to them quite like a tiny Chinese fowl. “He’s charming,” they said to each other, and began a conversation with him in whispers, using the most aristocratic Chinese dialect: “We are of the same race as yourself,” they said. “The ducks, even the Portuguese, are all aquatic birds, as you must have noticed. You do not know us yet,—very few know us, or give themselves the trouble to make our acquaintance, not even any of the fowls, though we are born to occupy a higher grade in society than most of them. But that does not disturb us, we quietly go on in our own way among the rest, whose ideas are certainly not ours; for we look at the bright side of things, and only speak of what is good, although that is sometimes very difficult to find, where none exists. Except ourselves and the cock there is not one in the yard who can be called talented or polite. It cannot even be said of the ducks, and we warn you, little bird, not to trust that one yonder, with the short tail feathers, for she is cunning; that curiously marked one, with the crooked stripes on her wings, is a mischief-maker, and never lets any one have the last word, though she is always in the wrong. That fat duck yonder speaks evil of every one, and that is against our principles. If we have nothing good to tell, we close our beaks. The Portuguese is the only one who has had any education, and with whom we can associate, but she is passionate, and talks too much about ‘Portugal.’”
“I wonder what those two Chinese are whispering about,” whispered one duck to another; “they are always doing it, and it annoys me. We never speak to them.”
Now the drake came up, and he thought the little simging bird was a sparrow. “Well, I don’t understand the difference,” he said; “it appears to me all the same. He’s only a plaything, and if people will have playthings, why let them, I say.”
“Don’t take any notice of what he says,” whispered the Portuguese; “he’s very well in matters of business, and with him business is placed before everything. But now I shall lie down and have a little rest. It is a duty we owe to ourselves that we may be nice and fat when we come to be embalmed with sage and onions and apples.” So she laid herself down in the sun and winked with one eye; she had a very comfortable place, and felt so comfortable that she fell asleep. The little singing-bird busied himself for some time with his broken wing, and at last he lay down, too, quite close to his protectress. The sun shone warm and bright, and he found out that it was a very good place. But the fowls of the neighbourhood were all awake, and, to tell the truth, they had paid a visit to the duckyard, simply and solely to find food for themselves. The Chinese were the first to leave, and the other fowls soon followed them.
The witty little duck said of the Portuguese, that the old lady was getting quite a “doting ducky.” All the other ducks laughed at this. “Doting ducky,” they whispered, “oh, that’s too ‘witty!’” And then they repeated the former joke about “Portulak,” and declared it was most amusing. Then they all lay down to have a nap.
They had been lying asleep for some time, when suddenly something was thrown into the yard for them to eat. It came down with such a bang, that
