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Title: The Adventures of Poor Mrs. Quack
Author: Thornton W. Burgess
Release date: June 1, 2004 [eBook #5846]
Most recently updated: August 9, 2025
Language: English
Credits: Text file produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
HTML file produced by David Widger
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF POOR MRS. QUACK ***
The Adventures of Poor Mrs. Quack
["Burgess, Thornton W."]
2004-06-01
2025-08-09
The Bedtime Story-Books
en
"The Adventures of Poor Mrs. Quack" by Thornton W. Burgess is a children's storybook written during the early 20th century. This charming tale focuses on the adventures of Mrs. Quack, a duck who goes through several challenges and dangers as she seeks a safe place to live. The narrative emphasizes themes of friendship, bravery, and the trials of nature, particularly in the face of human threats. The story unfolds as Mrs. Quack, feeling threatened by hunters, finds herself in the Smiling Pool where she meets Peter Rabbit. Throughout the book, Mrs. Quack shares her backstory, revealing her fears and the challenges faced during her journey north with her mate, Mr. Quack. As the plot progresses, Mrs. Quack becomes heartbroken after Mr. Quack is shot, prompting her to search for him. With the help of Peter Rabbit and Sammy Jay, they devise a plan to locate Mr. Quack. Ultimately, Mrs. Quack's bravery and determination lead to a heartwarming reunion and a new home, illustrating the resilience of family bonds in the face of adversity. (This is an automatically generated summary.)
[Illustration: “Marshes must be something like swamps,” ventured Peter
Rabbit]
The Bedtime Story-Books
THE ADVENTURES OF
POOR MRS. QUACK
By
Thornton W. Burgess
Author of “Old Mother West Wind,” “The Bedtime Story-Books,” etc.
With Illustrations by
_HARRISON CADY_
CONTENTS
I. Peter Rabbit Becomes Acquainted with Mrs. Quack
II. Mrs. Quack is Distrustful
III. Mrs. Quack Tells About Her Home
IV. Mrs. Quack Continues Her Story
V. Peter Learns More of Mrs. Quack's Troubles
VI. Farmer Brown's Boy Visits the Smiling Pool
VII. Mrs. Quack Returns
VIII. Mrs. Quack Has a Good Meal and a Rest
IX. Peter Rabbit Makes an Early Call
X. How Mr. and Mrs. Quack Started North
XI. The Terrible, Terrible Guns
XII. What Did Happen to Mr. Quack
XIII. Peter Tells About Mrs. Quack
XIV. Sammy Jay's Plan to Help Mrs. Quack
XV. The Hunt for Mr. Quack
XVI. Sammy Jay Sees Something Green
XVII. Mr. Quack Is Found at Last
XVIII. Sammy Jay Sends Mrs. Quack to the Swamp
XIX. Jerry Muskrat's Great Idea
XX. Happy Days for Mr. and Mrs. Quack
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
“Marshes must be something like swamps,” ventured Peter Rabbit
Several times she circled around, high over the Smiling Pool
“Some folks call him Alligator and some just 'Gator'”
“Just tuck that fact away in that empty head of yours and never say
can't”
“Yes,” said he in a low voice, “I am Mr. Quack”
Those were happy days indeed for Mr. and Mrs. Quack in the pond of
Paddy the Beaver
I PETER RABBIT BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH MRS. QUACK I
PETER RABBIT BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH
MRS. QUACK
Make a new acquaintance every time you can;
You'll find it interesting and a very helpful plan.
It means more knowledge. You cannot meet any one without learning
something from him if you keep your ears open and your eyes open.
Every one is at least a little different from every one else, and the
more people you know, the more you may learn. Peter Rabbit knows this,
and that is one reason he always is so eager to find out about other
people. He had left Jimmy Skunk and Bobby Coon in the Green Forest and
had headed for the Smiling Pool to see if Grandfather Frog was awake
yet. He had no idea of meeting a stranger there, and so you can imagine
just how surprised he was when he got in sight of the Smiling Pool to
see some one whom he never had seen before swimming about there. He
knew right away who it was. He knew that it was Mrs. Quack the Duck,
because he had often heard about her. And then, too, it was very clear
from her looks that she was a cousin of the ducks he had seen in Farmer
Brown's dooryard. The difference was that while they were big and white
and stupid-looking, Mrs. Quack was smaller, brown, very trim, and
looked anything but stupid.
Peter was so surprised to see her in the Smiling Pool that he almost
forgot to be polite. I am afraid he stared in a very impolite way as
he hurried to the edge of the bank. “I suppose,” said Peter, “that you
are Mrs. Quack, but I never expected to see you unless I should go over
to the Big River, and that is a place I never have visited and hardly
expect to because it is too far from the dear Old Briar-patch. You are
Mrs. Quack, aren't you?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Quack, “and you must be Peter Rabbit. I've heard of
you very often.” All the time Mrs. Quack was swimming back and forth
and in little circles in the most uneasy way.
“I hope you've heard nothing but good of me,” replied Peter.
Mrs. Quack stopped her uneasy swimming for a minute and almost smiled
as she looked at Peter, “The worst I have heard is that you are very
curious about other people's affairs,” said she.
Peter looked a wee, wee bit foolish, and then he laughed right out.
“I guess that is true enough,” said he. “I like to learn all I can,
and how can I learn without being curious? I'm curious right now. I'm
wondering what brings you to the Smiling Pool when you never have been
here before. It is the last place in the world I ever expected to find
you.”
“That's why I'm here,” replied Mrs. Quack. “I hope others feel the same
way. I came here because I just _had_ to find some place where people
wouldn't expect to find me and so wouldn't come looking for me. Little
Joe Otter saw me yesterday on the Big River and told me of this place,
and so, because I just had to go somewhere, I came here.”
Peter's eyes opened very wide with surprise. “Why,” he exclaimed, “I
should think you would be perfectly safe on the Big River! I don't see
how any harm can possibly come to you out there.”
The words were no sooner out of Peter's mouth than a faint bang sounded
from way off towards the Big River. Mrs. Quack gave a great start and
half lifted her wings as if to fly. But she thought better of it, and
then Peter saw that she was trembling all over.
“Did you hear that?” she asked in a faint voice.
Peter nodded. “That was a gun, a terrible gun, but it was a long way
from here,” said he.
“It was over on the Big River,” said Mrs. Quack. “That's why it isn't
safe for me over there. That's why I just had to find some other place.
Oh, dear, the very sound of a gun sets me to shaking and makes my heart
feel as if it would stop beating. Are you sure I am perfectly safe
here?”
“Perfectly,” spoke up Jerry Muskrat, who had been listening from the
top of the Big Rock, where he was lunching on a clam, “unless you are
not smart enough to keep out of the clutches of Reddy Fox or Old Man
Coyote or Hooty the Owl or Redtail the Hawk.”
“I'm not afraid of _them_,” declared Mrs. Quack. “It's those two-legged
creatures with terrible guns I'm afraid of,” and she began to swim
about more uneasily than ever.
II MRS. QUACK IS DISTRUSTFUL II
MRS. QUACK IS DISTRUSTFUL
Jerry Muskrat thinks there is no place in the world like the Smiling
Pool. So, for the matter of that, does Grandfather Frog and also Spotty
the Turtle. You see, they have spent their lives there and know little
about the rest of the Great World. When Mrs. Quack explained that all
she feared was that a two-legged creature with a terrible gun might
find her there, Jerry Muskrat hastened to tell her that she had nothing
to worry about on that account.
“No one hunts here now that Farmer Brown's boy has put away his
terrible gun,” explained Jerry. “There was a time when he used to hunt
here and set traps, which are worse than terrible guns, but that was
long ago, before he knew any better.”
“Who is Farmer Brown's boy?” demanded Mrs. Quack, looking more anxious
than ever. “Is he one of those two-legged creatures?”
“Yes,” said Peter Rabbit, who had been listening with all his ears,
“but he is the best friend we Quaddies have got. He is such a good
friend that he ought to be a Quaddy himself. Why, this last winter he
fed some of us when food was scarce, and he saved Mrs. Grouse when she
was caught in a snare, which you know is a kind of trap. He won't let
any harm come to you here, Mrs. Quack.”
“I wouldn't trust him, not for one single little minute,” declared Mrs.
Quack. “I wouldn't trust one of those two-legged creatures, not _one_.
You say he fed some of you last winter, but that doesn't mean anything
good. Do you know what I've known these two-legged creatures to do?”
“What?” demanded Peter and Jerry together.
“I've known them to scatter food where we Ducks would be sure to find
it and to take the greatest care that nothing should frighten us while
we were eating. And then, after we had got in the habit of feeding in
that particular place and had grown to feel perfectly safe there, they
have hidden close by until a lot of us were feeding together and then
fired their terrible guns and killed a lot of my friends and dreadfully
hurt a lot more. I wouldn't trust one of them, not _one_!”
“Oh, how dreadful!” cried Peter, looking quite as shocked as he felt.
Then he added eagerly, “But our Farmer Brown's boy wouldn't do anything
like that. You haven't the least thing to fear from him.”
“Perhaps not,” said Mrs. Quack, shaking her head doubtfully, “but I
wouldn't trust him. I wouldn't trust him as far off as I could see him.
The Smiling Pool is a very nice place, although it is dreadfully small,
but if Farmer Brown's boy is likely to come over here, I guess I better
look for some other place, though goodness knows where I will find one
where I will feel perfectly safe.”
“You are safe right here, if you have sense enough to stay here,”
declared Jerry Muskrat rather testily. “Don't you suppose Peter and I
know what we are talking about?”
“I wish I could believe so,” returned Mrs. Quack sadly, “but if you had
been through what I've been through, and suffered what I've suffered,
you wouldn't believe any place safe, and you certainly wouldn't trust
one of those two-legged creatures. Why, for weeks they haven't given me
a chance to get a square meal, and--and--I don't know what has become
of Mr. Quack, and I'm all alone!” There was a little sob in her voice
and tears in her eyes.
