THE MALLARDS AND THEIR NEIGHBORS

CHAPTER 1

The Arrival of the Mallards

THE morning was chilly, with Gray Cloud Ships blanketing the sky. By noon a heavy mist was falling, which soon turned into Wet Little Raindrops, and as it grew colder Merry Little Snowflakes began to fall.

All day Mr. and Mrs. Mallard and their friends had been flying northward against the storm. They had spent the winter in the warm swamps of Louisiana, and were returning to their summer home in the Land of Cool Breezes. Ordinarily they would have rested during the storm, but they were anxious to reach a pond which was one of their favorite stopping places on their journeys north and south each spring and fall.

There was a Sheltered Little Cove along one side of it where Tumbled Bulrushes and Waving Wild Rice grew, and not far away there were many grainfields, which always contained enough scattered heads of wheat and ears of corn to furnish food in case there was not enough Waving Wild Rice.

Toward evening the wind grew stronger and the falling snow was blinding. Mr. and Mrs. Mallard and their companions were flying low to avoid the wind as much as possible, and were hoping that they might see a sheltered place where they could spend the night.

Not once during the journey had they encountered Terror the Hunter, with his deadly gun that roared and spat shot at them. They were not much afraid now. You see, Friendly Folk had made laws to stop Terror the Hunter from shooting ducks in the spring; but of course the Mallards did not know that.

Suddenly there was a boom beneath them, and Mr. Mallard felt a stinging pain in one of his wings. He reeled downward for an instant, but caught himself and went on as fast as he could. Mrs. Mallard and their companions had scattered and were soon out of sight in the falling snow. He wondered if any of them had fallen.

Mr. Mallard quacked a signal to Mrs. Mallard as loud as he could. His voice was soft and husky, and he was afraid she would not hear him in the storm. He quacked again, and soon he heard Mrs. Mallard's loud answer.

"Qua-ack quack-quack-quack," she said, and as quickly as possible she flew to his side. "Are you hurt, dear?" she asked.

Mr. Mallard did not want to alarm her, so he pretended that he did not hear. He called reassuringly in his softest tone of voice, and tried bravely to fly ahead of Mrs. Mallard to break the wind for her. Soon he felt himself growing weaker, and his wounded wing hurt very much.

"I wish we could find a place to stop for the night," he said, still trying not to alarm Mrs. Mallard; "the storm seems to be getting worse."

"If we could reach the Duck Pond on the Old Homestead, how nice it would be " said Mrs. Mallard. "It can't be far away."

They coasted downward to be nearer the ground again, hoping that they could see water on which to alight. Sure enough, right ahead of them, and not more than a block away, was a pond.

"It's the Duck Pond; it is, it is ! " quacked Mrs. Mallard excitedly. "How glad I am to see it!"

In a moment they were resting on the surface of the water in the shelter of the Fuzzy Cat-tails; and, what is more, they were in the midst of their companions. It was the Favorite Pond toward which they had been flying all day.

By the following morning the sky had cleared, and Mr. Mallard's companions were ready to resume their northward journey, which would carry them perhaps to Canada. Mr. Mallard's wing felt sore and stiff; when he tried to fly, he found that he had not enough strength to leave the water.

"You must go on with the others," he told Mrs. Mallard; "and when I am strong enough, I will follow."

His green head glistened in the morning sunlight, and his colorful wings shone like half rainbows. It was because of his beauty that Terror the Hunter had directed his aim at Mr. Mallard. Always, it seems, Fearful the Man wants the best there is. Mrs. Mallard was as good as Mr. Mallard, but her dress was not quite so pretty. She lacked the green on her head, although it was as trim and smart-looking as Mr. Mallard's. Also, she lacked the bronze on her neck, and she was not quite so colorful in other ways as he.

Mrs. Mallard loved her mate dearly, and she would not agree to any such thing as leaving him behind. No, sir! She felt that her place was right by his side, and she told Mr. Mallard plainly that she expected to stay until he was well enough to leave with her. Of course he was glad to hear her say that, and he did not mind so much when he saw his companions fly away to the northward.

He purred a low farewell to them as they arose from the water, and Mrs. Mallard went a short way with them, quacking loudly that she and Mr. Mallard would soon follow. It happened, however, that by the time Mr. Mallard felt strong enough to fly, they had grown to like the Duck Pond on the Old Homestead so well that they decided to stay for the summer.

That is how Mr. and Mrs. Mallard came to be neighbors of Bud and Mary Smith, when ordinarily they would have been flying far to the northward with many other Mallards, with Honker the Goose, Whitey the Brant, and a host of other Feathered Friends.

I BELIEVE I'll swim around the Duck Pond and see what I can find," said Mrs. Mallard, after their companions had left.

"And I shall go along," said Mr. Mallard.

"Yes, we'll go together," agreed Mrs. Mallard.

