Show guinea to faud a guinea nest was the very poetry of egg hunting the creatures are half wild and feed far afield the bush pasture was their chosen haunt and had such store of hidden nooks such clumps of brake and briar such steep banks such tangle of sedge and da berry and plum thicket that we would never have found an egg but for the birds queer habit when the hen goes to the aest her mate stands guard over her on the nearest bare spot and fills the air with his harsh buzzing cry following the sound we came upon the pair madam chooses her home daintily and deeply hollows the clean dry earth of it flowers often nod above it grass is sure to spring greenly about the edge overhead is always shelter of some sort for the maker knows instinctively that sunshine will addle her precious eggs her small cousin the partridge BO admires her taste that sometimes she decides to share the nest sometimes too a hen of independent mind comes u into the bush and pets her eggs into such shelter very often we found forty eggs to the nest and when we took them out it was always with a silver spoon black mammy taught us ef yer puts han in dar de gui neall smell 1 it acquit du nes whatever the reason the fact was none the less fact I 1 harper a people |