Western field . tfell through the cracks of the granary wall. From the back door my mother used to feedthem, for which my father laughed at her—and then went straight to the granary andgave them a measure of wheat. Kill would as soon have thought of killing arobin—and, next to the man who houndydeer, the man who will kill a robin is themost despicable brute that wanders un-shackled over the face of God Almightyspretty world. And the quail knew we stoodbetween them and the guns of roving slaughterers of the winter time. Many and many atime have I sat on the granary steps, muf-fled in al
Western field . tfell through the cracks of the granary wall. From the back door my mother used to feedthem, for which my father laughed at her—and then went straight to the granary andgave them a measure of wheat. Kill would as soon have thought of killing arobin—and, next to the man who houndydeer, the man who will kill a robin is themost despicable brute that wanders un-shackled over the face of God Almightyspretty world. And the quail knew we stoodbetween them and the guns of roving slaughterers of the winter time. Many and many atime have I sat on the granary steps, muf-fled in all the warm clothes a watchfulmother could pile on me, watching a flock ofthe birds as they scratched in a thicket ofhazelnut brush a bit back of the door. All atonce, with one loud and startled chirp ofalarm, they would hurl themselves over thesnow or through the air, as they foundeasiest, in headlong haste to reach the shel-ter of that granary. Behind them, dimly, 1would see a fox or a weasel stealing AT THE PACIFIC COAST MAGAZINE 355 foiled in his attempt on their lives. Then Ithought the killers of the four-feet the mostawful creatures in the world and, if by anyreasonable effort I could have wiped themfrom the face of the earth. I would havedone so; now I know that theirs is a placein the System and that they but follow thedemands life puts upon them when theykill. Which is vastly more than I can sayof nine out of ten of my human neighbors. .\ moments halt—a momentary tasteOf being from the well amid the waste— And I>o! the phantom caravan has reachedThe nothing it set out from—Oh. make haste! Then there came a time when we, too, badegood-by to the old home, as so many havedone in that far eastern land, and soughtthe hills and vales of the west coast. Allthat we have hoped for we have found; but,sometimes, the heart of me turns a bit long-ingly to the suns and snows of the old world,to some of the boyhood friends who have notstriven to reach t
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booksubjectsports, bookyear1902
