“Oh dear, oh dear!” whimpered Quailie, the tears running down his beak, “what a fool I was to poach on other people’s preserves! If I had only stayed at home this Falcon could never have caught me, not even if he had come and tried!”
“What’s that, Quailie?” asked the Falcon. “Do you think I can’t catch you anywhere?”
“Not on my own ground!” cried the Quail.
“What do you mean by that?”
“A ploughed field full of clods.”
“Oh, nonsense, Quailie, clods won’t help you. Just try; off you go! I’ll follow.”
The Quail flew off, feeling as happy now as he was miserable a moment gone; and when he got back to his farm he picked out a big clod and perched on the top. “Come on, Falcon!” cried he; “come on!”
Down came the Falcon with a swoop like a flash of lightning; but just as he came close the Quail dodged him nimbly and tumbled over the clod to the other side, leaving the Falcon to come full tilt against the clod of earth; and so swift was he, that the shock killed him.
So the Quail found out how much better it is for most people to stick to what they are used to; and as for the Falcon, he might have thought, if he had been able to think at all, that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.