“Tell us all about it,” begged Peter. “Perhaps we can help you.”
III MRS. QUACK TELLS ABOUT HER HOME III
MRS. QUACK TELLS ABOUT HER HOME
“It's a long story,” said Mrs. Quack, shaking the tears from her eyes,
“and I hardly know where to begin.”
“Begin at the beginning,” said Jerry Muskrat. “Your home is somewhere
way up in the Northland where Honker the Goose lives, isn't it?”
Mrs. Quack nodded. “I wish I were there this very minute,” she replied,
the tears coming again. “But sometimes I doubt if ever I'll get there
again. You folks who don't have to leave your homes every year don't
know how well off you are or how much you have to be thankful for.”
“I never could understand what people want to leave their homes for,
anyway,” declared Peter.
“We don't leave because we want to, but because we _have_ to,” replied
Mrs. Quack, “and we go back just as soon as we can. What would you do
if you couldn't find a single thing to eat?”
“I guess I'd starve,” replied Peter simply.
“I guess you would, and that is just what we would do, if we didn't
take the long journey south when Jack Frost freezes everything tight
up there where my home is,” returned Mrs. Quack. “He comes earlier up
there and stays twice as long as he does here, and makes ten times as
much ice and snow. We get most of our food in the water or in the mud
under the water, as of course you know, and when the water is frozen,
there isn't a scrap of anything we can get to eat. We just _have_ to
come south. It isn't because we want to, but because we must! There is
nothing else for us to do.”
“Then I don't see what you want to make your home in such a place for,”
said practical Peter. “I should think you would make it where you can
live all the year around.”
“I was born up there, and I love it just as you love the dear Old
Briar-patch,” replied Mrs. Quack simply. “It is home, and there is no
place like home. Besides, it is a very beautiful and a very wonderful
place in summer. There is everything that Ducks and Geese love. We have
all we want of the food we love best. Everywhere is shallow water with
tall grass growing in it.”
“Huh!” interrupted Peter, “I wouldn't think much of a place like that.”
“That's because you don't know what is good,” snapped Jerry Muskrat.
“It would suit me,” he added, with shining eyes.
“There are the dearest little islands just made for safe
nesting-places,” continued Mrs. Quack, without heeding the
interruptions. “And the days are long, and it is easy to hide, and
there is nothing to fear, for two-legged creatures with terrible guns
never come there.”
“If there is nothing to fear, why do you care about places to hide?”
demanded Peter.
“Well, of course, we have enemies, just as you do here, but they are
natural enemies,--Foxes and Minks and Hawks and Owls,” explained Mrs.
Quack. “Of course, we have to watch out for them and have places where
we can hide from them, but it is our wits against their wits, and
it is our own fault if we get caught. That is perfectly fair, so we
don't mind that. It is only men who are not fair. They don't know what
fairness is.”
Peter nodded that he understood, and Mrs. Quack went on. “Last summer
Mr. Quack and I had our nest on the dearest little island, and no one
found it. First we had twelve eggs, and then twelve of the dearest
babies you ever saw.”
“Maybe,” said Peter doubtfully, thinking of his own babies.
“They grew so fast that by the time the cold weather came, they were as
big as their father and mother,” continued Mrs. Quack. “And they were
smart, too. They had learned how to take care of themselves just as
well as I could. I certainly was proud of that family. But now I don't
know where one of them is.”
Mrs. Quack suddenly choked up with grief, and Peter Rabbit politely
turned his head away.
IV MRS. QUACK CONTINUES HER STORY IV
MRS. QUACK CONTINUES HER STORY
When Mrs. Quack told of her twelve children and how she didn't know
where one of them was, Peter Rabbit and Jerry Muskrat knew just how
badly she was feeling, and they turned their heads away and pretended
that they didn't see her tears. In a few minutes she bravely went on
with her story.
“When Jack Frost came and we knew it was time to begin the long
journey, Mr. Quack and myself and our twelve children joined with some
other Duck families, and with Mr. Quack in the lead, we started for
our winter home, which really isn't a home but just a place to stay.
For a while we had nothing much to fear. We would fly by day and at
night rest in some quiet lake or pond or on some river, with the Great
Woods all about us or sometimes great marshes. Perhaps you don't know
what marshes are. If the Green Meadows here had little streams of water
running every which way through them, and the ground was all soft
and muddy and full of water, and the grass grew tall, they would be
marshes.”
Jerry Muskrat's eyes sparkled. “I would like a place like that!” he
exclaimed.
“You certainly would,” replied Mrs. Quack. “We always find lots of your
relatives in such places.”
“Marshes must be something like swamps,” ventured Peter Rabbit, who had
been thinking the matter over.
“Very much the same, only with grass and rushes in place of trees and
bushes,” replied Mrs. Quack. “There is plenty to eat and the loveliest
hiding-places. In some of these we stayed days at a time. In fact, we
stayed until Jack Frost came to drive us out. Then as we flew, we began
to see the homes of these terrible two-legged creatures called men, and
from that time on we never knew a minute of peace, excepting when we
were flying high in the air or far out over the water. If we could have
just kept flying all the time or never had to go near the shore, we
would have been all right. But we had to eat.”
“Of course,” said Peter. “Everybody has to eat.”
“And we had to rest,” said Mrs. Quack.
“Certainly,” said Peter. “Everybody has to do that.”
“And to eat we had to go in close to shore where the water was not at
all deep, because it is only in such places that we can get food,”
continued Mrs. Quack. “It takes a lot of strength to fly as we fly,
and strength requires plenty of food. Mr. Quack knew all the best
feeding-places, for he had made the long journey several times, so
every day he would lead the way to one of these. He always chose
the wildest and most lonely looking places he could find, as far as
possible from the homes of men, but even then he was never careless.
He would lead us around back and forth over the place he had chosen,
and we would all look with all our might for signs of danger. If we saw
none, we would drop down a little nearer and a little nearer. But with
all our watchfulness, we never could be sure, absolutely sure, that all
was safe. Sometimes those terrible two-legged creatures would be hiding
in the very middle of the wildest, most lonely looking marshes. They
would be covered with grass so that we couldn't see them. Then, as we
flew over them, would come the bang, bang, bang, bang of terrible guns,
and always some of our flock would drop. We would have to leave them
behind, for we knew if we wanted to live we must get beyond the reach
of those terrible guns. So we would fly our hardest. It was awful, just
simply awful!”
Mrs. Quack paused and shuddered, and Peter Rabbit and Jerry Muskrat
shuddered in sympathy.
“Sometimes we would have to try three or four feeding-places before we
found one where there were no terrible guns. And when we did find one,
we would be so tired and frightened that we couldn't enjoy our food,
and we didn't dare to sleep without some one on watch all the time. It
was like that every day. The farther we got, the worse it became. Our
flock grew smaller and smaller. Those who escaped the terrible guns
would be so frightened that they would forget to follow their leader
and would fly in different directions and later perhaps join other
flocks. So it was that when at last we reached the place in the sunny
Southland for which we had started, Mr. Quack and I were alone. What
became of our twelve children I don't know. I am afraid the terrible
guns killed some. I hope some joined other flocks and escaped, but I
don't know.”
“I hope they did too,” said Peter.
V PETER LEARNS MORE OF MRS. QUACK'S TROUBLES V
PETER LEARNS MORE OF MRS. QUACK'S TROUBLES
It often happens when we know
The troubles that our friends pass through,
Our own seem very small indeed;
You'll always find that this is true.
“My, you must have felt glad when you reached your winter home!”
exclaimed Peter Rabbit when Mrs. Quack finished the account of her
long, terrible journey from her summer home in the far Northland to her
winter home in the far Southland.
“I did,” replied Mrs. Quack, “but all the time I couldn't forget those
to whom terrible things had happened on the way down, and then, too, I
kept dreading the long journey back.”
“I don't see why you didn't stay right there. I would have,” said
Peter, nodding his head with an air of great wisdom.
“Not if you were I,” replied Mrs. Quack. “In the first place it isn't
a proper place in which to bring up young Ducks and make them strong
and healthy. In the second place there are more dangers down there for
young Ducks than up in the far Northland. In the third place there
isn't room for all the Ducks to nest properly. And lastly there is a
great longing for our real home, which Old Mother Nature has put in our
hearts and which just _makes_ us go. We couldn't be happy if we didn't.”
“Is the journey back as bad as the journey down?” asked Peter.
“Worse, very much worse,” replied Mrs. Quack sadly. “You can see
for yourself just how bad it is, for here I am all alone.” Tears
filled Mrs. Quack's eyes. “It is almost too terrible to talk about,”
she continued after a minute. “You see, for one thing, food isn't
as plentiful as it is in the fall, and we just have to go wherever
it is to be found. Those two-legged creatures know where those
feeding-grounds are just as well as we do, and they hide there with
their terrible guns just as they did when we were coming south. But it
is much worse now, very much worse. You see, when we were going the
other way, if we found them at one place we could go on to another,
but when we are going north we cannot always do that. We cannot go any
faster than Jack Frost does. Sometimes we are driven out of a place by
the bang, bang of the terrible guns and go on, only to find that we
have caught up with Jack Frost, and that the ponds and the rivers are
still covered with ice. Then there is nothing to do but to turn back to
where those terrible guns are waiting for us. We just _have_ to do it.”
