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.
Bob, together with his brothers and sisters, was seven days old and had learned quite rapidly to pick small bugs from the weeds and grasses, when a great misfortune befell him and I fear but for my timely assistance nine little homeless, motherless quails would have sadly longed for the sturdy care of their affectionate guardian. I had repaired to the old wagon road, to scatter a few crumbs upon the ground and watch the antics of my little friends. This time they were later than usual in coming to their dusting place. No doubt, the mother had given them a wider knowledge of their little world that day.
When they came, I caught sight of them some distance from the side of the road, wending their way through a tangle of weeds near a large pile of stones. As I looked a weasel darted from under those concealing rocks. I cried aloud, and rushed forward but my assistance came too late for the heroic little mother; and thus nine little orphans were thrust upon me for support. The young ones were so terrified by the suddenness of their affliction that they gathered in a helpless knot by the scene of the tragedy. I gently lifted eight of the fluffy chicks and deposited them in my hat. There was yet one more to be cared for. He looked up with an expression of trust and fear commingled. I reached forth my hand to take him, but, being a sturdy little fellow he decided to take his chances in the wide world, so he quickly darted from my hand and disappeared among the many weeds close by. I finally captured the willful son, and fearing lest he should again elude me, I carried him in one hand apart from those in the hat. This is how a little quail came to live with me, and he received the sturdy name of Bob because of its aptness to his nature.
Bob's brothers and sisters were given to a bantam hen, who had made a failure with her own brood. She was happy to receive these new cares, and this time accomplished her maternal duties to her entire satisfaction, rearing all to their full growth. But Bob went with me. I placed a box in my room for him, and devoted many pleasant moments to feeding him, watching his growth, and training his belligerent ways.
My little friend became a great mischief as he grew older. He was allowed full freedom that summer and fall and his favorite pastime was annoying a brood of late hatched chickens. Down he would fly among those chicks, pecking at them spitefully, until the mother forced him to beat a hasty retreat.
One noon as the dining-room door stood ajar, Bob entered with a whirr, alighting upon the table when luncheon was being served. The visitor helped himself daintily from the contents of a platter. I reached my hand toward the pretty offender, but his fear of my touch caused him to fly quickly aside. In doing this he collided with a cup of tea, thus upsetting it, and causing the contents to fall upon my mother's gown. This act barred him from the dining-room, and he then contented himself by pursuing flies and grasshoppers upon the lawn.
One day a large grasshopper alighted upon my window. Bob's alert form came a moment later, and he made a dart for the coveted morsel. The grasshopper flew across the room, alighting behind a picture which was standing upon a table. Bob, nothing daunted by his late failure, flew rapidly across the room, and against the picture. He had the grasshopper this time, and it disappeared rapidly down his brown throat; but that was not the end, for the picture toppled forward and fell, breaking the delicate frame work and damaging a much prized portrait. This act brought Bob disgrace and punishment. He was not again allowed the full liberty of the house.
My pet grew large and strong during the fall and winter and I spent many pleasant moments watching his mischievous pranks and quaint actions.
Spring came at last, and the summer songsters were arriving, treating us to many a happy anthem. The blue bird flitted by unnoticed. The robins were building their nests, and that gaudy summer visitor, the red-breasted grosbeak, had arrived in the gorgeous splendor of his spring plumage, when far away across the sweetly scented meadows echoed the bob white of my little pet's relatives. Bob would listen with head alert to this call, and then he would pace up and down his box just as you have seen wild animals do in a zoological garden. With all my kindness I had failed to deaden his love for the wild life of his kind. One day, when Bob was perched upon my window sill, there came from across the orchard a sharp and clear bob white! This was more than my little friend could withstand. He walked up and down, seeking vainly for a way to escape. In his sturdy body the varied emotions of a captive were contending. There was anxiety and hope, anger and fear, love and hate, commingled in his every motion.
Moved by my pet's desire for freedom, I threw open the sash. Out he flew, with a joyous whirr of his wings, and alighting upon the garden fence, with his characteristic energy, he uttered his first bob white! clear and strong.