The Portland daily press., 1883-11-19

smart for her."
"Bad dogF' I thought lat that moment I
even thought my father himself was not
good). There was nothing deceitful in her
action. 1t was the love for her young that
prompted her to do it. Because she was
forced todissemble in order to save her
brood it does not follow that Tresor had to
seize her.
My father wanted to put the quail into his
game bag, but begged him to give her to
me. | placed her in my two hands and
warmed her with my breath, hoping to
bring her back to life again; but she did not
stir.
"You waste your time,o said my father
"You can't revive her. Don't you see how
her head is droop:ngq'
tenderly raised her head by the bill, but
as soon as let go it would fall back.
''Do you pity her so much9' asked my
father again.
''Who will feed her young?" l replied.
sly father looked at me attentively.
Don't worry abont that" he said; 'the
male bird, the father, will feed them. But
listen! There's Tresor pointing again.
Perhaps it's the nest. 1t isl
In fact, among the stalks of some tall
grass two feet in front of Tresor's snout, l
perceived four little quails nestled close to-
gether and with outstretched necks. They
breathed so quickly 1 thought they were
trembling all over. They had already little
feathers, only their tails were still very
short.
"Papal papap' l cried; s'call back the
dog; he'll kill them, tooi'
My father recalled Tresor, and prepared
to sit down little way off under bush to-
eat some lunch. remained close by the
nest and refused to eat. pulled from my.
pocket white handkerchief upon which /
placed the quail. Look, poor orphaned
little ones! There's your mother! She has
sacrificed herself for your The young
birds seemed to breathe more rapidly
when / said it, and their little bodies
seemed to tremble still more violently.
went to where my father sat-
"Will you make me present of this
quail?" asked.
eff it gives you any pleasure, of course
But what are you going to do with her%'
81 am going to bury her.
''Bury her?"
eyes, there; right close to the nest. Give
me your knife, so can dig her little
grave"
''You expect the yonng to go and pray on
the grave, supposes" suggested my father
in establishment.
NO. replied; ''but the thought pleases
me. She belongs there, close to her nest"
Without adding another word my father
looked for his knife and banded it to me. l
set to work at orce to dig the little hole. l
pressed kiss upon my quaiPs breast, and
placed her gently in her grave, and then
filled it with earth. cut two sticks, and
after removing the bark made a cross by
tying them together with some dry blades
of grass; and this placed upon the grave
We started soon afterward to go home. At
each step turned to look back. The cross
was white, and could see it far off.
That night had dream. 1t seemed to
me was in heaven, and there, perched up
on tiny little cloud, saw my quail-the
very same quail had buried in the norm
ing, only she was all white, like the cross on
her grave Around her head halo of gold
spread its lustre; no doubt, thought, re-
of her children.
Five or six days after l returned in COM
pany with my father to the grave. The cross
had become little more yellow, but had re-
manned in its place. The nest however, was
empty; not trace of the little ones was
left MY father assured me that the male
bird had carried them elsewhere. Indeed,
at that very moment, only few steps from
where we stood, the little male flew out of a
bush, and my father forebore to fire at him,
and IL said to myself, 'No, no; papa is
not badp'
Strange 70 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, it is true, when be-
came man, took to hunting too, but l
never was true sportsman.
One day | was hunting with friend of
mine. We soon came upon some grouse.
The mother bird rose and we fired. She was
wounded, but did not fall, and got away
with her young. proposed following them.
"Let us remain here" my FREUD said.
s'We'll initiate their cry and the whole flock
will return before long"
My companion knew well how to initiate
the call of these birds. We seated ourselves
among the bushes, and my friend began bis
tactics. AT first young grouse answered,
then another, and before long the mother
herself quite close to US replied in a sub
dued and soft voice. / raised my head and
saw her approach through the grass with all
possible speed. Her breast was covered with
blood. The instincts of a mother were
prompting her; she evidently wished to d-
vert our attention At that moment /
seemed to myself a monster of cruelty. y
rose and clapped my hands. The
mother flew away, and the young at oncs
became silent. My companion was furious
he looked at me like mailman.
"You have spoiled our entire SPORT" he
said
But from that day on, to kill, to shed blood
became more and more painful to me.