Mrs. Quack stopped and shivered. “It seems to me I have heard nothing
but the noise of those terrible guns ever since we started,” said
she. “I haven't had a good square meal for days and days, nor a good
rest. That is what makes me so dreadfully nervous. Sometimes, when we
had been driven from place to place until we had caught up with Jack
Frost, there would be nothing but ice excepting in small places in a
river where the water runs too swiftly to freeze. We would just have to
drop into one of these to rest a little, because we had flown so far
that our wings ached as if they would drop off. Then just as we would
think we were safe for a little while, there would come the bang of a
terrible gun. Then we would have to fly again as long as we could, and
finally come back to the same place because there was no other place
where we could go. Then we would have to do it all over again until
night came. Sometimes I think that those men with terrible guns must
hate us and want to kill every one of us. If they didn't, they would
have a little bit of pity. They simply haven't any hearts at all.”
“It does seem so,” agreed Peter. “But wait until you know Farmer
Brown's boy! _He's_ got a heart!” he added brightly.
“I don't want to know him,” retorted Mrs. Quack. “If he comes near
here, you'll see me leave in a hurry. I wouldn't trust one of them, not
one minute. You don't think he will come, do you?”
Peter sat up and looked across the Green Meadows, and his heart sank.
“He's coming now, but I'm sure he won't hurt you, Mrs. Quack,” said he.
But Mrs. Quack wouldn't wait to see. With a hasty promise to come back
when the way was clear, she jumped into the air and on swift wings
disappeared towards the Big River.
VI FARMER BROWN'S BOY VISITS THE SMILING POOL VI
FARMER BROWN'S BOY VISITS THE SMILING POOL
Farmer Brown's boy had heard Welcome Robin singing in the Old Orchard
quite as soon as Peter Rabbit had, and that song of “Cheer up! Cheer
up! Cheer up! Cheer!” had awakened quite as much gladness in his heart
as it had in Peter's heart. It meant that Mistress Spring really had
arrived, and that over in the Green Forest and down on the Green
Meadows there would soon be shy blue, and just as shy white violets to
look for, and other flowers almost if not quite as sweet and lovely. It
meant that his feathered friends would soon be busy house-hunting and
building. It meant that his little friends in fur would also be doing
something very similar, if they had not already done so. It meant that
soon there would be a million lovely things to see and a million joyous
sounds to hear.
So the sound of Welcome Robin's voice made the heart of Farmer Brown's
boy even more happy than it was before, and as Welcome Robin just _had_
to sing, so Farmer Brown's boy just _had_ to whistle. When his work was
finished, it seemed to Farmer Brown's boy that something was calling
him, calling him to get out on the Green Meadows or over in the Green
Forest and share in the happiness of all the little people there. So
presently he decided that he would go down to the Smiling Pool to find
out how Jerry Muskrat was, and if Grandfather Frog was awake yet, and
if the sweet singers of the Smiling Pool had begun their wonderful
spring chorus.
Down the Crooked Little Path cross the Green Meadows he tramped, and
as he drew near the Smiling Pool, he stopped whistling lest the sound
should frighten some of the little people there. He was still some
distance from the Smiling Pool when out of it sprang a big bird and on
swift, whistling wings flew away in the direction of the Big River.
Farmer Brown's boy stopped and watched until the bird had disappeared,
and on his face was a look of great surprise.
“As I live, that was a Duck!” he exclaimed. “That is the first time
I've ever known a wild Duck to be in the Smiling Pool. I wonder what
under the sun could have brought her over here.”
Just then there was a distant bang in the direction of the Big River.
Farmer Brown's boy scowled, and it made his face very angry-looking.
“That's it,” he muttered. “Hunters are shooting the Ducks on their way
north and have driven the poor things to look for any little mudhole
where they can get a little rest. Probably that Duck has been shot at
so many times on the Big River that she felt safer over here in the
Smiling Pool, little as it is.”
Farmer Brown's boy had guessed exactly right, as you and I know, and
as Peter Rabbit and Jerry Muskrat knew. “It's a shame, a downright
shame that any one should want to shoot birds on their way to their
nesting-grounds and that the law should let them if they do want
to. Some people haven't any hearts; they're all stomachs. I hope
that fellow who shot just now over there on the Big River didn't hit
anything, and I wish that gun of his might have kicked a little sense
of what is right and fair into his head, but of course it didn't.”
He grinned at the idea, and then he continued his way towards the
Smiling Pool. He hoped he might find another Duck there, and he
approached the Smiling Pool very, very carefully.
But when he reached a point where he could see all over the Smiling
Pool, there was no one to be seen save Jerry Muskrat sitting on the Big
Rock and Peter Rabbit on the bank on the other side. Farmer Brown's boy
smiled when he saw them. “Hello, Jerry Muskrat!” said he. “I wonder
how a bite of carrot would taste to you.” He felt in his pocket and
brought out a couple of carrots. One he put on a little tussock in the
water where he knew Jerry would find it. The other he tossed across
the Smiling Pool where he felt sure Peter would find it. Presently he
noticed two or three feathers on the water close to the edge of the
bank. Mrs. Quack had left them there. “I believe that was a Mallard
Duck,” said he, as he studied them. “I know what I'll do. I'll go
straight back home and get some wheat and corn and put it here on the
edge of the Smiling Pool. Perhaps she will come back and find it.”
And this is just what Farmer Brown's boy did.
VII MRS. QUACK RETURNS VII
MRS. QUACK RETURNS
Peter Rabbit just couldn't go back to the dear Old Briar-patch. He just
_had_ to know if Mrs. Quack would come back to the Smiling Pool. He had
seen Farmer Brown's boy come there a second time and scatter wheat and
corn among the brown stalks of last summer's rushes, and he had guessed
why Farmer Brown's boy had done this. He had guessed that they had been
put there especially for Mrs. Quack, and if she should come back as she
had promised to do, he wanted to be on hand when she found those good
things to eat and hear what she would say.
[Illustration: Several times she circled around, high over the Smiling
Pool]
So Peter stayed over near the Smiling Pool and hoped with all his
might that Reddy Fox or Old Man Coyote would not take it into his
head to come hunting over there. As luck would have it, neither of
them did, and Peter had a very pleasant time gossiping with Jerry
Muskrat, listening to the sweet voices of unseen singers in the Smiling
Pool,--the Hylas, which some people call peepers,--and eating the
carrot which Farmer Brown's boy had left for him.
Jolly, round, red Mr. Sun was just getting ready to go to bed behind
the Purple Hills when Mrs. Quack returned. The first Peter knew of her
coming was the whistle of her wings as she passed over him. Several
times she circled around, high over the Smiling Pool, and Peter simply
stared in open-mouthed admiration at the speed with which she flew.
It didn't seem possible that one so big could move through the air so
fast. Twice she set her wings and seemed to just slide down almost
to the surface of the Smiling Pool, only to start her stout wings in
motion once more and circle around again. It was very clear that she
was terribly nervous and suspicious. The third time she landed in the
water with a splash and sat perfectly still with her head stretched up,
looking and listening with all her might.
“It's all right. There's nothing to be afraid of,” said Jerry Muskrat.
“Are you sure?” asked Mrs. Quack anxiously. “I've been fooled too often
by men with their terrible guns to ever feel absolutely sure that one
isn't hiding and waiting to shoot me.” As she spoke she swam about
nervously. “Peter Rabbit and I have been here ever since you left, and
I guess we ought to know,” replied Jerry Muskrat rather shortly. “There
hasn't been anybody near here excepting Farmer Brown's boy, and we told
you he wouldn't hurt you.”
“He brought us each a carrot,” Peter Rabbit broke in eagerly.
“Just the same, I wouldn't trust him,” replied Mrs. Quack. “Where is he
now?”
“He left ever so long ago, and he won't be back to-night,” declared
Peter confidently.
“I hope not,” said Mrs. Quack, with a sigh. “Did you hear the bang of
that terrible gun just after I left here?”
“Yes,” replied Jerry Muskrat. “Was it fired at you?”
Mrs. Quack nodded and held up one wing. Peter and Jerry could see that
one of the long feathers was missing. “I thought I was flying high
enough to be safe,” said she, “but when I reached the Big River there
was a bang from the bushes on the bank, and something cut that feather
out of my wing, and I felt a sharp pain in my side. It made me feel
quite ill for a while, and the place is very sore now, but I guess
I'm lucky that it was no worse. It is very hard work to know just how
far those terrible guns can throw things at you. Next time I will fly
higher.”
“Where have you been since you left us?” asked Peter.
“Eight in the middle of the Big River,” replied Mrs. Quack. “It was the
only safe place. I didn't dare go near either shore, and I'm nearly
starved. I haven't had a mouthful to eat to-day.”
Peter opened his mouth to tell her of the wheat and corn left by
Farmer Brown's boy and then closed it again. He would let her find it
for herself. If he told her about it, she might suspect a trick and
refuse to go near the place. He never had seen any one so suspicious,
not even Old Man Coyote. But he couldn't blame her, after all she had
been through. So he kept still and waited. He was learning, was Peter
Rabbit. He was learning a great deal about Mrs. Quack.
VIII MRS. QUACK HAS A GOOD MEAL AND A REST VIII
MRS. QUACK HAS A GOOD MEAL AND A REST
There's nothing like a stomach full
To make the heart feel light;
To chase away the clouds of care
And make the world seem bright.
That's a fact. A full stomach makes the whole world seem different,
brighter, better, and more worth living in. It is the hardest kind of
hard work to be cheerful and see only the bright side of things when
your stomach is empty. But once fill that empty stomach, and everything
is changed. It was just that way with Mrs. Quack. For days at a time
she hadn't had a full stomach because of the hunters with their
terrible guns, and when just before dark that night she returned to the
Smiling Pool, her stomach was quite empty.
“I don't suppose I'll find much to eat here, but a little in peace
and safety is better than a feast with worry and danger,” said she,
swimming over to the brown, broken-down bulrushes on one side of the
Smiling Pool and appearing to stand on her head as she plunged it under
water and searched in the mud on the bottom for food. Peter Rabbit
looked over at Jerry Muskrat sitting on the Big Rock, and Jerry winked.
