136 RIVERBY 



shown one within the hunting-ground of this mur- 

 derous hawk would be a double pleasure. Such a 

 quiet, secluded, grass-grown highway as we moved 

 along was itself a rare treat. Sequestered was the 

 word that the little valley suggested, and peace the 

 feeling the road evoked. The farmer, whose fields 

 lay about us, half grown with weeds and bushes, 

 evidently did not make stir or noise enough to dis- 

 turb anything. Beside this rustic highway, bounded 

 by old mossy stone walls, and within a stone's throw 

 of the farmer's barn, the quail had made her nest. 

 It was just under the edge of a prostrate thorn-bush. 



" The nest is right there," said the farmer, paus- 

 ing within ten feet of it, and pointing to the spot 

 with his stick. 



In a moment or two we could make out the mot- 

 tled brown plumage of the sitting bird. Then we 

 approached her cautiously till we bent above her. 



She never moved a feather. 



Then I put my cane down in the brush behind 

 her. We wanted to see the eggs, yet did not want 

 rudely to disturb the sitting hen. . 



She would not move. 



Then I put down my hand within a few inches of 

 her; still she kept her place. Should we have to 

 lift her off bodily? 



Then the young lady put down her hand, probably 

 the prettiest and the whitest hand the quail had ever 

 seen. At least it started her, and off she sprang, 

 uncovering such a crowded nest of eggs as I had 

 never before beheld. Twenty-one of them ! a ring 



