350



Home Notes.



dining room ; on the carpets on which the quail would walk, not

getting' out of people’s way, but so at home that people had to be

wary and careful for fear of treading on it.


An occasional visit to the country where he could have

walked on dewy grass instead of a carpet in a London house might

have prolonged his life Fresh insects and country lettuce instead

of cake might have had the same consequence, and now he’s gone,

and so much missed, that his tender-hearted owner refuses to put

any other pet in his place. “Try a Californian quail,” I suggested,

only to receive as answer, quietly but firmly, “No! never again.”

“ Why not a Pekingese? ” I put in. But she shook her head and

firmly renewed “ No, nothing.” And so the house is empty. Empty,

that is, of pets ; but full of kindness. And now I must return to

my birds.


Amongst the many ducks I have two especial favourites, a

pair of the lovely little ringed teal; favourites, not only because of

their beauty, but also because of their tameness and intelligence.


We have our meals in fine weather in a loggia close to the

moat, and the ringed teal always know when we are feeding and

swim round to that particular spot. They can’t see us owing to the

stone parapet, but the little duck quickly lets us know they are

there, uttering her curious mewing call.


The summer was passing along, and one day in July we said

“ if only there could be some baby ringed teal,” but there seemed

no signs of such an event. Then we went away for ten days, and

on our return were rather alarmed, for during the first three or four

days we never saw the little duck, only her mate. Then she

appeared one evening; then the next evening, and the next. “ Oh !

eggs,’' we exclaimed, “ it must mean eggs.” And so I watched, but

never saw her actually leaving any terrestrial spot, only she always

appeared on the pond above the moat.


Now in the middle of that pond there is an islet consisting

of just as much earth as will hold the roots of a very old willow

whose branches are broken and bent and hollow, so that they lean

out over the water in all directions. Finally I took ship, in the

shape of a small and tipetty dinghy, from which I clambered on to

an overhanging bough and thus on to this absurd islet. One can