In a minute up bobbed the head of Mrs. Quack, and there was both a
pleased and a worried look on her face. She had found some of the corn
left there by Farmer Brown's boy. At once she swam out to the middle of
the Smiling Pool, looking suspiciously this way and that way.
“There is corn over there,” said she. “Do you know how it came there?”
“I saw Farmer Brown's boy throwing something over there,” replied
Peter. “Didn't we tell you that he would be good to you?”
“Quack, quack, quack! I've seen that kind of kindness too often to
be fooled by it,” snapped Mrs. Quack. “He probably saw me leave in a
hurry and put this corn here, hoping that I would come back and find
it and make up my mind to stay here a while. He thinks that if I do,
he'll have a chance to hide near enough to shoot me. I didn't believe
this could be a safe place for me, and now I know it. I'll stay here
to-night, but to-morrow I'll try to find some other place. Oh, dear,
it's dreadful not to have any place at all to feel safe in.” There were
tears in her eyes.
Peter thought of the dear Old Briar-patch and how safe he always felt
there, and he felt a great pity for poor Mrs. Quack, who couldn't feel
safe anywhere. And then right away he grew indignant that she should
be so distrustful of Farmer Brown's boy, though if he had stopped to
think, he would have remembered that once he was just as distrustful.
“I should think,” said Peter with a great deal of dignity, “that you
might at least believe what Jerry Muskrat and I, who live here all the
time, tell you. We ought to know Farmer Brown's boy if any one does,
and we tell you that he won't harm a feather of you.”
“He won't get the chance!” snapped Mrs. Quack.
Jerry Muskrat sniffed in disgust. “I don't doubt you have suffered a
lot from men with terrible guns,” said he, “but you don't suppose Peter
and I have lived as long as we have without learning a little, do you?
I wouldn't trust many of those two-legged creatures myself, but Farmer
Brown's boy is different. If all of them were like him, we wouldn't
have a thing to fear from them. He has a heart. Yes, indeed, he has a
heart. Now you take my advice and eat whatever he has put there for
you, be thankful, and stop worrying. Peter and I will keep watch and
warn you if there is any danger.”
I don't know as even this would have overcome Mrs. Quack's fears if it
hadn't been for the taste of that good corn in her mouth, and her empty
stomach. She couldn't, she just couldn't resist these, and presently
she was back among the rushes, hunting out the corn and wheat as fast
as ever she could. When at last she could eat no more, she felt so
comfortable that somehow the Smiling Pool didn't seem such a dangerous
place after all, and she quite forgot Farmer Brown's boy. She found a
snug hiding-place among the rushes too far out from the bank for Reddy
Fox to surprise her, and then with a sleepy “Good night” to Jerry and
Peter, she tucked her head under her wing and soon was fast asleep.
Peter Rabbit tiptoed away, and then he hurried lipperty-lipperty-lip to
the dear Old Briar-patch to tell Mrs. Peter all about Mrs. Quack.
IX PETER RABBIT MAKES AN EARLY CALL IX
PETER RABBIT MAKES AN EARLY CALL
Peter Rabbit was so full of interest in Mrs. Quack and her troubles
that he was back at the Smiling Pool before Mr. Sun had kicked off his
rosy blankets and begun his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky. You
see, he felt that he had heard only a part of Mrs. Quack's story, and
he was dreadfully afraid that she would get away before he could hear
the rest. With the first bit of daylight, Mrs. Quack swam out from her
hiding-place among the brown rushes. It looked to Peter as if she sat
up on the end of her tail as she stretched her neck and wings just as
far as she could, and he wanted to laugh right out. Then she quickly
ducked her head under water two or three times so that the water rolled
down over her back, and again Peter wanted to laugh. But he didn't.
He kept perfectly still. Mrs. Quack shook herself and then began to
carefully dress her feathers. That is, she carefully put back in place
every feather that had been rumpled up. She took a great deal of time
for this, for Mrs. Quack is very neat and tidy and takes the greatest
pride in looking as fine as she can.
Of course it was very impolite of Peter to watch her make her toilet,
but he didn't think of that. He didn't mean to be impolite. And then it
was so interesting. “Huh!” said he to himself, “I don't see what any
one wants to waste so much time on their clothes for.”
You know Peter doesn't waste any time on his clothes. In fact, he
doesn't seem to care a bit how he looks. He hasn't learned yet that it
always pays to be as neat and clean as possible and that you must think
well of yourself if you want others to think well of you.
When at last Mrs. Quack had taken a final shower bath and appeared
satisfied that she was looking her best, Peter opened his mouth to
ask her the questions he was so full of, but closed it again as he
remembered people are usually better natured when their stomachs are
full, and Mrs. Quack had not yet breakfasted. So he waited as patiently
as he could, which wasn't patiently at all. At last Mrs. Quack finished
her breakfast, and then she had to make her toilet all over again.
Finally Peter hopped to the edge of the bank where she would see him.
“Good morning, Mrs. Quack,” said he very politely. “I hope you had a
good rest and are feeling very well this morning.”
“Thank you,” replied Mrs. Quack. “I'm feeling as well as could be
expected. In fact, I'm feeling better than I have felt for some time in
spite of the sore place made by that terrible gun yesterday. You see,
I have had a good rest and two square meals, and these are things I
haven't had since goodness knows when. This is a very nice place. Let
me see, what is it you call it?”
“The Smiling Pool,” said Peter.
“That's a good name for it,” returned Mrs. Quack. “If only I could be
sure that none of those hunters would find me here, and if only Mr.
Quack were here, I would be content to stay a while.” At the mention
of Mr. Quack, the eyes of Mrs. Quack suddenly filled with tears. Peter
felt tears of sympathy in his own eyes.
“Where is Mr. Quack?” he asked.
“I don't know,” sobbed Mrs. Quack. “I wish I did. I haven't seen him
since one of those terrible guns was fired at us over on the Big River
yesterday morning a little while before Little Joe Otter told me about
the Smiling Pool. Ever since we started for our home in the far North,
I have been fearing that something of this kind might happen. I ought
to be on my way there now, but what is the use without Mr. Quack?
Without him, I would be all alone up there and wouldn't have any home.”
“Won't you tell me all that has happened since you started on your long
journey?” asked Peter. “Perhaps some of us can help you.”
“I'm afraid you can't,” replied Mrs. Quack sadly, “but I'll tell you
all about it so that you may know just how thankful you ought to feel
that you do not have to suffer what some of us do.”
X HOW MR. AND MRS. QUACK STARTED NORTH X
HOW MR. AND MRS. QUACK STARTED NORTH
Peter Rabbit was eager to help Mrs. Quack in her trouble, though he
hadn't the least idea how he could help and neither had she. How any
one who dislikes water as Peter does could help one who lives on the
water all the time was more than either one of them could see. And yet
without knowing it, Peter _was_ helping Mrs. Quack. He was giving her
his sympathy, and sympathy often helps others a great deal more than we
even guess. It sometimes is a very good plan to tell your troubles to
some one who will listen with sympathy. It was so with Mrs. Quack. She
had kept her troubles locked in her own heart so long that it did her
good to pour them all out to Peter.
“Mr. Quack and I spent a very comfortable winter way down in the sunny
Southland,” said she with a far-away look. “It was very warm and nice
down there, and there were a great many other Ducks spending the winter
with us. The place where we were was far from the homes of men, and it
was only once in a long while that we had to watch out for terrible
guns. Of course, we had to have our wits with us all the time, because
there are Hawks and Owls and Minks down there just as there are up
here, but any Duck who can't keep out of their way deserves to furnish
one of them a dinner.
“Then there was another fellow we had to watch out for, a queer fellow
whom we never see anywhere but down there. It was never safe to swim
too near an old log floating in the water or lying on the bank, because
it might suddenly open a great mouth and swallow one of us whole.”
“What's that?” Peter Rabbit leaned forward and stared at Mrs. Quack
with his eyes popping right out. “What's that?” he repeated. “How can
an old log have a mouth?”
Mrs. Quack just had to smile, Peter was so in earnest and looked so
astonished.
“Of course,” said she, “no really truly log has a mouth or is alive,
but this queer fellow I was speaking of looks so much like an old log
floating in the water unless you look at him very sharply, that many a
heedless young Duck has discovered the difference when it was too late.
Then, too, he will swim under water and come up underneath and seize
you without any warning. He has the biggest mouth I've ever seen, with
terrible-looking teeth, and could swallow me whole.”
[Illustration: “Some folks call him Alligator and some just 'Gator.”]
By this time Peter's eyes looked as if they would fall out of his head.
“What is his name?” whispered Peter.
“It's Old Ally the 'Gator,” replied Mrs. Quack. “Some folks call him
Alligator and some just 'Gator, but we call him Old Ally. He's a very
interesting old fellow. Some time perhaps I'll tell you more about
him. Mr. Quack and I kept out of his reach, you may be sure. We lived
quietly and tried to get in as good condition as possible for the long
journey back to our home in the North. When it was time to start, a lot
of us got together, just as we did when we came down from the North,
only this time the young Ducks felt themselves quite grown up. In fact,
before we started there was a great deal of love-making, and each one
chose a mate. That was a very happy time, a very happy time indeed, but
it was a sad time too for us older Ducks, because we knew what dreadful
things were likely to happen on the long journey. It is hard enough to
lose father or mother or brother or sister, but it is worse to lose a
dear mate.”
Mrs. Quack's eyes suddenly filled with tears again. “Oh, dear,” she
sobbed, “I wish I knew what became of Mr. Quack.”
Peter said nothing, but looked the sympathy he felt. Presently Mrs.
