The Adventures of Bob White

by Thornton W. Burgess

  It was love in the heart of Farmer Brown's boy which made him indignantwhen Farmer Brown hinted that he might take his gun and shoot Bob Whiteand his family. You see, he had made friends with the Bob Whites andlearned to love them, and no one can bear the thought of hurting thosethey love. He had replied to his father respectfully, but his face hadflushed red and in his voice there had been the ring of indignation,which is a certain kind of anger. Farmer Brown actually chuckled when heheard it. Then he turned and held out his big hand.

  "Shake hands, son," said he. "I was just trying you out to see what youwould say. You know you used to be very fond of hunting, and I was justwondering if your love of killing, or trying to kill, was stronger thanyour sense of right and justice. Now I know that it isn't, and I'm everso glad. So you think the Bob Whites have earned our protection?"

  Fanner Brown's boy's face flushed again, but this time it was withpleasure.

  "Oh, Dad, I'm so glad you don't want them killed to eat!" he cried. "Iought to have known that you were just teasing me. I did like to huntwith my gun once, but that was when I didn't know as much as I do now.It was exciting to try to find the birds and then see if I could hitthem. I just thought of them as wild things good to eat and so smartthat I had to be a little bit smarter to get them. I never thought ofthem as having any feelings. But now I know that they love, and fear,and suffer pain, and work, and play, and are glad and sad, just likepeople. I know because I've watched them. So I don't want to hurt themor allow them to be hurt any more than I would real people. Why I _love_'em! I wouldn't have anything happen to them for the world. I'mdreadfully afraid something will happen to some of them when the huntingseason begins. Can't we do anything for them?"

  "We can put up some signs warning all hunters to keep off of our farmand forbidding all shooting," replied Farmer Brown. "Then if Bob Whiteand his family are smart enough to stay on our land I guess they will besafe, but if they go on the land of other people they are likely to beshot unless--" he paused.

  "Unless I can get other people who own land near us to put up signsand keep the hunters off and promise not to shoot the Bob Whitesthemselves!" exclaimed Farmer Brown's boy eagerly.

  Farmer Brown smiled. "Exactly, my son," said he. "It is your chance toget even; to do something for the little friends who have done so muchfor you. Tomorrow is Saturday, and there will be no school. You may haveall day in which to see what you can do with the neighbors to save BobWhite and his family from the hunters. Listen! Bob would be a blessingif for nothing but his message of good cheer. But to the cheer he putsinto the world is the daily help he gives. The man who kills Bob Whitekills one of our best friends and helpers, and his shot hurts us morethan it does poor little Bob. Now let's go over to the barn and see aboutmaking those signs."

  XVIII. A BEAUTIFUL DAY MADE DREADFUL

  ```A pity 'tis, aye, 'tis a shame

  ````That rests on all mankind,

  ```That human beings in cruelty

  ````Can sport and pleasure find.=

  |THERE never was a more beautiful day than that crisp October one. Itwas one of those days when you just feel all over how good it is to bealive. Bob White felt it. He tingled all over with the joy of livingjust as soon as he opened his eyes very early that morning. He whistledfor very joy. He loved all the Great World, and he felt that all theGreat World loved him. He wanted to tell the Great World so. The MerryLittle Breezes of Old Mother West Wind, tumbling out of the big bag inwhich she had brought them down from the Purple Hills to play all daylong on the Green Meadows, danced over to tell him that they loved him.This made Bob still happier.

  A certain man tramping along the road toward the home of Farmer Joneswas feeling glad, but his gladness was of a different kind. "I guess weare going to have some sport, old fellow," said he to the dog trottingat his heels, and shifted a terrible gun from one shoulder to the other.

  Now if Bob White had understood the warning given him by Farmer Brown'sboy he never, never would have done as he did. But he didn't understandthat warning, and so when he took it into his pretty little head that hewanted to try his wings he led his family straight over to the land ofFarmer Jones. He often had been there before, and he saw no reason whyhe shouldn't go there as often as he pleased. No harm had come fromthese previous visits. So straight over to the stubble of Farmer Jones'wheat-field he led the way, and soon he and his family were very busypicking up scattered grains of wheat and were happy as you or I would beover a good breakfast.

