JORDAN] A STANFORD GARDEN AND ITS TENANTS 199 



The garden we cheerfully share with certain other individuals 

 who seem to think it theirs. A large covey of quail surely have 

 prior right, being "original settlers" already long established when 

 we arrived. Finding us friendly, they decided to remain, roosting 

 at night in the big trees, wandering around at will by day, a little 

 shy to be sure, but confident nevertheless of our good intentions. 

 And a beautiful sight it is to see the whole unit, young and old, 

 briskly deploy across the open driveway and dart to shelter in the 

 other covert. If, however, the house is quiet, they calmly take 

 possession of the whole place. In the morning the male with 

 tossing plume perches on limb or post, calling out (at least, so it 

 comes to my ear) "thirty-two, thirty- two." But as a matter of 

 fact, the real count of the covey runs above forty. 



Other birds keep house with us, — the fine sickle-bill or western 

 thrasher, a relative of the mocking-bird and almost as sweet a 

 singer; many linnets, the male crimson- washed and with exquis- 

 itely sweet voice, as well as an inordinate taste for cherries; the 

 little house wren ; two dainty species of humming-birds ; and the 

 jay with wonderful sky-blue coat, but dreaded and detested by all 

 his smaller neighbors because of his evil temper. Outside in the 

 great field lives the western meadow lark with thrush-like notes, 

 quite unlike the incomplete and querulous call of his eastern 

 cousin. Mounted on a fence post, oblivious of the friendly 

 passer-by, hour after hour, he lifts his ringing carol to the day. 



In addition to our native neighbors, for many years I harbored 

 certain interesting aliens for purposes of study. These were 

 monkeys and parrots, for which the climate of California is fairly 

 well adapted. Bob was the first and cleverest of my monkey 

 people, — that is, we called him Bob. His real name we never 

 knew; it was lost in the jungles of Borneo. But as I long ago 

 told his story* for naturalists and for children, it need not be 

 repeated there. Concerning the others of his kin who came after 

 a few words will suffice. 



One little ailing Cercopithecus, a member of Bob's tribe, was 

 given the run of the warm furnace room which he shared with two 

 kittens. Of these he became very fond, often sitting with an arm 

 around each until they grew too big for him. And when his 

 food was brought, he always carefully laid before them some 



*"The Story of Bob"- "The American Naturalist," 1892. Reprinted in 

 "The Book of Knight and Barbara." 



