176 KIVERBY 



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the field of raspberries straight toward me. When 

 about fifteen yards away he dropped into the cover 

 and repeated his challenge. I responded, when in 

 an instant he was almost within reach of me. He 

 alighted under the window, and looked quickly 

 around for his rival. How his eyes shone, how his 

 form dilated, how dapper and polished and brisk he 

 looked ! He turned his eye up to me and seemed 

 to say, " Is it you, then, who are mocking me ? " 

 and ran quickly around the corner of the house. 

 Here he lingered some time amid the rosebushes, 

 half persuaded that the call, which I still repeated, 

 came from his rival. Ah, I thought, if with his 

 mate and young he would only make my field his 

 home ! The call of the quail is a country sound that 

 is becoming all too infrequent. 



So fond am I of seeing Nature reassert herself that 

 I even found some compensation in the loss of my 

 chickens that bright November night when some 

 wild creature, coon or fox, swept two of them out of 

 the evergreens, and their squawking as they were 

 hurried across the lawn called me from my bed to 

 shout good-by after them. It gave a new interest 

 to the hen-roost, this sudden incursion of wild na- 

 ture. I feel bound to caution the boys about dis- 

 turbing the wild rabbits that in summer breed in my 

 currant- patch, and in autumn seek refuge under my 

 study floor. The occasional glimpses I get of them 

 about the lawn in the dusk, their cotton tails twink- 

 ling in the dimness, afford me a genuine pleasure. 

 I have seen the time when I would go a good way 



