The Qiiail 9 



event the quail appear to settle the matter in a 

 satisfactory way by scattering over the country, 

 so that each brood may enjoy a range of its own. 

 The love-making of the quail is carried on with 

 a dash and spirit worthy of so gamey a bird. 

 Every resident of a quail country knows and 

 loves the clear, sweet, often defiant whistle of 

 " Bob White — Bob-bob — White ! " which, in the 

 Northeast, during May, is flung from fence to 

 stump, to and fro across sun-kissed open and 

 flowered mead. Amid the perfumed breath of 

 new-waked blooms and tender growing things ; 

 when the soft air is a-tremble with glad bird 

 voices, which plead for love from swaying frond, 

 sweet upper air, and bosky dell, then brave, 

 brown Bob feels the witchery of the season and 

 boldly enters Love's fateful lists. It is a merry tour- 

 ney, for small knights are bold, and fair maids some- 

 what coy. Suitors are many, sometimes too many, 

 and the prizes must be fairly won. At first Bob 

 is more of the sighing lover, — the minstrel 'neath 

 his lady's bower, — and he contents himself with 

 sending random love-notes by the mischievous 

 breeze. From across his favorite field comes an 

 echo of his rinorino- call — the voice of some ambi- 

 tious rival ! At once he is all attention. Does he 

 hear aright? Can it be that insignificant little 

 bird with which he shared quarters under the 

 snow-laden brush-heap through half of the win- 



