Mother Bob White had been carefully guarding her little brown family, leading them forth daily in quest of small bugs and scattered seeds, always upon the lookout for possible enemies, never failing to flutter away, feigning a crippled wing, should I chance to come upon her suddenly. And on such occasions look as quickly and intently as I might I seldom caught a glimpse of those brown bodies that so well obey the parting cry of warning, uttered by the mother as she fluttered just beyond my reach, leading me straight away from her trembling family. Should you wish to find one of the little chicks you may do so by carefully feeling among the tufts of grass and other decayed brown vegetation nearest the spot where one's eye lost them. Upon one occasion I discovered several of this little brood in a most peculiar and interesting situation. I had startled the mother-bird while she was leading her young ones through a wood, the ground thickly covered with dried leaves, and, as she fluttered away from almost beneath my feet, I dared not move for fear of crushing one of the chicks. They scattered and seemed to have disappeared on all sides near me. Gazing intently upon the mass of brown leaves, I was thinking how I could extricate myself without harming the hidden brood, when my eye caught the slight motion of a leaf almost against my foot. I stooped and gently raised the leaf. It felt wonderfully heavy. This oddity of weight prepared me for the surprise yet in store. When the leaf had been lifted a sufficient distance to enable me to look beneath, I caught a glimpse of a tiny brown rascal clinging desperately. He was in the drollest of positions, clinging feet uppermost. I soon learned to know about where Mrs. Bob White's brood could be found, and they were quite grateful for the crumbs scattered daily within their reach, usually along an old and dusty wagon road which passed but a short distance from the spot where the nest had been. The mother would lead her flock forth where for a few minutes would be enacted an amusing scene as she attempted their education in the art of dusting themselves. They would stand amazed, watching the cloud of fine dust raised by their teacher, until one by one, they seemed to understand her meaning and then squatting down in a circle, they made feeble imitations of her vigorous motions. Wayward Bob was one of this family of nine, but as yet he had not been named, and, indeed, had he been, it would have taken a close critic to have distinguished him from his relatives.