106 



FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



of the ducks is a scene of wildest turmoil and con- 

 fusion, the ducks flee, and the water is rapidly 

 churned up for a quarter of a mile downstream. In 

 less than a minute after all is quiet again, and no one 

 would think there was a duck within a hundred miles 

 of the spot. 



So we turn from the lonesome river brink and 

 direct our footsteps to the wood on the hillside ; 

 haidly have we stepped within its shade when there 

 is the greatest commotion among the ferns and the 

 dead leaves, where a hen and her chickens have been 

 hiding ; they scatter in all directions. But it was a 

 partridge hen, and she has as much trouble in collect- 

 ing her faculties as her " chicks," for we can still hear 

 her excited, nervous clucks in the distance. I once 

 came upon such a brood so suddenly and noiselessly 

 that one of the little things was nearly beneath my foot 

 before mj intrusion was discovered. With an experi- 

 mental turn of mind I immediately began to chirp 

 like a lost chicken, and in an instant the distracted 

 mother came tearing back to the rescue ; for a few 

 moments she stood directly before me in the most 

 anxious attitude, and, making the most distressful 

 clucks and cries, tried to regain her lost chick. But 

 she was shortly convinced that I was a base deceiver, 

 and left as hurriedly as she came. 



The partridge {Bonasa lunheUus) is responsible 



