himself and was gone. Then I thought of the woods at sunset, and began
to call softly.

The carnivora were being fed not far away; a frightful uproar came
from the cages. The coughing roar of a male lion made the air shiver.
Cockatoos screamed; noisy parrots squawked hideously. Children were
playing and shouting near by. In the yard itself fifty birds were
singing or crying strange notes. Besides all this, the quail I had
seen had been hatched far from home, under a strange mother. So I had
little hope of success.

But as the call grew louder and louder, a liquid yodel came like an
electric shock from a clump of bushes on the left. There he was,
looking, listening. Another call, and he came running toward me.
Others appeared from every direction, and soon a score of quail were
running about, just inside the screen, with soft gurglings like a
hidden brook, doubly delightful to an ear that had longed to hear
them.

City, gardens, beasts, strangers,--all vanished in an instant. I was a
boy in the fields again. The rough New England hillside grew tender
and beautiful in sunset light; the hollows were rich in autumn glory.
The pasture brook sang on its way to the river; a robin called from a
crimson maple; and all around was the dear low, thrilling whistle, and
the patter of welcome feet on leaves, as Bob White came running again
to meet his countryman.