rest stopped short, and looked up the path in the direction of his pointing finger.
There, right in the path fifty feet ahead, pecking away at the mould exactly like a hen in the barn-*yard, was a big brown partridge! The Scouts stole softly toward it, expecting every moment to see it rise and go whirring off through the woods. It did stop feeding, raised its head to look at them, and then hopped up the bank beside the path and began scratching again.
"Good gracious, is it a tame partridge?" Art whispered in astonishment.
But his astonishment was still greater when, a moment later, the whole party stood in the path not six feet from the bird, and saw that it was one of a small covey of six. Four of them were feeding on the ground, and making soft, pretty coots, like hens on a hot summer day. Two were perched lazily on the low branch of a hemlock. They paid no attention to the Scouts.
"Gee!" said Frank, "you could knock 'em over with a stick! Let's have partridge for dinner."
"Nix!" said Art. "It's out of season. Besides, I wouldn't kill anything so tame. I guess they're not hunted much here. I never saw 'em tame like this before in my life. Down home they'd have been a mile away by now."
The birds looked up at the sound of his voice, and
