The Neihart herald. [volume] (Neihart, Mont.) 1890-1901, 1893-04-29

"Will you make me a present of
this quail!" | asked.
IF it gives you any pleasure, of
course. But what are you going to
do with herr"
II am going to bury her."
Bury herr"
Yes, there; right close to the nest.
Give me your knife SO l can dig her
a little grave"
You expect the young to go and
pray on the grave, l SUPPOSED" sug-
gested my father in astonishment.
MOI replied, but the thought
pleases me. She belongs there, close
to her nest"
Without adding another word my
father looked for his knife and hand
ed it to me. set to work at once to
dig the little hole. l pressed a kiss
upon my quail's breast and placed
her gently in her grave, and then I
filed it with earth. l cut two sticks,
and after removing the bark I made
a o by tying them together with
some dry blades of grass, and this l
placed upon the grave.
We started o afterward to go
home. At each step l turned to look
back. The cross was white, and I
could see it far off.
That night l had a dream. It
seemed RI mo wac in hoavop opd
there. perched upon a tiny little
cloud, | saw my quail-the very same
quail l had buried in the morning,
only she was all white, like the cross
on her grave. Around her head a
halo of gold spread it's luster. No
doubt, l thought, a reward for what
she had suffered for the sake of her
children.
Five Or six days after l returned in
company with my father to the
grave. The cross had become a little
more yellow, but had remained in it's
place. Tho nest, however, was empty;
not a trace of the little ones was left.
My father assured me that the male
bird had carried them elsewhere. In
deed at that very moment, only a
few steps from where we stood, the
little male flew out of a bush, and my
father forebore to fire at him-and l,
l said to myself, mo, no; papa is not
bad!"
Strange to say, from that day my
love for hunting left me completely,
and l never even thought of the gun
which my father had promised me.
Later, it is true, when | had become
a man, l took to hunting, too, but ]
eve was a true sportsman.
One day l was hunting with a friend
of mine. W. soon came upon some
grouse. The mother bird rose, and
fired. She was wounded, but did
not fall and got away with her 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
initiate the call of these birds. We
seated ourselves among the bushes,
and my friend began his tactics. At
first a young grouse answered, then
another, and before long the mother
herself, quite close to us, replied in a
subdued aud soft voice. raised my
head and saw her approach through
the grass with all possible speed. Her
breast was covered with blood. T re
instincts OF a mother were prompting
her. She evidently wished to divert
our attention.
At that moment | seemed to my
self a n of cruelty. rose and
clapped my hands. The mother few
away, and he young at once became
silent. My companion was furious.
He looked 1T me like a 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. Translated From the
Russian of Ivan Tourgueneff For the
New York tribune.