BIRDS OF PEASEMARSH 



morning. We had heard a shot down in the 

 bush, for this was before our sanctuary notices 

 were posted, and we knew that "little brown 

 hen" was a little hunted Grouse, or Partridge, 

 that had been driven to our very door for pro- 

 tection. 



We hurried out across the orchard, down the 

 bank and round the edge of the bush. As we 

 passed the grove of cedars there was a loud 

 whirring of wings and a group of Partridge tak- 

 ing cover there, startled by our approach, flew 

 off. Round by the lake we traced the gunner 

 and saw him start towards town. Fortunately 

 he had not shot anything, but he had alarmed 

 the birds. It had always been hard to protect 

 them, and although the bush and swamp with 

 the uplands and the wooded bank where the 

 white birch grew, was an ideal spot for them, 

 they had been growing very few. 



It is little wonder that the hunted game birds 

 have all sorts of devices to save their young. 

 None is more appealing than that of the mother 

 Partridge when she tries to attract attention to 

 herself by pretending that she has a broken 

 wing. A very pathetic figure she makes, some- 

 times keeping only a few yards ahead of a pur- 

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