The Dickinson press., 1883-11-24
wounded SO that the dog might think he

"In order to divert the dogs attention
from her little ones; after which, if she
had succeeded, she would have flown
away. But this time she missed her
her."
"Then she is not hit2" 1 inquired
again.
"No-but she won't Ave-Tresor
must have injured her with his
teeth"
81 stepped nearer toshave a better
look at the quail. She rested notion
less on the palm of myefather's hand;
her head was dropping, and her black
eye looked at me sideways. All at once
a feeling of pity overcame me. 1t seemed
to me as if the poor little bird regarded
me and thought: "Why must 1 die?
Why? Have l not done my duty? ]
tried to save my little ones, to draw the
dogs attention away from them, and
here | am a captive! All, me! Poor me!
This is not just; no, no; it is not
just"
"Papa, perhaps she will not de-"
cried trying to caress the little birds
head.
My father answered.
"She'li die. Look! In another mo.
ment, and her legs will %stifen, her body
will tremble, and her eyes will close"
Indeed, that's what did happen be.
fore long. When her eyes had closed ]
began to cry.
"Well, what's the matter?" my fathe,
exclaimed almost laughingly.
81 pity her." I replied. "She did hee
duty and she has been killed. It is Mi
ust!"
"She wanted to play a deceitful
game" my father answered, "but Tres.
or was too smart for her."
"Bad dog!" l thought lat that momen,
l even thought my father himself was
not good). "There was nothing deceit.
full in her action. It was the love fol
her young that prompted her to lido it
because she was forced to dissemble in
order to save her brood it does not fol.
low that Tresor had to seize her"
My father wanted to put the quail in
mis- gamebag, but l begged him to give
her to me-. l placed her in my two
hands and warmed her with my breath,
hoping to being her back to life again;
but she did not stir.
"You waste your time" said my faith.
"You can't revive her. Can't you see
liz ilSdO ~
l ten,lerly raised her head by the bill,
but, as soon as / let go, it would fall
back.
do you pity her so much? asked my
father again.
"Who will feed her y%oung?" 1 replied
My father looked at me atteutiyely.
don't worry about that" he said,
"the male bird, the father will feed them
But listen! There's Tresor pointing
again! Perhaps its the nest. It is"
In fact, among the stalks of somo tall
grass, two feet in front of Tresor'ssnout,
L perceived four little quails nestled
close together and with o%utstretched
necks: They breathed so quickly ]
thought they were trembling all over.
They had already little feathers; only
their tails we're very short.
Papa! -papa!" I cried, "call back the
dog; he'll kill them, too"
MY father recalled Tresor and pre-
pared to sit down a little way off under
a bush to eat some lunch. [ remained
close by the nest, and refused to eat.
pulled from my pocket a white hand.
kerchief. upon which I placed the quail
Look, poor orphaned little ones!
There's your mother! She has sacrificed
herself for yuu." The young birds
seemed to breathe more rapidly when
said it, and their little bodies seemed to
tremble still more v olently.
l went to where my father sat.
"Will you make me a pre- ent of this
quail?" | asked.
IF it gives you any pleasure, ofcourse
But what are you going to do with her?'
II am going to bury her."
Bury herr"
eyes, there: right close to the nest
Give me your knife, so l can dig her lit.
you expect the young to 90 and pray
on the grave, 1 SUPPOSED suggested my
father in astonishment.
"No," I replied; 'but the thought
pleases me. She belongs there close tc
her nest"
Without adding another word my
father looked for his knife and handed
it to me. l set to work at once to dig
the little hole. l pressed a kiss upon
my quaiis breast and placed her gently
in her grave, and then I filled it with
earth. | cut two sticks, and after re.
inovingthe bark, 1 made a cross by ty.
ing them together with some dry blades
of grass; and this 1 placed upon the
grave.
We started soon after to 20 home. Al
each step l turned to look back. The
cross was white and I could see it fal
off.
That night 1 had a dream. 1t seemed
to me I was in heaven, and there,
perched upon a tiny little cloud, I saw
my quail l had buried in. the morning
only she wa all white, like the cross on
her grave. Around her head a halo O
GOLD cnroon Vs1cfnns ~@ -1.A
thought, a reward for what she had suf.
fered for the sake of her children.
Five or six days after I returned in
The cross had become a little more vel.
low, but had remained in its place. The
nest, however, was empty; not a trace
Of the little ones was left. My father
assured me that the male bird had car.
ried them elsewhere. Indeed, at thai
very moment, only a few steps from
where we stood, the little male flew oul
of a bush; and my father forbore 10 fire
ut him-and I, 1 ssid to myself: "No,
no; papa is not bad?"
Strange to say, from that day my love
for hunting left me completely, and
never even thought of the gun which
my father had promised me. Later, il
is true, when | had become a man, !
took to hunting too, but 1 never was
true sportsman.
One day | was hunting with a friend
OF mine. We soon came upon some
grouse. The mother bird rose and We
fred. She was wounded, but did no
fall, and got away with their young.
proposed following them.
Let US remain here" my friend said
We'll initiate their cry and the whole
flock will return before long"
My companion knew well how to imi;
ourselves among the bushes and my