46 OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 
to the farmer by destroying the wheat weevil and other 
troublesome insects; yet they have been so hunted 
down, trapped, and shot, that did not the law protect 
them they would be exterminated. 
‘They are more timid and less plentiful than they 
once were, yet we may still hear them in the wheat 
fields calling, ‘Here’s Bob White.’ 
‘“‘The young ones leave the nest as soon as hatched. 
They are very active little things, and can hide away 
in an instant. A quick flutter of the mother’s wings 
and every chick disappears under a leaf or tuft of grass. 
Then she tries to lure you away from them by pre- 
tending to be hurt and trailing herself along the 
ground. 
“The Quail is a great favorite with poets. 
‘TI will recite some verses that I like very much, 
although I do not know the author, entitled 
WHO JS IT? 
Down in the meadow in the bright June weather, 
Where violets and sweet flags grow, 
Amid the waving grass and breezes tight, 
I hear a voice calling: 
‘‘Bob- White” ‘‘Bob White.’’ 
Who is it whistling the long June day, 
Down where the waters glisten? 
A bird small and brown, a wandering sprite, 
I hear him loudly calling: : 
‘*Bob- White’ ‘‘Bob: White.” 