Quack went on with her story. “We had a splendid big flock when we
started, made up wholly of pairs, each pair dreaming of the home they
would build when they reached the far North. Mr. Quack was the leader
as usual, and I flew right behind him. We hadn't gone far before we
began to hear the terrible guns, and the farther we went, the worse
they got. Mr. Quack led us to the safest feeding and resting grounds he
knew of, and for a time our flock escaped the terrible guns. But the
farther we went, the more guns there were.” Mrs. Quack paused and Peter
waited.
XI THE TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE GUNS XI
THE TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE GUNS
“Bang! Bang! Bang! Not a feather spare!
Kill! Kill! Kill! Wound and rip and tear!”
That is what the terrible guns roar from morning to night at Mrs. Quack
and her friends as they fly on their long journey to their home in the
far North. I don't wonder that she was terribly uneasy and nervous as
she sat in the Smiling Pool talking to Peter Rabbit; do you?
“Yes,” said she, continuing her story of her long journey from the
sunny Southland where she had spent the winter, “the farther we got,
the more there were of those terrible guns. It grew so bad that as well
as Mr. Quack knew the places where we could find food, and no Duck
that ever flew knew them better, he couldn't find one where we could
feel perfectly sure that we were safe. The very safest-looking places
sometimes were the most dangerous. If you saw a lot of Rabbits playing
together on the Green Meadows, you would feel perfectly safe in joining
them, wouldn't you?”
Peter nodded. “I certainly would,” said he. “If it was safe for them it
certainly would be safe for me.”
“Well, that is just the way we felt when we saw a lot of Ducks swimming
about on the edge of one of those feeding-places. We were tired, for
we had flown a long distance, and we were hungry. It was still and
peaceful there and not a thing to be seen that looked the least bit
like danger. So we went straight in to join those Ducks, and then, just
as we set our wings to drop down on the water among them, there was a
terrible bang, bang, bang, bang! My heart almost stopped beating. Then
how we did fly! When we were far out over the water where we could see
that nothing was near us we stopped to rest, and there we found only
half as many in our flock as there had been.”
“Where were the others?” asked Peter, although he guessed.
“Killed or hurt by those terrible guns,” replied Mrs. Quack sadly.
“And that wasn't the worst of it. I told you that when we started each
of us had a mate. Now we found that of those who had escaped, four
had lost their mates. They were heartbroken. When it came time for us
to move on, they wouldn't go. They said that if they did reach the
nesting-place in the far North, they couldn't have nests or eggs or
young because they had no mates, so what was the use? Besides, they
hoped that if they waited around they might find their mates. They
thought they might not have been killed, but just hurt, and might be
able to get away from those hunters. So they left us and swam back
towards that terrible place, calling for their lost mates, and it was
the saddest sound. I know now just how they felt, for I have lost Mr.
Quack, and that's why I'm here.” Mrs. Quack drew a wing across her eyes
to wipe away the tears.
“But what happened to those Ducks that were swimming about there and
made you think it was safe?” asked Peter, with a puzzled look on his
face.
“Nothing,” replied Mrs. Quack. “They had been fastened out there in the
water by the hunters so as to make us think it safe, and the terrible
guns were fired at us and not at them. The hunters were hidden under
grass, and that is why we didn't see them.”
Peter blinked his eyes rapidly as if he were having hard work to
believe what he had been told. “Why,” said he at last, “I never heard
of anything so dreadfully unfair in all my life! Do you mean to tell me
that those hunters actually made other Ducks lead you into danger?”
“That's just what I mean,” returned Mrs. Quack. “Those two-legged
creatures don't know what fairness is. Why, some of them have learned
our language and actually call us in where they can shoot us. Just
think of that! They tell us in our own language that there is plenty to
eat and all is safe, so that we will think that other Ducks are hidden
and feeding there, and then when we go to join them, we are shot at!
You ought to be mighty thankful, Peter Rabbit, that you are not a Duck.”
“I am,” replied Peter. He knew that not one of the meadow and forest
people who were always trying to catch him would do a thing like that.
“It's all true,” said Mrs. Quack, “and those hunters do other things
just as unfair. Sometimes awful storms will come up, and we just have
to find places where we can rest. Those hunters will hide near those
places and shoot at us when we are so tired that we can hardly move
a wing. It wouldn't be so bad if a hunter would be satisfied to kill
just one Duck, just as Reddy Fox is, but he seems to want to kill
_every_ Duck. Foxes and Hawks and Owls catch a good many young Ducks,
just as they do young Rabbits, but you know how we feel about that.
They only hunt when they are hungry, and they hunt fairly. When, they
have got enough to make a dinner, they stop. They keep our wits sharp.
If we do not keep out of their way, it is our own fault. It is a kind
of game--the game of life. I guess it is Old Mother Nature's way of
keeping us wide-awake and sharpening our wits, and so making us better
fitted to live.
“With these two-legged creatures with terrible guns, it is all
different. We don't have any chance at all. If they hunted us as Reddy
Fox does, tried to catch us themselves, it would be different. But
their terrible guns kill when we are a long way off, and there isn't
any way for us to know of the danger. And then, when one of them does
kill a Duck, he isn't satisfied, but keeps on killing and killing and
killing. I'm sure one would make him a dinner, if that is what he wants.
“And they often simply break the wings or otherwise terribly hurt the
ones they shoot at, and then leave them to suffer, unable to take care
of themselves. Oh, dear, I'm afraid that is what has happened to Mr.
Quack.”
Once more poor Mrs. Quack was quite overcome with her troubles and
sorrows. Peter wished with all his heart that he could do something to
comfort her, but of course he couldn't, so he just sat still and waited
until she could tell him just what did happen to Mr. Quack.
XII WHAT DID HAPPEN TO MR. QUACK XII
WHAT DID HAPPEN TO MR. QUACK
“When did you last see Mr. Quack?” asked Jerry Muskrat, who had been
listening while Mrs. Quack told Peter Rabbit about her terrible journey.
“Early yesterday morning,” replied Mrs. Quack, the tears once more
filling her eyes. “We had reached the Big River over there, just six of
us out of the big flock that had started from the sunny Southland. How
we got as far as that I don't know. But we did, and neither Mr. Quack
nor I had lost a feather from those terrible guns that had banged at us
all the way up and that had killed so many of our friends.
“We were flying up the Big River, and everything seemed perfectly safe.
We were in a hurry, and when we came to a bend in the Big River, we
flew quite close to shore, so as not to have to go way out and around.
That was where Mr. Quack made a mistake. Even the smartest people will
make mistakes sometimes, you know.”
Peter Rabbit nodded, “I know,” said he. “I've made them myself.” And
then he wondered why Jerry Muskrat laughed right out.
“Yes,” continued Mrs. Quack, “that is where Mr. Quack made a mistake, a
great mistake. I suppose that because not a single gun had been fired
at us that morning he thought perhaps there were no hunters on the Big
River. So to save time he led us close to shore. And then it happened.
There was a bang, bang of a terrible gun, and down fell Mr. Quack just
as we had seen so many fall before. It was awful. There was Mr. Quack
flying in front of me on swift, strong wings, and there never was a
swifter, stronger flier or a handsomer Duck than Mr. Quack, and then
all in the wink of an eye he was tumbling helplessly down, down to the
water below, and I was flying on alone, for the other Ducks turned
off, and I don't know what became of them. I couldn't stop to see what
became of Mr. Quack, because if I had, that terrible gun would have
killed me. So I kept on a little way and then turned and went back,
only I kept out in the middle of the Big River. I dropped down on the
water and swam about, calling and calling, but I didn't get any answer,
and so I don't know what has become of Mr. Quack. I am afraid he was
killed, and if he was, I wish I had been killed myself.”
Here Mrs. Quack choked up so that she couldn't say another word.
Peter's own eyes were full of tears as he tried to comfort her.
“Perhaps,” said he, “Mr. Quack wasn't killed and is hiding somewhere
along the Big River. I don't know why I feel so, but I feel sure that
he wasn't killed, and that you will find him yet.”
“That's why I've waited instead of going on,” replied Mrs. Quack
between sobs, “though it wouldn't have been of any use to go on without
my dear mate. I'm going back to the Big River now to look for him. The
trouble is, I don't dare go near the shore, and if he is alive, he
probably is hiding somewhere among the rushes along the banks. I think
I'll be going along now, but I'll be back to-night if nothing happens
to me. You folks who can always stay at home have a great deal to be
thankful for.”
“It's lucky for me that Mrs. Peter wasn't here to hear her say that,”
said Peter, as he and Jerry Muskrat watched Mrs. Quack fly swiftly
towards the Big River. “Mrs. Peter is forever worrying and scolding
because I don't stay in the dear Old Briar-patch. If she had heard Mrs.
Quack say that, I never would have heard the last of it. I wish there
was something we could do for Mrs. Quack. I'm going back to the dear
Old Briar-patch to think it over, and I guess the sooner I start the
better, for that looks to me like Reddy Fox over there, and he's headed
this way.”
So off for home started Peter, lipperty-lipperty-lip, as fast as he
could go, and all the way there he was turning over in his mind what
Mrs. Quack had told him and trying to think of some way to help her.
XIII PETER TELLS ABOUT MRS. QUACK XIII
PETER TELLS ABOUT MRS. QUACK
To get things done, if you'll but try,
You'll always find there is a way.
What you yourself can't do alone
The chances are another may.
When Peter Rabbit was once more safely back in the dear Old
Briar-patch, he told Mrs. Peter all about poor Mrs. Quack and her
troubles. Then for a long, long time he sat in a brown study. A brown
study, you know, is sitting perfectly still and thinking very hard.
That was what Peter did. He sat so still that if you had happened
along, you probably would have thought him asleep. But he wasn't
asleep. No, indeed! He was just thinking and thinking. He was trying to
think of some way to help Mrs. Quack. At last he gave a little sigh of
disappointment.
