THE ROMANCE OF MISTER AND MISTRESS 
BOB WHITE AND FAMILY 
“Sweet now at morn and eve the quail 
Repeats his plaintive, whistling note, 
And softly fall the answering cries 
That over wood and corn-field float.’ 
McLellan. 
w 
ft 
. 
HJLE strolling through a stubble held one bright, 
balmy morning in the early Spring of nineteen hun- 
dred thirteen, the clear, staccato call of a Bob White 
came to me on the clarified morning breeze from an adjoining 
corn held. I paused a moment to listen to those enchanting 
notes which are music to the sportsman’s ear. Again, “Bob 
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White! ah, Bob White!” rang out clear and pure from the 
corn held. This time an answering “Bob White!” emanated 
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from the stubble. The whistle was repeated and answered nu¬ 
merous times that morning, for it was the mating season of these 
game birds,. 
They say that in the domain of Bob White, mates are not 
easily won, and in one particular case I can vouch for the state¬ 
ment. With the aid of a pair of held glasses and a screen of 
blackberry bushes, I witnessed a most thrilling battle between 
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