26 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 



purple of the sabbatia toned down the brilliant 

 yellow of the sunflowers, and you advanced to 

 the stiff-set dog expecting to see the pinnated 

 grouse burst from before him, the anxious 

 mother quail fluttered up with the tender notes 

 that told of little ones in the grass. And some- 

 times the white-throated father of the family 

 helped the mother play lame while the little 

 downy brood hid in the depths of the grass 

 where neither dog nor man could find one of 

 them. 



Often, too, when the deep violet of the ver- 

 nonia was fading on its tall stalk and the last of 

 the morning-glories closing, and you were certain 

 that the dog had one of those wild grouse that 

 had flown so far and you had marked so closely, 

 a bevy of quail rose before you with a roar of 

 full-grown wings almost equal to that of the 

 grouse. And in the timbered hills where the 

 prairies of the upper Mississippi break into the 

 valley of the great river, Bob White would burst 

 from before the dog in the swales of fern or be- 

 neath the yellowing birches when you were most 

 certain that he had a ruffed grouse. Yet you 

 felt no disappointment, and plunged through the 