  Right in the midst of it Bob's quick ears heard footsteps. He stretchedhis neck to peep over the stubble, and suddenly all the gladness andbrightness of the day was blotted out. What he saw was a dog with hisnose to the ground and he was following the scent that one of Bob'schildren made as he ran about picking up wheat. Suddenly the dog stoppedand stood perfectly still, with one foreleg and nose pointing straightat a certain spot. Bob knew that right at that spot one of his childrenwas squatting close to the ground. As still as a statue stood the dog.From behind him came a man walking slowly and carefully and with aterrible gun held in readiness. When he reached the dog he sent him on.There was nothing for the Bob White squatting there to do but fly. Upinto the air he shot on swift wings.

  "Bang!" went the terrible gun, and down dropped that little brown bird.At the sound of the terrible gun up jumped all the rest of Bob White'schildren in terrible fright, for never before had they heard such adreadful noise. "Bang!" went the gun again, but this time only a fewbrown feathers floated to the ground. Bob and Mrs. Bob waited untilafter the second bang before they too took to the air, for they had hadexperience and knew that after the second bang they were likely to besafe for a while.

  The Bob Whites had scattered in all directions as they had beentaught to do when in danger. Bob flew straight over to Farmer Brown'swheat-field, and there presently he began to call. One after another ofhis family answered, all but the one who had fallen at the first shot.

  "Got one, anyway," said the hunter, as he loaded his terrible gun, andactually looked happy as he went over to help his dog hunt for the BobWhite who had fallen at the first terrible bang.

  XVIII. THE DISAPPOINTED HUNTER

  ```It never does to count upon

  ````A thing until you're sure.

  ```It's often less than you expect,

  ````But very seldom more.=

  |The hunter who has shot one of White's children chuckled of course hedidn't need it the least bit in the world, having plenty of other thingsto eat.

  The hunter who had shot one of the birds gleefully went forward to pickup the poor little brown bird. He was having what he called sport. Itnever entered his head to think of how the Bob Whites must feel. Heprobably didn't think that they had any feelings. He was pleased that hehad made a successful shot, and he was pleased to think that he was tohave that little brown bird to eat, though when he reached the placewhere he had seen the little Bob White fall, there was no little brownbird there. No, Sir, there was not a sign of that little bird save afew feathers. You see, he hadn't killed the little Bob White as he hadsupposed, but had broken a wing so that it could not fly. But there wasnothing the matter with its legs, and no sooner had it hit the groundthan it had run as fast as ever it could through the stubble. So thelittle Bob White wasn't where the hunter was looking for it at all.

  Of course his dog helped him hunt, and with that wonderful nose of hishe soon found the scent of that little Bob White and eagerly followedit. It just happened that in that field near where the little Bob Whitefell was an old home of Johnny Chuck, and all around the entrance to itthe sand had been spread out. Now sand does not hold scent. The littleBob White knew nothing about that, for he had not lived long enoughto learn all that a Bob White has to learn, but he did see the opendoorway. Across the yellow sand he ran and into the doorway and justa little way down the hall, where he hid under some dry, brown leaveswhich had blown in there. He was almost the color of them himself as hesquatted close to the ground and drew his feathers as close to his bodya
s possible. In doing this he was doing a very wise thing, though hedidn't know it at the time. You see his feathers drawn tightly againsthis body that way prevented the scent which might have told the keennose of that dog where he was.

  As it was, the dog lost the scent at the edge of the sand, and neitherhe nor the hunter once thought to look in that old hole. So while theyhunted and hunted, the little Bob White squatted perfectly still, thoughhis broken wing hurt him dreadfully, and the ache of it made his eyesfill with tears. At last the hunter gave up the search. He was tooimpatient to kill more.

  "Must be I just wounded him," said he, without one thought of howdreadful it must be to be wounded. "Probably a fox will get him. Bet Ikill the next one!"

