and the day was warm, for in 

 this Southland but little frost comes to chill the earth, and 

 snow is unknown. While thus they lay and drank deeply 

 of the bliss of existence, the sky gradually became overcast 

 and a thin haze settled in among the pines. It tainted the 