[Illustration: “Just tuck that fact away in that empty head of yours
and never say can't.”]
“It can't be done,” said he. “There isn't any way.”
“What can't be done?” demanded a voice right over his head.
Peter looked up. There sat Sammy Jay. Peter had been thinking so hard
that he hadn't seen Sammy arrive.
“What can't be done?” repeated Sammy. “There isn't anything that can't
be done. There are plenty of things that you can't do, but what you
can't do some one else can. Just tuck that fact away in that empty head
of yours and never say can't.” You know Sammy dearly loves to tease
Peter.
Peter made a good-natured face at Sammy. “Which means, I suppose, that
what I can't do you can. You always did have a pretty good opinion of
yourself, Sammy,” said he.
“Nothing of the kind,” retorted Sammy. “I simply mean that nobody can
do everything, and that very often two heads are better than one. It
struck me that you had something on your mind, and I thought I might
be able to help you get rid of it. But of course, if you don't want my
help, supposing I could and would give it to you, that is an end of the
matter, and I guess I'll be on my way. The Old Briar-patch is rather a
dull place anyway.”
Peter started to make a sharp retort, but thought better of it. Instead
he replied mildly: “I was just trying to think of some way to help poor
Mrs. Quack.”
“Help Mrs. Quack!” exclaimed Sammy in surprise. “Where under the sun
did you get acquainted with Mrs. Quack? What's the matter with her? She
always has looked to me quite able to help herself.”
“Well, she isn't. That is, she needs others to help her just now,”
replied Peter, “and I've been most thinking my head off trying to find
a way to help her.” Then he told Sammy how he had met Mrs. Quack at
the Smiling Pool and how terrible her long journey up from the sunny
Southland had been, and how Mr. Quack had been shot by a hunter with a
terrible gun, and how poor Mrs. Quack was quite heartbroken, and how
she had gone over to the Big River to look for him but didn't dare go
near the places where he might be hiding if he were still alive and
hurt so that he couldn't fly, and how cruel and terribly unfair were
the men with terrible guns, and all the other things he had learned
from Mrs. Quack.
Sammy listened with his head cocked on one side, and for once he didn't
interrupt Peter or try to tease him or make fun of him. In fact, as
Peter looked up at him, he could see that Sammy was very serious and
thoughtful, and that the more he heard of Mrs. Quack's story the more
thoughtful he looked. When Peter finished, Sammy flew down a little
nearer to Peter.
“I beg your pardon for saying your head is empty, Peter,” said he.
“Your heart is right, anyway. Of course, there isn't anything you can
do to help Mrs. Quack, but as I told you in the beginning, what you
can't do others can. Now I don't say that I can help Mrs. Quack, but I
can try. I believe I'll do a little thinking myself.”
So Sammy Jay in his turn went into a brown study, and Peter watched him
anxiously and a little hopefully.
XIV SAMMY JAY'S PLAN TO HELP MRS. QUACK XIV
SAMMY JAY'S PLAN TO HELP MRS. QUACK
Sammy Jay sat on the lowest branch of a little tree in the dear Old
Briar-patch just over Peter Rabbit's head, thinking as hard as ever he
could. Peter watched him and wondered if Sammy would be able to think
of any plan for helping poor Mrs. Quack. He hoped so. He himself had
thought and thought until he felt as if his brains were all mixed up
and he couldn't think any more. So he watched Sammy and waited and
hoped.
Presently Sammy flirted his wings in a way which Peter knew meant that
he had made up his mind. “Did I understand you to say that Mrs. Quack
said that if Mr. Quack is alive, he probably is hiding among the rushes
along the banks of the Big River?” he asked.
Peter nodded.
“And that she said that she doesn't dare go near the banks because of
fear of the terrible guns?”
Again Peter nodded.
“Well, if that's the case, what is the matter with some of us who are
not afraid of the terrible guns looking for Mr. Quack?” said Sammy.
“I will, for one, and I'm quite sure that my cousin, Blacky the Crow,
will, for another. He surely will if he thinks it will spoil the plans
of any hunters. Blacky would go a long distance to do that. He hates
terrible guns and the men who use them. And he knows all about them. He
has very sharp eyes, has Blacky, and he knows when a man has got a gun
and when he hasn't. More than that, he can tell better than any one I
know of just how near he can safely go to one of those terrible guns.
He is smart, my cousin Blacky is, and if he will help me look for Mr.
Quack, we'll find him if he is alive.”
“That will be splendid!” cried Peter, clapping his hands. “But aren't
you afraid of those terrible guns, Sammy?”
“Not when the hunters are trying for Ducks,” replied Sammy. “If there
is a Duck anywhere in sight, they won't shoot at poor little me or even
at Blacky, though they would shoot at him any other time. You see,
they know that shooting at us would frighten the Ducks. Blacky knows
all about the Big River. In the winter he often gets considerable of
his food along its banks. I've been over there a number of times, but
I don't know so much about it as he does. Now here is my plan. I'll go
find Blacky and tell him all about what we want to do for Mrs. Quack.
Then, when Mrs. Quack comes back to the Smiling Pool, if she hasn't
found Mr. Quack, we'll tell her what we are going to do and what she
must do. She must swim right up the Big River, keeping out in the
middle where she will be safe. If there are any hunters hiding along
the bank, they will see her, and then they won't shoot at Blacky or me
because they will keep hoping that Mrs. Quack will swim in near enough
for them to shoot her. Blacky will fly along over one bank of the Big
River, and I will do the same over the other bank, keeping as nearly
opposite Mrs. Quack as we can. Being up in the air that way and looking
down, we will be able to see the hunters and also Mr. Quack, if he is
hiding among the rushes. Are you quite sure that Mrs. Quack will come
back to the Smiling Pool to-night?”
“She said she would,” replied Peter. “Last night she came just a little
while before dark, and I think she will do the same thing to-night, to
see if any more corn has been left for her. You know Farmer Brown's boy
put some there yesterday, and it tasted so good to her that I don't
believe she will be able to stay away, even if she wants to. I think
your plan is perfectly splendid, Sammy Jay. I do hope Blacky the Crow
will help.”
“He will. Don't worry about that,” replied Sammy. “Hello! There goes
Farmer Brown's boy over to the Smiling Pool now.”
“Then there will be some more corn for Mrs. Quack. I just know it!”
cried Peter. “He is going to see if Mrs. Quack is there, and I just
know he has his pockets full of corn.”
“I wouldn't mind a little of it myself,” said Sammy. “Well, I must go
along to hunt up Blacky. Good-by, Peter.”
“Good-by and good luck,” replied Peter. “I've always said you are not
half such a bad fellow as you try to make folks think you are, Sammy
Jay.”
“Thanks,” said Sammy, and started for the Green Forest to look for his
cousin, Blacky the Crow.
XV THE HUNT FOR MR. QUACK XV
THE HUNT FOR MR. QUACK
In spite of her hopelessness in regard to Mr. Quack, there is no doubt
that Mrs. Quack felt better that night after she had eaten the corn
left among the rushes of the Smiling Pool by Farmer Brown's boy. Now
she had that very comfortable feeling that goes with a full stomach,
she could think better. As the Black Shadows crept across the Smiling
Pool, she turned over in her mind Sammy Jay's plan for helping her the
next day. The more she thought about it, the better it seemed, and she
began to feel a little ashamed that she had not appeared more grateful
to Sammy when he told her. At the time she had been tired and hungry
and discouraged. Now she was beginning to feel rested, and she was no
longer hungry. These things made all the difference in the world. As
she thought over Sammy's plan, she began to feel a little hope, and
when at last she put her head under her wing to go to sleep, she had
made up her mind that the plan was worth trying, and that she would do
her part.
Bright and early the next morning, Sammy Jay and Blacky the Crow were
in the Big Hickory-tree near the Smiling Pool ready to start for the
Big River to hunt for Mr. Quack. Peter Rabbit had been so afraid that
he would miss something that he had stayed near the Smiling Pool all
night, so he was on hand to see the start.
It had been agreed that Mrs. Quack was to go to a certain place on the
Big River and then swim up as far as she thought it would be of any
use. She was to stay in the middle of the river, where she would be
quite safe from hunters with terrible guns, and where also these same
hunters would be sure to see her and so not be tempted to shoot at
Blacky the Crow if he happened to fly over them. You see, they would
hope that Mrs. Quack would swim in near enough to be shot and so would
not risk frightening her by shooting at Blacky.
When Mrs. Quack had finished her breakfast, she started for the Big
River, and her stout wings moved so swiftly that they made a whistling
sound. Sammy Jay and Blacky the Crow followed her, but though they flew
as fast as they could, Mrs. Quack had reached the Big River before they
had gone half the way. When they did get there, they saw Mrs. Quack out
in the middle, swimming about and watching for them. Blacky flew across
the river and pretended to be hunting for food along the farther bank,
just as every hunter knows he often does. Sammy Jay did the same thing
on the other bank.
Mrs. Quack swam slowly up the Big River, keeping in the middle, and
Blacky and Sammy followed along up the two banks, all the time using
their sharp eyes for all they were worth to find Mr. Quack hiding among
the broken-down rushes or under the bushes in the water, for the Big
River had overflowed its banks, and in some places bushes and trees
were in the water.
Now Sammy Jay dearly loves to hunt for things. Whenever he knows that
one of his neighbors in the Green Forest has hidden something, he likes
to hunt for it. It isn't so much that he wants what has been hidden, as
it is that he wants to feel he is smart enough to find it. When he does
find it, he usually steals it, I'm sorry to say. But it is the fun of
hunting that Sammy enjoys most. So now Sammy thoroughly enjoyed hunting
for Mr. Quack. He peered into every likely hiding-place and became so
interested that he quite forgot about the hunters who might be waiting
along the bank.