  With that he sent his dog on to try to find the little Bob White'sbrothers and sisters, his terrible gun held ready to shoot the instanthe should see one of them. He was having great sport, was that hunter,while in the hall of Johnny Chuck's old house lay a little brown BobWhite faint with suffering and dreadful fright. It would have beenbad enough to simply have such a fright, but to have a broken wing andbecause of this to feel quite helpless--well, can you imagine anythingworse?

  XIX. FRIGHTENED, WOUNDED AND ALONE

  ````Oh, cruel is the thoughtless deed

  ````That wounds another without need.=

  |SQUATTING under the brown dead leaves which had blown into the doorwayof the old house made long ago in the wheat-field of Farmer Jones byJohnny Chuck was that poor little Bob White. Tears filled his eyes,tears of fright and pain.

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  He tried to wink them back and to think what he should do next, but hewas too bewildered to think. To be bewildered is to be so upset that youcannot understand what has happened or is happening. It was just so withthis little Bob White.

  With his brothers and sisters he had been happily picking up hisbreakfast that beautiful October morning. Without the least warning agreat dog had threatened to catch him, and he had taken to his swift,strong, little wings. As he did so he had seen a great two-leggedcreature pointing a stick at him, but he had not feared. All summer longhe had seen two-legged creatures like this one, and they had not harmedhim. Indeed, he had come to look on them as his friends, for had notFarmer Brown's boy watched him and his brothers and sisters day afterday, and not once offered even to frighten them? So he had no fear ofthis one.

  Then from the end of that stick pointed at him had leaped fire andsmoke, and there had been a terrible noise. Something had struck him,something that stung, and burned and tore his tender flesh, and oneof his swift, strong, little wings had become useless, so that he fellheavily to the ground. Then he had run swiftly until he found thishiding place, and, with his little heart going pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat withterror, had squatted close under the friendly brown leaves while thegreat dog and the two-legged creature had looked for him. Now they hadgiven him up and gone away. At least, he could not hear them.

  What did it all mean? Why had this dreadful thing happened to him? Whathad he done that the two-legged creature should try to kill him with theterrible fire-stick? Outside the day was as beautiful as ever, but allthe joy of it was gone. Instead, it was filled with terror. What shouldhe do now? What _could_ he do? Where were his father and mother andbrothers and sisters? Were such dreadful things happening to them as hadhappened to him? Would he ever see them again?

  Presently he heard a far-away whistle, a sad, anxious whistle. Itwas the whistle of his father, Bob White. He was calling his familytogether. Then he heard answering whistles, and he knew that the otherswere safe and would soon join Bob White. But he did not dare answerhimself. He crawled to the doorway and peeped out. He could see thegreat dog and the cruel two-legged creature with the terrible fire-stickfar away on the other side of the field. He tried to leap into the airand fly as he had been used to doing, but only flopped helplessly. Onewing was useless and dragged on the ground. It hurt so that the painmade him faint.

  He closed his eyes and lay still for a few minutes, panting. Then a newthought filled him with another terrible fear. If Reddy Fox or Old ManCoyote or Redtail the Hawk should happen along, how could he escapewithout the use of his wings? If only he were not alone! If only hecould reach his father and mother perhaps they could help him. Hestruggled to his feet and began to walk towards that distant whistle.It was slow work. He was weak and faint, and the drooping wing draggedthrough the stiff stubble and hurt so that it seemed as if he could notstand it. Often he squatted down and panted with weariness and pain andfright. Then he would go on again. He was terribly thirsty, but therewas no water to drink. So at last he crawled under a fence, and thensuddenly, right in front of him, was one of those two-legged creatures!Right then and there the little Bob White gave up all hope.

  XX. FARMER BROWN'S BOY SPEAKS HIS MIND

  ````You cannot always surely tell

  ````If things be ill or things be well.=

  |WHEN the poor suffering, wounded little Bob White crawled under thefence he didn't know it, but he had crawled on to the land of FarmerBrown, where a sign warned all hunters to keep off--that no shootingwould be allowed there. And when he looked up and saw right in frontof him one of those two-legged creatures like the one with the terriblefire-stick, and at once had given up all hope, he had been too sick atheart and suffering too much to recognize Farmer Brown's boy.

