52 OUR SOUTHERN BIRDS 



and apt to be as full of eggs. The young are 

 hatched thickly covered with down and striped 

 on head and back like Brown Leghorn chicks. 

 They are able to run about and scratch the day 

 after they quit the shell. A pretty sight, but one 

 rarely seen, for like young Bob-Whites they 

 squat and hide at the first alarm, and do not 

 come out until their mother warns them that all 

 is safe again. Meantime she falls and flutters 

 and pleads and pretends, using every device to 

 draw attention from the precious brood. 



They roost in evergreen thickets, and live in 

 summer on insects and berries. In winter the 

 little partridge-berry vine spreads them a meal 

 along the banks of rocky streams, but when the 

 snow covers these there are still catkins, and 

 buds, and the bitter scarlet berries of the holly. 



BOB-WHITE 



Every girl has found the nest, or walked into 

 the midst of a newly hatched brood that disap- 

 peared in a twinkling under the smallest sticks 

 and leaves. Every boy has whistled to spring 

 woods and fields to bring the ready answer, 

 "Bob White! Bob White!" and the inquiring 

 "scatter-call" of "Whitie? Whitie?" 



Not much of a song it seems, but we may all 

 be glad that Bob White is now classed as a song- 

 bird and placed under government protection. 



