196 FEATHERED GAME 



youngster with his wing quills still in their blue 

 sheaths and never a sign of feathers. Pres- 

 ently it scuttled away and hid in a thick clump 

 of grass. After a short search the frightened 

 little skulker was brought out from his retreat. 

 A little gray and white mass of down — as 

 ''gawky" a bunch of infantile innocence as I 

 have ever seen. Its bill, legs and feet nearly 

 as large as the old bird's, the head almost too 

 much for the feeble neck to sustain. Making as 

 yet no attempt at flight, it ran with wings out- 

 spread and carried just as the old bird carried 

 hers, down-curved and drooping, so long even 

 at this age that the little adventurer often 

 stepped on them, making him perform various 

 unexpected acrobatic feats. 



During the time I kept the youngster pris- 

 oner the old bird shrieked and whistled and 

 tumbled about, dragging first one wing and then 

 the other in her attempts to draw my attention 

 to herself, coming almost within hand reach and 

 then darting into the air, screeching abuse, de- 

 fiance, appeal, — the little fellow answering all 

 the time with a feeble, chicken-like ''peeping." 



When at length I let my captive go free he 