  But that is just who it was. You see, Farmer Brown's boy had been soanxious for fear that some hunter would come over on his father's landin spite of the signs, that he had gone down on the Green Meadows justas soon as he had eaten his breakfast. He had seen the hunter on theland of Farmer Jones and had heard him shoot. With all his heart FarmerBrown's boy had hoped that the hunter had missed. Now as he looked downand saw the poor little suffering bird he knew that the hunter had notmissed, and fierce anger swelled his heart. He quite forgot that hehimself used to hunt with a terrible gun before he had learned to knowand to love the little people of the Green Meadows, the Green Forest andthe Old Pasture.

  He stooped and very tenderly lifted the little Bob White, who closed hiseyes and was sure that now all would soon be over.

  "You poor little thing! You poor, poor little thing!" said FarmerBrown's boy as he looked at the torn and broken wing. Then he lookedacross at the hunter and scowled savagely. Just then the hunter sawhim and at once started towards him. You see, the hunter thought thatperhaps if he offered Farmer Brown's boy money he would allow him tohunt on Farmer Brown's land. He knew that was where Bob White and allhis family had flown to. When he reached the fence, he saw the littleBob White in the hands of Farmer Brown's boy.

  "Hello!" exclaimed the hunter in surprise, "I guess that's my bird!"

  "I guess it's nothing of the sort!" retorted Farmer Brown's boy.

  "Oh, yes, it is," replied the hunter. "I shot it a little while ago, butit got away from me. I'll thank you to hand it over to me, young man."

  "You'll do nothing of the sort," retorted Farmer Brown's boy. "It may bethe bird you shot, more shame to you, but it isn't yours; it's mine. Ifound it on our land, and it belongs to me if it belongs to any one."

  Now the hunter was tempted to reply sharply, but remembering that hewanted to get this boy's permission to hunt on Farmer Brown's land, hebit the angry reply off short and said instead, "Why don't you wring itsneck? If you'll get your father to let me shoot on your land, I'll killanother for you, and then you will have a fine dinner."

  Farmer Brown's boy grew red in the face. "Don't you dare put your footon this side of the fence!" he cried. "I'd have you to know that theseBob Whites are my very best friends. They've worked for me all summerlong, and do you suppose I'm going to let any harm come to them now if Ican help it? Not much! Look how this poor little thing is suffering. Andyou call it sport. Bah! The law lets you hunt them, but it's a bad law.It's a horrid law. If they did any harm it would be different. Butinstead of doing harm they work for us all summer long, and then whenthe crops which they have helped us save are harvested, we turn aroundand allow them to be
shot! But they can't be shot on this land, and thesooner you get away the better I'll like it."

  Instead of getting angry the hunter laughed good-naturedly. "All right,I'll keep off your land, sonny," said he. "But you needn't get soexcited. They're only birds, and were made to be shot."

  "No more than you were!" retorted Farmer Brown's boy. "And they've gotfeelings just as you have. This poor little thing is trembling like aleaf in my hand. I'm not going to wring its neck. I'm going to try tocure it." With this Fanner Brown's boy turned his back on the hunter andstarted for home. And the poor little Bob White, not understanding, hadno more hope than before.

  XXI. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LITTLE BOB WHITE

  |WITH his eyes tightly closed because of the terror in his heart, thelittle Bob White was being carried by Fanner Brown's boy. Very tenderwas the way in which he was handled, and after a while he began to takea little comfort in the warmth of the hand which held him. Once in awhile Farmer Brown's boy would gently smooth the feathers of the littlehead and say, "Poor little chap."

  Straight home went Farmer Brown's boy. Very, very gently he bathed thewounds of the little Bob White. Then, as gently as he could, he put thebroken bones of the wing back in place and bound them there with littlestrips of thin wood to keep them from slipping. It hurt dreadfully, andthe little Bob White didn't know what it all meant. But he had sufferedso much already that a little more suffering didn't matter much, and hedidn't so much as peep.