4 STORIES OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS 



She dropped at the foot of the first tree that 

 she reached, which happened to be an old white 

 oak, and, after she stopped panting, pulled a 

 handful of willow whistles, that the butcher-boy 

 had made, from her pocket, and began sorting 

 them into her lap. She blew each one in turn, 

 but was dissatisfied with them all. "If I only 

 understood the birds' language, then they would 

 answer me," she said. 



"Bob-white! Bob-white!" called a quail from 

 the brush lot. 



" Ah ! that is plain enough ; he is telling me 

 his name. I can talk to him." 



" Bob-white ! " she blew clearly on her longest 

 whistle. For several minutes Tommy-Anne and 

 the quail exchanged greetings, and then he 

 changed his note to "Poor Bob-ivhite" 



" Poor Bob-white " she answered readily. 

 " He must be trying to tell me about his unfort- 

 unate relations who were killed by the gunners 

 last fall. No, that can't be it either ; I'm all 

 boggled up. He is talking my language, but I'm 

 not learning his a bit," and she stretched her- 

 self on the moss, her chin on her hands. 



"I wish I knew why" sighed Tommy-Anne, 

 looking up through the branches. 



