“That’s what Pop and Grand’ther and Joe were talking about last night,” said Tommy; “they said that they travelled over miles of stubble-fields and brush-lots where there used to be lots of birds, and now, in spite of the laws in our place that are down on pot-hunters and won’t let game be sold or carried away, and our having a keen county warden, the birds seem to be melting away just the same.” [Illustration: Dr. C. K. Hodge, Photo. RUFFED GROUSE] “What did your father think was the reason?” asked Gray Lady, for she remembered as a young girl that the General used to say, “Get a farmer interested in a subject enough to make him really think, and you cannot get better advice.” “Pop said all these new stiff-edged stone roads that are pushing out the dirt and grass lanes may be mighty fine for automobiles and all the other dust-raisers, but they’re poor trash for horses’ feet and game-birds, ’cause the brush along the old roads both sides of the fences made good cover and kept the snow, when it drifted, sort of loose, so that the birds could get in and out to look for food. But when everything is trimmed smooth, the snow lies flat and hard and crusty, and the birds can’t get under to grub for food, and if they’re under and it freezes on top of ’em, they can’t get out. “Grand’ther said that was so, but he reckoned there wasn’t so much for the game-birds to eat, anyhow, because folks that used to raise just so many acres of rye and wheat and oats and buckwheat had mostly given it up and put their land down to meadows for hay, because that is the only crop that there is a sure market for everywhere. Then Grand’ther said that, between freezing and starving, and what was left being shot down close, it’s a wonder there’s any Grouse left, or Bob-whites either.” “There, Goldilocks, you have your answer as to what the Kind Hearts’ Club can do to make these food-birds comfortable during the ten months of the year (in this state, Connecticut), when they may roam without fear of hunting by honest sportsmen. The dishonest hunters and pot-hunters, who do not care for law and order, we must watch and bring to justice, just as we do any other class of criminals. “Some very good people are extremely careless about this, and would arrest a hungry man for stealing a bottle of milk from a doorstep, and yet even buy game from poachers whom they knew had taken it against the law; doing this is a far more serious offence, for one of our Wise Men has said that wild birds are not the property of the individual, but of the Commonwealth.” “I wish these birds need never be shot; don’t you?” said Sarah Barnes. “They are much prettier than some song-birds, and I’m sure that Bob-white’s call is just as pleasant to hear as a song.”