All winter the flock had kept together for protection from the cold.
Often when the fleecy snow wrapped the earth in a white mantle, they would
huddle close in a protected place, and allow the soft coverlet to bury
them and thus protect them from the piercing wind and bitter cold.
Besides, as long as they were safely hidden beneath its fluffy folds,
there was no scent tell a hungry mink or skunk of their whereabouts, and
no owl was so keen-sighted as to see the little holes melted by their
breath.
Only one danger threatened them in their snug bed, the sun might cause
the upper snow to melt a little, and at night it would freeze stiff; then,
instead of being under a down coverlet, they would be imprisoned under the
ice, with almost certain death before them.
This they knew, and so they seldom buried themselves in the snow till
some time after sunset, when the snow had had time to freeze. If it had
been warn during the day, they would hide in the grass or under some
brush-pile.
But the sleet, the dreadful, unlooked for sleet, coming when they were
snugly wrapped, in bed before the morning dawned, -when that came were
held fast buried alive. There was nothing to do but wait and hope. If a
thaw came within a fortnight, all might yet be well. If not, -
who can tell? The evil spirit of the wildlings has no mercy when once he
has, them in his grasp.
But if all went well, when the storm was over and hunger began to make
itself felt, they would leave their hiding place and visit the neighboring
fields for food. As the night drew on, they would seek the bank of some
small creek, and again diving under the snow, would go some distance arid
huddle together for warmth. And if perchance, an enemy perceived the
tracks and the tunnel, the quail would burst out, with a whirr and escape
while the foe was gazing at the entrance.
But the warm days of returning spring put an end to this. Each quail
seemed, to understand that to remain together meant only needless
quarreling; so one day the evening call of the leader of the flock failed
to produce a general rally. The next evening saw fewer still and the next
he did not every try to call his band together. For an evening or two the
skilled listener might have, heard a low, homesick calling from the more
timid members of the flock, but even this soon ceased. The days grew
warmer still, and in the meadows every morning might be heard a lusty
"Bob-white!" from a dozen different throats. This ran on for
some time until the arrival of a thousand birds in every grove proclaimed
spring had really come. Then the calls of the Quails were not unheeded,
and soon each handsome whistler had won a shy little brown mate.
They wandered everywhere together, in the field, meadow and orchard,
enjoying, their honeymoon in choosing a nesting place.
There was no hurry; for the grass was not yet tall enough for
protection and it would be some time before the young grasshoppers would
hatch. After due deliberation two quails chose a spot in a secluded corner
at the lower end of the meadow and there made some show of a nest. In
fifteen days it held fifteen eggs, and after that the mother quail was
seldom to be seen.
But one bright morning when the young grasshoppers were hatching by the
thousand, and were yet too clumsy to get out of the way easily, Father and
Mother Quail might have been seen leading a brood of the prettiest babies
in aft the woods to the brow of a southern slope, where the young
grasshoppers were plentiful. Though the young birds had been in their
shells only two or three hours before, they were both spry and strong, and
had more Wisdom than many an older bird. After the little family had eaten
all the young grasshoppers they cared for, they were led to a near-by
brook for a drink. At night they were hovered by the mother bird in the
long grass of the meadow, while the father watched not far away, ready to
give the alarm if danger came near.
All went well for several days, both parents caring for the brood. The
mother had been leaving them for a while each day, and when one day she
failed to return. The father readily accepted the responsibility and cared
for his rapidly growing babies.
July was half passed and the corn in the fields was almost grown.
Father Quail had seen little of his mate since she deserted him for the
new nest of eggs, and for a few days he had not seen her at all.
One morning her breast was stirred with a great happiness by the
appearance of seventeen new babies. She proudly led them directly to the
nearest cornfield; and again she had timed things just right. Who shall
say that the wildlings are not prophets? She flew against a hill of corn
with all her strength and then began picking something up from the ground,
and in a low sweet tone showing her babies how to eat. That something was
cinch-bugs. Only a few days before there were none of them to be found.
How few farmers realize that the quail is his good friend, saving ten
times as much corn from the bugs as he eats later in the season! The
babies were apt pupils, and were soon able to catch their own bugs as they
were shaken from the corn.
The weather was favorable, and the little fellows grew so rapidly that
in a week the mother took them to join their father and their older
brothers and sisters. And a happy family they were! In all their hunts the
younger children had the tenderest care of the parents, who were both
equally careful of the welfare of the brood. No bird has a better or
harder-working mate then the Quail. There was no good place to hide in the
corn; and so it was that when they were surprised by a man, their
traditional enemy, the mother-bird’s cry, warning the babies to hide,
came a second too late for the safety of the brood. The babies flattened
out where they stood. The older members of the family flew away to their
parents; some managed to get under cover; but in spite of all their
efforts, five baby quails were captured and taken to the house.