So it happened that he didn't see a boat drawn in among the bushes
until he was right over it. Sitting in it was a man with a terrible
gun, very intently watching Mrs. Quack out in the middle of the Big
River. Sammy was so startled that before he thought he opened his mouth
and screamed “Thief! thief! thief!” at the top of his lungs, and flew
away with all his might. Mrs. Quack heard his scream and understood
just what it meant.
A little later Blacky the Crow discovered another hunter hiding behind
the bushes on his side. “Caw! caw! caw!” shouted Blacky, flying out
over the water far enough to be safe from that terrible gun he could
see.
“Quack! quack!” replied Mrs. Quack, which meant that she understood.
And so the hunt went on without a sign of poor Mr. Quack.
XVI SAMMY JAY SEES SOMETHING GREEN XVI
SAMMY JAY SEES SOMETHING GREEN
For all their peeking and peering among the broken-down rushes and
under the bushes along the banks of the Big River, and no sharper eyes
ever peeked and peered, Sammy Jay and Blacky the Crow had found no sign
of the missing Mr. Quack.
“I guess Mrs. Quack was right and that Mr. Quack was killed when he was
shot,” muttered Sammy to himself. “Probably one of those hunters had
him for dinner long ago. Hello! There's another hunter up where the
Laughing Brook joins the Big River! I guess I won't take any chances.
I'd like to find Mr. Quack, but Sammy Jay is a lot more important to me
than Mr. Quack, and that fellow just might happen to take it into his
head to shoot at me.”
So Sammy silently flew around back of the hunter and stopped in a tree
where he could watch all that the man did. For some time Sammy sat
there watching. The hunter was sitting behind a sort of fence of bushes
which quite hid him from any one who might happen to be out on the Big
River. But of course Sammy could see him perfectly, because he was
behind him. Out in front of that little fence, which was on the very
edge of the water, were a number of what Sammy at first took to be some
of Mrs. Quack's relatives. “Why doesn't he shoot them?” thought Sammy.
He puzzled over this as he watched them until suddenly it came into
his head that he hadn't seen one of them move since he began watching
them. The man changed his position, and still those Ducks didn't move,
although some of them were so near that they simply couldn't have
helped knowing when the hunter moved unless they were more stupid than
any one of Sammy's acquaintance.
This was very curious, very curious indeed. Sammy flew a little nearer
and then a little nearer, taking the greatest care not to make a sound.
Pretty soon he was so near that he could see those Ducks very plainly,
and he stared with all his might. He couldn't see any feathers! No,
Sir, he couldn't see any feathers! Then he understood.
“Huh!” said he to himself. “Those are not Ducks at all. They are just
pieces of wood made to look like Ducks. Now I wonder what they are for.”
In a few minutes he found out. He saw the hunter crouch down a little
lower and look down the Big River. Sammy looked too. He saw a flock
of real Ducks flying swiftly just above the middle of the Big River.
Suddenly the leader turned straight towards the place where the hunter
was hiding, and the others followed him. He could hear Mrs. Quack
calling excitedly out in the middle of the Big River, but the strangers
did not heed her. They had their eyes on those wooden Ducks and were
coming straight in to join them.
“They think they are real Ducks and so this place is perfectly safe!”
thought Sammy. He saw the hunter make ready to shoot with his terrible
gun and then, without stopping to think what might happen to him, he
opened his mouth and screamed at the top of his voice. He saw the Ducks
suddenly swing out towards the middle of the Big River and knew that
they had heard his warning. He saw the hunter suddenly rise and point
his gun at the flying Ducks. He heard the bang, bang of the terrible
gun, but not one of the flock was hit. The distance was too great.
Sammy chuckled happily. Then he remembered that he himself was within
easy reach of that terrible gun, and probably the hunter was very
angry. In great fright Sammy turned and flew, dodging behind trees and
every second expecting to hear again the roar of that terrible gun.
But he didn't, and so when he thought he was safe, he stopped. Now in
flying away from the hunter he had followed the Laughing Brook where it
winds through a sort of swamp before it joins the Big River. Because
there was more water than could be kept between the banks of the Big
River, it had crept over the banks, and all the trees of the swamp were
standing in water. Just beyond where Sammy was sitting was a pile of
brush in the water. A Jolly Little Sunbeam, dancing down through the
tree tops, touched something under the edge of the brush, and Sammy's
sharp eyes caught a flash of green. Idly he watched it, and presently
it moved. Instantly Sammy was all curiosity. He flew over where he
could see better.
“Now what can that be?” thought Sammy, as he peered down at the pile of
brush and tried to see under it.
XVII MR. QUACK IS FOUND AT LAST XVII
MR. QUACK IS FOUND AT LAST
Sammy Jay's eyes sparkled as he watched that spot of green under the
pile of brush in the swamp through which the Laughing Brook finds its
way to join the Big River. All around was water, for you know it was
spring, and the melting snows on the hills way up where the Big River
has its beginning were pouring more water into the Big River than
its banks would hold as it hurried down to the Great Ocean. It just
couldn't hurry fast enough to take all that water down as fast as it
ran into the Big River, and so the water had crept over the banks in
places. It had done this right here in the little swamp where Sammy was.
Sammy sat perfectly still, for he learned long ago that only by keeping
perfectly still may one see all that is to be seen. That green spot
had moved. He was sure of that. And if it moved, it must be something
alive. If it were alive, it must be somebody, and Sammy wanted to know
who it was. Try as he would he couldn't remember any one who wore such
glossy green as that. So he sat perfectly still, for he knew that if
whoever was hiding under that brush should even guess that he was being
watched, he would not come out.
So, his eyes sparkling with excitement, Sammy watched. He was
impatiently patient. Did you know that it is possible to be impatiently
patient? Well, it is. Sammy was just boiling with impatience inside,
but he didn't let that impatience spoil the patience of his waiting.
He sat there just as still as still, with his eyes fixed on that green
spot, and you would never have guessed that he was fairly bursting with
impatience to know who it was he was watching. That is what is called
self-control. It means the power to make yourself do a certain thing,
no matter how much you may want to do something else. It is a splendid
thing to have, is self-control.
After what seemed to Sammy a very long time, the green spot moved
again. Little by little something reached out from under the pile of
brush. It was a head, a very beautiful green head, and it was exactly
like Mrs. Quack's head, only hers was a sober brown instead of green.
Sammy choked back a little gasp of surprise as a sudden thought popped
into his head. Could this be the lost Mr. Quack? He had forgotten that
probably Mr. Quack dressed differently from Mrs. Quack, and so of
course he had been looking for some one all in brown. There was the
bang of a gun somewhere over on the Big River, and the green head was
hastily withdrawn under the bush, but not before Sammy had seen a look
of terrible fear in his eyes. “I believe it _is_ Mr. Quack!” thought
Sammy. “If it is, I'll have the best news ever to tell Mrs. Quack. Just
trust Sammy Jay to find anything he goes looking for.”
This was just plain boasting, and Sammy knew it. But Sammy always does
have a good opinion of himself. It is one of his faults. He quite lost
sight of the fact that it was entirely by accident that he had come
over to this swamp. Now that he had guessed who this might be, he was
less impatient. He waited as still as you please, and at last the green
head was slowly stretched out again, and Sammy could see that the neck
was green, too, and that around the neck was a white collar. Sammy
could keep still no longer.
[Illustration: “Yes,” said he in a low voice, “I am Mr. Quack.”]
“Are you Mr. Quack?” he asked eagerly.
The beautiful head disappeared like a flash. Sammy waited a minute or
two, before he repeated his question, adding: “You needn't be afraid.
There isn't anybody here but me, and I'm your friend. I just want to
know if you are Mr. Quack because I've been looking for you for Mrs.
Quack. Are you?”
Slowly, looking this way and that way with fear and suspicion in his
eyes, a handsome Duck came out from under the pile of brush. “Yes,”
said he in a low voice, “I am Mr. Quack. Where is Mrs. Quack?”
“Safe and sound over on the Big River,” replied Sammy joyfully. “Oh,
I'm so glad I've found you!”
XVIII SAMMY JAY SENDS MRS. QUACK TO THE SWAMP XVIII
SAMMY JAY SENDS MRS. QUACK TO THE SWAMP
When Sammy Jay left Mr. Quack in the swamp over by the bank of the Big
River, he flew straight back to the Smiling Pool. At first he thought
of flying out over the Big River and screaming the news to Mrs. Quack,
who, you know, was swimming about out there. But he knew that if he
did, she would very likely fly right over where Mr. Quack was, and
that wouldn't do at all. No, indeed, that wouldn't do at all. One of
the hunters would be sure to see her. So Sammy wisely flew back to the
Smiling Pool to wait until Mrs. Quack should come back there for the
night.
Of course he told Peter Rabbit all about Mr. Quack, and Peter was so
delighted at the thought that Mr. Quack was alive that he capered about
in quite the craziest way. “Does Mrs. Quack know yet?” asked Peter.
Sammy shook his head. “I'm going to tell her when she comes back here
to-night,” he explained. “I was afraid if I told her before then she
would fly straight to him and perhaps get them both in trouble.”
“Quite right, Sammy! Quite right!” Peter exclaimed. “I wouldn't have
thought of that. My, won't she be happy when you do tell her! I wonder
what she'll say and what she'll do. I'm going to stay right here so as
to see her when she hears the good news. Here comes your cousin, Blacky
the Crow. Does he know yet?”
“No,” replied Sammy, “but I'm going to tell him as soon as he gets
here.” They watched Blacky draw nearer and nearer, and as soon as he
was within hearing Sammy shouted the news. “Caw, caw, caw,” replied
Blacky, hurrying a little faster.
