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Bob White has another call, more beauti- 

 ful than his boyish whistle, which compar- 

 Oneahuch atively few have heard. It is a soft, liquid 

 AT * "^ yodeling, which the male bird uses to call the 

 scattered flock together. One who walks in 

 the woods at sunset sometimes hears it from 

 a tangle of grapevine and bullbrier. If he 

 has the patience to push his way carefully 

 through the underbrush, he may see the 

 beautiful Bob on a rock or stump, utter- 

 ing the softest and most musical of whistles. 

 He is telling his flock that here is a nice 

 place he has found, where they can spend 

 the night and be safe from owls and prowl- 

 ing foxes. 



If the watcher be very patient and still, he 

 will presently hear the pattering of tiny feet 

 on the leaves, and see the brown birds come 

 running in from every direction. Once in a 

 lifetime, perhaps, he may see them gather in 

 a close circle — tails together, heads out, like 

 the spokes of a wheel, and so go to sleep for 

 the night. Their soft whistlings and chirp- 

 ings at such times form the most delightful 

 sound one ever hears in the woods. 