At first the little captives refused all food, and two of them died;
but the three older ones soon became quite tame. They were fed anything
that was given to the chickens, and were allowed to run about with them.
The lovable little fellows soon developed a great affection for the
members of the family and were here and there under the housemother’s
feet, till it was quite impossible to avoid stepping on them. They
delighted to go into the house and sit all in a row on the back of the
grandmother’s chair and watch her knit. Not that they were especially
interested in the, knitting, but they wanted to be near her. Perhaps, too,
something in the click-click of the shining steel needles steel needles
fascinated them. Sometimes they would all get up grandmother's lap and
crowd and scramble to get nearest her face. They were especially fond of
being stroked and cuddled.
When they were only a few days old, their wing-feathers began to grow
rapidly, and it was an odd sight to see the little fellows strutting
about, their bodies unclothed save with the baby fuzz, and their tails and
wings with long feathers. They could fly when they were the merest
infants, even by bird standards. This must of necessity be so with the
wildlings that don’t stay in the nest after they hatch, -
they must have some way of fleeing when they are attacked by their
enemies. Young ducks can swim and dive with great skill when only a few
days old; and young quail and other ‘scratchers’ grow strong, wings
and tail-feathers by the time they are two or three weeks old. In
domestication they loose this power to some extent.
At this time our little pets roosted at night mostly on the porch. If
it were the least cold, they would turn their breasts toward the wind, sit
close together and tuck their heads under their wings.
As the cold days of autumn drew on they grew restless and soon took to
roosting on the ground, under some tuft of grass or sheltering bush,
always huddling close together, and sitting so they could fly out at the
slightest noise. They had missed the teaching of father and mother,-
for among the wildlings the parents are always the teachers of their
little ones,- yet they understood this simple
trick, as well as any veteran of the flock. They knew just when to fly
softly, and when to rise with a whirr. They never seemed to show the least
fear until some stranger came near. Then, if they could, they would slip
away till they were behind something and fly off so softly, that the
keenest ear could hear no sound.
But if they were surprised by a stranger, they would rise with a whirr
that would throw him off his guard for the instant. This habit is the
salvation of who can tell how many birds in the woods!
The winter was uneventful, and the three pets came through it without
mishap. With the first warm days of spring, two bob-whites began to
whistle and pay to Lady Betty. Unlike their wild neighbors, they did not
separate at this time of the year, each to hunt a range of his own. They
were jealous fellows, too, and did not seem the least to remember that
they had always been friends.
Lady Betty was a beautiful little creature, I will admit; but it seemed
useless for her two lovers to be always fighting over her.
Day after day they indulged in the vain combat, pecking, scratching at
each other's eyes, and pounding each other with their wings. Nor would
they, stop the disgraceful scene till one or the other or both were
exhausted; even then they would sometimes lie down panting, only to rest
until able to renew the conflict.
Lady Betty was evidently disgusted with both suitors, and would have
nothing of either of them; so they finally left her for the near-by
thicket, where they found mates who led them away into the woods.
And that was the last we knew of them. But not so our loyal Betty. She
was too fond of her old friends to desert them, even for the alluring
prospect of delightful home of her own. When she heard some of her kindred
whistling lustily near by, she would answer with her own sweet little
warble; sometimes indeed she would fly a little way from the house never
to stay long.
One beautiful morning her answering call brought a handsome bob-white
to a post at the corner of the yard. Lady Betty seemed to look upon him
with favor, and flew where he was. They made short work of their
courtship. Betty’s heart was completely won, and she was willing to
submit to Robert- for so we named the new
arrival- as her rightful husband and master,
with one and only one exception. She would not leave her adopted home. He
soon fled to the woods, in every way known to quail lovers trying to
persuade her to follow. She went a little way, but soon returned somewhat
disconsolately, it is true. But in spite of evident disagreement, he came
back in the evening to try again to coax his beautiful mate away from the
home of their worst enemies. Again he was unsuccessful.
Poor Betty was very much distressed and did not seem herself at all.
Whenever she heard his call, she flew joyfully to meet him; but it was
noticed that instead leading her away, she was gradually bringing him
nearer the house. She must have assured him that men would not hurt them;
for finally he was content to stay about the premises most of the day. Now
her happiness was good to see. She would strut about apparently to show
him off, but he would not allow any one to come too near. At the least,
approach of the familiarity upon which his soft-hearted little mate doted
would angrily fly away.
