Young Partridges. 49 



lads have cut their names with their great clasp- 

 knives. 



Sometimes in the evening, later on, when the 

 wheat is nearly ripe, such a shepherd lad will sit 

 under the trees there ; and as 3'ou pass along the 

 track comes the mellow note of his wooden whistle, 

 from which poor instrument he draws a sweet sound. 

 There is no tune — no recognizable melody' : he plays 

 from his heart and to himself. In a room doubtless 

 it would seem harsh and discordant ; but there, the 

 player unseen, his simple notes harmonize with the 

 open plain, the looming hills, the rudd}' sunset, as if 

 striving to express the feehngs these call forth. 



Resting thus on the wild thyme under the haw- 

 thorn, partly hidden and quite silent, we may see 

 stealing out from the corn into the fallow hard by 

 first one, then two, then half a dozen or more young 

 partridge chicks. With them is the anxious mother, 

 watching the sky chiefl}', lest a hawk be hovering 

 about ; nor will she lead them far from the cover of 

 the wheat. She stretches her neck up to hsten and 

 look : then, reassured, walks on, her head nodding 

 as she moves. The little ones crowd after, one 

 darting this wa}-, another that, learning their les- 

 son of life — how and where to find the most suitable 

 food, how to hide from the enemy : imitation of the 

 parent developing hereditary inclinations. 



At the slightest unwonted sound or movement, 

 she first stretches her neck up for a hurried glance, 

 then, as the laboring folk say, ' quats ' — i.e. crouches 

 down — and in a second or two runs swiftly to cover, 

 using ever}' little hollow of the ground skilfully for 

 concealment on the way, like a practised skh'misher. 



