Young Partridge Clucks 45 



ridge, and glide with, seeming sudden increase of speed 

 down-hill, then along the surface of the corn, darkening it 

 as they pass, with a bright band of light following swiftly 

 behind. It is gone, and the beech copse away there is 

 blackened for a moment as the shadow leaps it. On the 

 smooth bark of those beeches the shepherd lads have cut 

 their names with their great clasp-knives. 



Sometimes in the evening, later on, when the wheat is 

 nearly ripe, such a shepherd lad will sit under the trees 

 there ; and as you pass along the track comes the mellow 

 note of his wooden whistle, from which poor instrument 

 he draws a sweet sound. There is no tune — no recog- 

 nisable melody : he plays from his heart and to himself. 

 In a room doubtless it would seem harsh and discordant ; 

 but there, the player unseen, his simple notes harmonise 

 with the open plain, the looming hills, the ruddy sunset, 

 as if striving to express the feelings these call forth. 



Resting thus on the wild thyme under the hawthorn, 

 partly hidden and quite silent, we may see stealing out 

 from the corn into the fallow hard by first one, then two, 

 then half a dozen or more young partridge chicks. With 

 them is the anxious mother, watching the sky chiefly, lest 

 a hawk be hovering about; nor will she lead them far 

 from the cover of the wheat. She stretches her neck up 

 to listen and look : then, reassured, walks on, her head 

 nodding as she moves. The little ones crowd after, one 

 darting this way, another that, learning their lesson of 

 life — how and where to find the most suitable food, how to 

 hide from the enemy : imitation of the parent developing 

 hereditary inclinations. 



At the slightest unwonted sound or movement, she 

 first stretches her neck up for a hurried glance, then, aa 

 the labouring folk say, ' quats ' — i.e. crouches down — and 



