THE RUFFED GROUSE, OR PARTRIDGE 



WHIR! WHIR! WHIR! and a brood of half -grown 

 partridges start up like an explosion, a few paces 

 from me, and, scattering, disappear into the bushes 

 on all sides. Let me sit down here behind the 

 screen of ferns and briers, and hear this wild 

 hen of the woods call together her brood. At 

 what an early age the partridge flies ! Nature 

 seems to concentrate her energies on the wing, 

 making the safety of the bird a point to be 

 looked after first; and while the body is covered 

 with down, and no signs of feathers are visible 

 there, the wing-quills sprout and unfold, and in 

 an incredibly short time the young make fair 

 headway in flying. 



Hark ! there arises over there in the brush a 

 soft, persuasive cooing, a sound so subtle and 

 wild and unobtrusive that it requires the most 

 alert and watchful ear to hear it. How gentle 

 and solicitous and full of yearning love ! It is 

 the voice of the mother hen. Presently a faint 

 timid " Yeap ! " which almost eludes the ear, is 

 heard in various directions, the young respond- 

 ing. As no danger seems near, the cooing of the 

 parent bird is soon a very audible clucking call, 