You see, although Mr. Mallard's wing was very stiff and sore if he tried to fly, yet he could swim without any trouble. And so the Mallards set out from among the Fuzzy Cat-tails and Waving Wild Rice to explore the Duck Pond. Although they had stopped there several times on their journeys, they had never really seen much of the Duck Pond, and they did not know much about the Old Homestead. Usually they stopped in the evening, and by the time the Laughing Yellow Sun was up the next morning, and they had had a good feed of rice, they were ready to leave. Sometimes they flew mostly at night, and rested and ate during the day.

Twice each year the Mallards stopped for a feed at the Duck Pond on the Old Homestead. Once was in the fall, when Old Man Winter was coming down from the Land of Ice, and, of course, the Mallards were then usually in a hurry to reach the Sunny Southland, where they stayed in the swamps and on the rivers. But when Jolly Spring began to melt the ice on the lakes and streams, and to chase Old Man Winter back to his home in the Land of Ice, the Mallards were ready to leave the Sunny Southland and return to the Land of Cool Breezes. Then they stopped at the Duck Pond again.

When Mr. and Mrs. Mallard fly from their northern home to the Sunny Southland and then back again in the spring, we say they are migrating. And that was what they were doing when Mr. Mallard was shot.

Mrs. Mallard swam to the edge of the Fuzzy Cattails and peeped out. There was still some ice on the Duck Pond in places. It was more than a block wide, and on the distant bank there were many Drooping Willows and other trees. Beyond this fringe of trees and Jungle Thickets was the Green Meadow, and if Mrs. Mallard had been where she could look across it, she would have seen the Grand Old House and the Rambling Old Barn and the Apple Orchard and the rest of the interesting things on the Old Homestead. As it was, all she could see in the distance was High Cliff, which ran along one side of the Old Homestead. You see, Mrs. Mallard was not high enough to look around while she was sitting on the water, for the banks of the Duck Pond and the trees and the Jungle Thickets hid everything from sight. And Mrs. Mallard's neck was not very long.

Mr. Mallard swam to her side and peeped out also. Everything seemed quiet and safe. And so the Mallards swam a little farther. Of course, they did not swim far from shore. Oh no. They stayed close to the Fuzzy Cattails along the bank so they could dive into them and hide if danger came near. They were not well acquainted around the Old Homestead, and did not know that Farmer Smith would not allow Terror the Hunter there with his gun if he knew it. They did not know that every little way around the Duck Pond Farmer Smith had nailed a sign to a tree, which said in big black letters: "No HUNTING ALLOWED." And so they were watchful.

But Terror the Hunter was not the only one that the Mallards were watching out for. There was Sharptoes the Duck Hawk, who might dart down upon them any time. And even Aquila the Golden Eagle, whose nest was on a Rocky Pinnacle on the top of High Cliff, might swoop through the air on silent wings if they were not watching.

Suddenly a shadow flashed across the water in front of Mrs. Mallard. For a moment it frightened her; then she heard the friendly greeting of Mr. Bluebird.

"Good morning," he sang. "Tru-ally, tru-ally, this is a fine morning."

"Qua-ack quack-quack-quack," said Mrs. Mallard, which was her way of saying how glad she was to see Mr. Bluebird. "I suppose you are on your way northward."

"Oh no," replied Mr. Bluebird; "I am as far north as I am going. You see, Mrs. Bluebird and I live with many Feathered Friends on the Old Homestead during the summer. We had a Hollow Nesting Post by the Apple Orchard and we lived in it three summers. But this spring Bud Smith built a new Nesting Box for us. He put it on an iron pipe in the yard by the Grand Old House. We like it very much, because Hunting Cat cannot climb up to rob our nest."

"Perhaps you can tell us more about the Old Homestead," said Mr. Mallard. "Terror the Hunter shot my wing, and if it doesn't get better soon, we shall have to stay here."

"Sure-ly, sure-ly I can tell you more," said Mr. Bluebird, and he flew to the top of a Fuzzy Cattail nearer the Mallards. "My nearest neighbor is Robin Red, who lives in the Red Cedar in the yard near us. Then there is Jenny Wren, who expects to build a nest in the eaves of the Grand Old House. She tried to take our Nesting Box, but Judge Flicker picked out a knot, which made a nice doorway for her in the eaves, and she liked it better than the Nesting Box. Of course Noisy the English Sparrow tried to steal our Nesting Box, but Mrs. Noisy decided she did not like a home without a porch. Bobby White and Woodsy Thrush live in the Hedgerow that runs along the Apple Orchard. Molly Cottontail and Peter live in a Friendly Burrow in the Little Jungle Thicket at the foot of High Cliff, and Johnny Chuck has a Hidden Den under a rock not far from Molly and Peter on the side of High Cliff. I am sure you will like the Old Homestead if you stay. You can go cruising in Little River sometimes, and Bobby White says that Farmer Smith never permits any shooting there."

"And where is Little River?" asked Mrs. Mallard.

"It winds through the Green Meadow and the Wide-Wide Pasture where Old Bent Horn lives," replied Mr. Bluebird. "But I must be going now to see that no one takes the Nesting Box from us."

And with that, Mr. Bluebird flew away toward the Grand Old House.