As soon as he reached the Big Hickory-tree, Sammy told the whole story
over again, and Blacky was quite as glad as the others. While they
waited for Mrs. Quack he told how he had hunted and hunted along the
farther bank of the Big River and how he had seen the hunters with
their terrible guns hiding and had warned Mrs. Quack just where each
one was.
Jolly, round, red Mr. Sun was getting ready to go to bed behind the
Purple Hills and the Black Shadows were beginning to creep out over the
Green Meadows before Mrs. Quack came. In fact, Sammy Jay and Blacky
were getting very uneasy. It was almost bed-time for them, for neither
of them dared stay out after dark. They had almost made up their minds
to leave Peter to tell the news when they saw Mrs. Quack coming swiftly
from the direction of the Big River. She looked so sad and discouraged
that even Blacky the Crow was sorry for her, and you know Blacky isn't
much given to such feelings.
“What's the news, Mrs. Quack?” asked Peter, his eyes dancing.
“There isn't any,” replied Mrs. Quack.
“Oh, yes, there is!” cried Sammy Jay, who couldn't possibly keep still
any longer.
“What is it?” demanded Mrs. Quack eagerly, and it seemed to Peter that
there was a wee bit of hope in her voice.
“Did you happen to notice that just before the Laughing Brook joins the
Big River it flows through a little swamp?” asked Sammy.
Mrs. Quack nodded her head rapidly. “What of it?” she demanded.
“Nothing much, only if I were you I would go down there after dark,”
replied Sammy.
Mrs. Quack looked up at Sammy sharply. “Why should I go down there?”
she asked.
“If I tell you, will you wait until I get quite through?” asked Sammy
in his turn.
Mrs. Quack promised that she would.
“Well, then,” replied Sammy, “this afternoon I found a stranger hiding
in there, a stranger with a beautiful green head and neck and a white
collar.”
“Mr. Quack! Oh, it was Mr. Quack!” cried Mrs. Quack joyfully and lifted
her wings as if she would start for the swamp at once.
“Stop!” cried Sammy sharply. “You said you would wait until I am
through. It won't do for you to go there until after dark, because
there is a hunter hiding very near Mr. Quack's hiding-place. Wait until
it is dark and he has gone home. Then take my advice, and when you have
found Mr. Quack, bring him right up here to the Smiling Pool. He can't
fly, but he can swim up the Laughing Brook, and this is the safest
place for both of you. Now good night and good luck.”
XIX JERRY MUSKRAT'S GREAT IDEA XIX
JERRY MUSKRAT'S GREAT IDEA
A friendly friend is a friend indeed
When he proves a friend in the time of need.
Mr. and Mrs. Quack had been so much taken up with each other and with
their troubles that they had quite forgotten they were not alone in the
Smiling Pool, which they had reached by swimming up the Laughing Brook.
So it happened that when Mrs. Quack suggested that if Mr. Quack's wing
got strong they might be able to find a lonesome pond not too far away
where they could make their home for the summer, they were a little
startled to hear a voice say: “I know where there is one, and you will
not have to fly at all to get to it.” Both jumped a little. You see
their nerves had been very much upset for a long time, and the least
unexpected thing made them jump. Then both laughed.
“Hello, Jerry Muskrat! We'd forgotten all about you,” said Mrs. Quack.
“What was that you said?”
Jerry good-naturedly repeated what he had said. Mrs. Quack's face
brightened. “Do you really mean it?” she asked eagerly. “Do you really
mean that you know of a pond where we could live and not be likely to
be seen by these two-legged creatures called men?”
“That's what I said,” replied Jerry briefly.
“Oh, Jerry, you're not joking, are you? Tell me you're not joking,”
begged Mrs. Quack.
“Of course I'm not joking,” returned Jerry just a little bit
indignantly, “I am not the kind of a fellow to joke people who are
in such trouble as you and Mr. Quack seem to be in. The idea came to
me while you were talking. I couldn't help overhearing what you were
saying, and the minute you mentioned a lonesome pond, the idea came
to me, and I think it's a perfectly splendid idea. I know of just the
lonesomest kind of a lonesome pond, and you won't have to fly a stroke
to get to it. If you are smart enough not to be caught by Reddy Fox
or Hooty the Owl or Billy Mink or any of those people who hunt for a
living, there isn't any reason I know of why you shouldn't spend the
summer there in peace and comfort.”
Mrs. Quack's eyes fairly shone with hope and eagerness. “Oh, Jerry,
tell us where it is, and we'll start for it right away!” she cried.
Jerry's eyes twinkled. “Of course, the owner of that pond might not
like to have neighbors. I hadn't thought of that,” said he. “Perhaps he
ought to be asked first.”
Mrs. Quack's face fell. “Who is the owner?” she asked.
“My cousin, Paddy the Beaver. He made it,” replied Jerry proudly.
Mrs. Quack's face lighted up again at once. “I'm sure he won't object,”
said she. “We know a great many of the Beaver family. In fact, they are
very good neighbors of ours in our home in the far Northland. I didn't
suppose there was a Beaver pond anywhere around here. Tell me where it
is, Jerry, and I'll go right up there and call on your cousin.”
“All you've got to do is to follow the Laughing Brook way back into the
Green Forest, and you'll come to Paddy's pond,” said he. “He made that
pond himself two years ago. He came down from the Great Woods and built
a dam across the Laughing Brook way back there in the Green Forest and
gave us a great scare here in the Smiling Pool by cutting off the water
for a few days. He has got a very nice pond there now. Honker the Goose
and his flock spent a night in it on their way south last fall.”
Mrs. Quack waited to hear no more. She shot up into the air and
disappeared over the tops of the trees in the Green Forest.
“What do you think of my idea?” asked Jerry, as he and Mr. Quack
watched her out of sight.
“I think it is great, just simply great,” replied Mr. Quack.
XX HAPPY DAYS FOR MR. AND MRS. QUACK XX
HAPPY DAYS FOR MR. AND MRS. QUACK
Whose heart is true and brave and strong,
Who ne'er gives up to grim despair,
Will find some day that skies are blue
And all the world is bright and fair.
If you don't believe it, just ask Mr. and Mrs. Quack. They know.
Certainly the world never looked darker for any one than it did for
them when the terrible gun of a hunter broke Mr. Quack's wing on the
Big River and ended all their dreams of a home in the far Northland.
Then, through the help of Jerry Muskrat, they found the lonely pond of
Paddy the Beaver deep in the Green Forest, and there, because their
secret had been well kept, presently they found peace and hope and then
happiness. You see, the heart of Mrs. Quack was true and brave and
strong. She was the kind to make the best of things, and she at once
decided that if they couldn't have their home where they wanted it,
they would have it where they could have it. She was determined that
they should have a home anyway, and Paddy the Beaver's little pond was
not such a bad place after all.
So she wasted no time. She examined every inch of the shore of that
little pond. At last, a little back from the water, she found a place
to suit her, a place so well hidden by bushes that only the sharpest
eyes ever would find it. And a little later it would be still harder
to find, as she well knew, for all about clumps of tall ferns were
springing up, and when they had fully unfolded, not even the keen eyes
of Sammy Jay looking down from a near-by tree would be able to discover
her secret. There she made a nest on the ground, a nest of dried
grass and leaves, and lined it with the softest and most beautiful of
linings, down plucked from her own breast. In it she laid ten eggs.
Then came long weeks of patient sitting on them, watching the wonder of
growing things about her, the bursting into bloom of shy wood flowers,
the unfolding of leaves on bush and tree, the springing up in a night
of queer mushrooms, which people call toadstools, and all the time
dreaming beautiful Duck dreams of the babies which would one day hatch
from those precious eggs. She never left them save to get a little food
and just enough exercise to keep her well and strong, and when she did
leave them, she always carefully pulled soft down over them to keep
them warm while she was away.
Mr. Quack knew all about that nest, though he had taken no part in
building it and had no share in the care of those eggs. He was very
willing that she should do all the work and thought it quite sufficient
that he should be on guard to give warning if danger should appear. So
he spent the long beautiful days lazily swimming about in the little
pond, gossiping with Paddy the Beaver, and taking the best of care of
himself. The broken wing healed and grew strong again, for it had not
been so badly broken, after all. If he missed the company of others of
his kind which he would have had during these long days of waiting had
they been able to reach their usual nesting-place in the far Northland,
he never mentioned it.
Unknown to them, Farmer Brown's boy discovered where they were. Later
he came often to the pond and was content to sit quietly on the shore
and watch Mr. Quack, so that Mr. Quack grew quite used to him and did
not fear him at all. In fact, after the first few times, he made no
attempt to hide. You see he discovered that Farmer Brown's boy was a
friend. Always after he had left, there was something good to eat near
where he had been sitting, for Farmer Brown's boy brought corn and oats
and sometimes a handful of wheat.
He knew, and Mr. Quack knew that he knew, that somewhere near was
a nest, but he did not try to find it much as he longed to, for he
knew that would frighten and worry Mrs. Quack. So the dear, precious
secret of Mr. and Mrs. Quack was kept, for not even Paddy the Beaver
knew just where that nest was, and in due time, early one morning,
Mrs. Quack proudly led forth for their first swim ten downy, funny
ducklings. Oh, those were happy days indeed for Mr. and Mrs. Quack in
the pond of Paddy the Beaver, and in their joy they quite forgot for
a time the terrible journey which had brought them there. But finally
the Ducklings grew up, and when Jack Frost came in the fall, the whole
family started on the long journey to the sunny Southland. I hope they
got there safely, don't you?
[Illustration: Those were happy days indeed for Mr. and Mrs. Quack in
the pond of Paddy the Beaver.]
Among those whom Mr. and Mrs. Quack came to know very well while they
lived in the pond of Paddy the Beaver was that funny fellow who wears
rings on his tail--Bobby Coon. In the next book I will tell you of some
of Bobby's adventures.
THE END
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