There was a smoky
haze in the air. As always the blackbirds clamored along the river.
Some crows followed the workers at a distance, hunting for grains
of corn, and over in the woods, a chewink scratched and rustled
among the deep leaves as it searched for grubs. From time to time
a flock of quail arose before them with a whirr and scattered down
the fields, reassembling later at the call of their leader, from a
rider of the snake fence, which inclosed the field.
"Bob, Bob White," whistled Dannie.
"Bob, Bob White," answered the quail.
"I got my eye on that fellow," said Jimmy. "When he gets a little
larger, I'm going after him."
"Seems an awful pity to kill him," said Dannie. "People rave over
the lark, but I vow I'd miss the quail most if they were both gone.
They are getting scarce."
"Well, I didn't say I was going to kill the whole flock," said
Jimmy. "I was just going to kill a few for Mary, and if I don't,
somebody else will."
"Mary dinna need onything better than ane of her own fried
chickens," said Dannie. "And its no true about hunters. We've the
river on ane side, and the bluff on the other. If we keep up our
fishing signs, and add hunting to them, and juist shut the other
fellows out, the birds will come here like everything wild gathers
in National Park, out West. Ye bet things know where they are taken
care of, well enough."
Jimmy snipped a spray of purple ironwort with his corn-cutter, and
stuck it through his suspender buckle.
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