When it was time to choose a place for a nest, Lady Betty insisted on
having it in the house. This distressed Robert exceedingly -
but many of her determined ways distressed him. He did all he could to
dissuade her from such a step; but, in this, as in much else, he had to
submit. There, happened to be an old Shaker bonnet on the floor under the
spare bed and in this desirable and secluded retreat, Lady Betty finally
began laying her eggs. Robert would sit in the open window, if no one came
near and watch over her as long as she was on the nest, evidently afraid
that some harm would come to her after all.
But a quail's nest could not be allowed in a bonnet under the spare
bed, so the eggs had to be taken out, and the bonnet hung up, much to poor
Betty's sorrow. In spite of this harrowing experience, however, she never
questioned the friendship of the family; and with supreme confidence in
their good intentions, she chose another spot for her nest, -
an old shoe of grandfather’s sat on the porch. This treasure of a home,
she was allowed to keep undisturbed, in due time the unusual nest was
filled with the pretty white eggs. These were kept from rolling into the
toe of the shoe by some cotton, thoughtfully provided by the housemother.
While Lady Betty was sitting, Robert spent much time on the railing of
the porch, watching that nothing came near to harm her. He affected great
bravery; and if a stray cat or dog approached, he made it his duty to
drive the intruder away. As all cats are cowards when attacked in front by
a determined enemy, and as a dog can be attacked quite successfully in the
rear, and as the valiant Robert, seemed instinctively familiar with both
facts, he usually succeeded.
In due time there, came a morning when Betty seemed very happy, yet
much exercised in mind. She would get out of the shoe and utter the
sweetest, most coaxing calls, and then get into it again, and seemed to be
talking to something. Sure enough, there were twelve beautiful little soft
balls of down in the old shoe, each of which tried to look the least and
lie the flattest when mother came to see what was the matter.
They were only an hour old, but every mite among them knew well that
man was their natural enemy, and was ready to hide at sight of him even
when their gentle mother gave no warning. They were put into a comfortable
box, and in a day or two had lost all their shyness. In a few days they
were turned loose, and the proud mother and father, were allowed to take
their babies where they wished.
They ran here and there in the yard about the door and even into the
house, if the door was left open. On a dewy morning it was their delight
to sit on the porch,- all a row, sunning themselves and pluming their
feathers. If a stranger came near, they were sure to know it and would
hide on the instant, In spite of our knowledge of the subject, it was
always more or less a mystery how the little quails, which were running
about in plain sight on an apparently bare plot of ground, where it did
not seem as if even a grasshopper could effectively hide, could, on an
instant's warning, disappear as completely as if the earth had opened and
received them. Their yellowish-brown coat harmonizes so well with the
earth and the dead grass, and the chocolate markings on their heads look
so exactly, like leaf-shadows that they are invisible when they lie flat
and still.
Of course if there is enough grass, they creep under it, but if not,
they hide almost as effectively by flattening out on the bare ground. Even
the tiniest baby in the brood will never think of moving, even to save
himself from being trodden underfoot.
When our delightful little quail family were grown and winter was
drawing on, Mr. Robert showed a desire to return to the woods. Day by day
he led the brood farther and farther away, returning only for the night.
Lady Betty did not seem to object greatly, and even went with her family,
no doubt thinking it wise to yield to the wish of the majority. They soon
began to run mostly in the orchard at some little distance from house. Of
course they were as tame as chickens even more so, for they did not show
any alarm when they were caught.
One day a hunter passed through the orchard. . . . But is not that
sentence enough to tell the pitiful end of the story? Their fear of man
had been so nearly conquered by love that they showed no fear of him and
allowed him to come quite close. Either he did not know, or did not care,
that they were pets; at any rate he knew that he was near enough to get a
"good shot", and he did not scruple to improve the opportunity
Most of the flock were killed, and, the remainder frightened and at a loss
to know how to account for such treatment, into the brush. I have never
found it in heart to, blame them for not returning to us, though I have
always been sure that Lady Betty was among the slain.
Still for several years, whenever it was very stormy so that food was
scarce or hard to, get, a flock of quails would come up to the house and
eat corn froth the crib shyly with the chickens, and never act much
afraid.
They would run out of the way when, any one came near, but they seldom
flew. As none of them were molested, they never suffered from the famine
that takes so many of their kind every winter.
On a spring morning when the quails were calling, I often stepped out
on the porch and answered the call. A venerable bob-white could be heard
coming, nearer and nearer at each call, till he finally sat on the garden
gate; some twenty steps away, nor did he leave at sight of me. His calls
held a strange note of pathos, and he often remained there for an hour. 'Twas
here that Betty had first seen her mate and given her heart to him. Are
such things accidents, even among the wildlings?
WHAT'S
NEW? 
