HOW THE QUAILS WERE PRESERVED. 



DAVID BRUCE. 



"I fed a little bunch of quails all winter," 

 said my friend, the farmer, as I got into 

 his buggy. He had asked me to go to his 

 place with him to shoot a fox. He knew 

 just where to find him, he said, for he had 

 tracked him on the snow to a lot where a 

 wagon load of cornstalks had been over- 

 turnqd, and fearful of disturbing him, 

 had driven down for me. He said he had 

 no confidence in his own shooting any 

 more. 



"Not but what my old gun would fetch 

 him, if he was anywhere within 15 rods; 

 but my eyesight aint so good as it was 20 

 years ago." 



He had been all around the lot and was 

 confident the fox hadn't left the cornfield, 

 and he was sure we could have lots of 

 fun. His shepherd dog would hunt better 

 than half the hounds. 



"You see," said he, "I've fed a little 

 bunch of quails all winter. They come right 

 to the barn and feed with the fowls. I 

 like to see the little fellows. Lord ! when 

 I was a boy, what a lot I used to get, to 

 be sure. I hadn't seen but one or 2 for 

 years. This little knot was huddled up in 

 the corner of my orchard fence during that 

 big storm we had Christmas week, and 

 I have fed 'em ever since. There were 8 

 at first, now there are only 7 ; but I mean 

 to take care of 'em and see if they won't 

 nest close by, for I'd like to see 'em com- 

 mon again. This pesky fox must be 

 killed the first thing, or they won't have 

 much chance. Blest if I don't think we 

 are going to get another storm ; when you 

 see that long, dark, streak of cloud over 

 old Ontario, you may be sure there's some- 

 thing a coming." 



True enough, the sky looked threatening. 

 I certainly should not have ventured out 

 of my own accord, but it was not more 

 than 2 miles from my house, and my 

 friend had always been so good natured and 

 liberal with the produce of his orchard and 

 garden that I was glad to oblige him; so 

 we went. 



"Well, we will go to the house for a 



minute and see the missis, and have some 

 cider and apples, and get the old gun." 



This gun had done wonders in its day 

 with the wild pigeons and golden plover, 

 and, like Captain Cuttle's watch, was 

 "ekallcd by few, and excelled by none." 

 It was a really handsome old single barrel, 

 of Spanish make, I think. It had been 

 neatly converted to a percussion lock, and 

 was tenderly cared for and greatly valued 

 by its owner, who was never tired of re- 

 counting its wonderful performances. His 

 shooting yarns almost invariably ended 

 thus : "I blazed away at 20 rods and the 

 old gal made a clear sweep, for I killed the 

 lot." 



By the time we had crossed the big 

 orchard and a narrow strip of woodland, 

 the wind began to blow. It was past 3 

 o'clock, and there was every prospect of a 

 big storm coming We hastened into the 

 cornfield, though my friend's dog was loth 

 to leave the woodland, which was thickly 

 marked with rabbit tracks. The snow 

 had fallen 2 days before and was nearly 

 a foot deep. We had but just got over the 

 fence when whish ! came a furious snow 

 storm. 



"If we can get to the cornstalks and have 

 a look around," said my companion, "we'll 

 hurry back to the house, but we may have 

 him yet." 



"I told him to take the dog around the 

 snow-covered mound of stalks, and I would 

 be ready if our game started; but I hadn't 

 much faith in the affair, and the snow storm 

 was almost blinding by that time. He 

 walked a few rods to the right of me with 

 the dog. I heard a quick exclamation ; up 

 went his weanon. Bang ! Yes ; another 

 laurel wreath for the old gun ! There was 

 a fluttering and stru.ffsding for a few sec- 

 onds ; a few feathers blew toward us. We 

 looked at each other, and the old man 

 cried : 



"What in hell have I done? I thought 

 I saw the fox's head and, blast my picture, 

 I've shot the quails !" 



Yes ; he had. And the old gun, true to 

 its traditions, had "killed the lot" ! 



"Is that the latest book you are reading, 

 dear?" 



"Oh, no ! This book has been out since 

 noon yesterday." — Ohio State Journal. 



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