THE MALLARDS AND THEIR NEIGHBORS

IT WAS a gray day at the Old Homestead the day after Honker the Goose left with his family. Just as Bud had guessed, a storm was threatening.

The Mallards sat huddled on the Marshy Bank of the Duck Pond, but the Marshy Bank was no longer soft. The Drooping Willow Trees were leafless, and the Tumbled Bulrushes were tan instead of green. The ground around the Jungle Thicket was covered with Dancing Little Leaflets. Most of the Feathered Friends had left.

Over among the Fuzzy Cat-tails Danny Muskrat was busy piling more Swamp Grass and Moss and Oozy Mud on his Grassy House to make it warmer. Of course, the mud soon froze, but Danny did not mind that. There was a ring of ice around his Grassy House, and it would not be long until the Duck Pond would all be frozen over.

Each night the Playful Air Whiffs had grown colder, and each morning the ice along the Marshy Bank of the Duck Pond had grown thicker. Danny had expected that when he built his Grassy House. He had made his doorway so deep under water that it never froze. Danny could always leave his Grassy House through his under-water doorway; and after the Duck Pond was frozen over, he could stay under the ice.

As the nights grew colder, Danny Muskrat stayed more and more under water. Instead of crawling out on the bank to eat his Juicy Water Bulbs and Sweet Cat-tail Stalks, he sat in the water, or carried them inside his Grassy House to eat them. That was because every time he left the water Jack Frost began to make Sharp Little Icicles on his fur.

It was queer how Danny could play under the ice after the Duck Pond froze over. First Danny would take a deep breath of air before he left his Grassy House. Danny could hold his breath a long, long time. After he had swum as long as he could hold his breath, he would come up under the ice. If he did not find an air pocket, he would let out his breath against the ice like a big bubble. Soon the air would be fresh, and Danny would take it into his lungs again and go on.

Down along Little River where the water was moving it did not freeze so easily. Sometimes the Mallards went there for a swim and a game of Tip-up in the Quiet Pools where the water was not so swift.

But the next day after Honker the Goose and his family left, the Mallards were sitting on the Marshy Bank of the Duck Pond, while Gray Cloud Ships scurried past overhead. They had gone to the Rustling Cornfield for breakfast, and there was nothing much else to do but to sit.

At last Mr. Mallard began to tell the Young Mallards a story. It was about the time when he was as young and as inexperienced as they were.

"One day when I was young," he said, "my father called all his family together and said it was time to start for the Sunny Southland. Of course, we did not know anything about the Sunny Southland, and we did not know anything about playing Sail so far. Father told us if we would always stay near him and do as he told us, we would never get into trouble.

"But one day we met some other young ducks who were going to the Sunny Southland. We thought it would be fun to fly with them. So we left our parents just a little way and flew with the young ducks a while.

"The next day we left our parents a little farther, and the first we knew we were so far away we could not find them. When we arrived in the Sunny Southland, there were but three of us left; for, without our father to guide us, we had fallen into many traps that Terror the Hunter had set for us. That is what happens to all Ducklets who think they know better than their parents do.

"Soon we shall be starting for the Sunny Southland ourselves. I cannot tell you about all the dangers, for they are too many. If you will stay with me, I can help you."

"Oh, tell us about the Sunny Southland," said Ducky Waddles.

"Yes, do," urged Ducky Doodles, as all the Ducklets pressed close to hear the story.

"Sometimes it is called the Land of Sunshine," said Mr. Mallard. "It lies far, far away, over many fields and lakes and rivers. It has many Swampy Lakes and Boggy Rivers in which to play, and it is near the Billowy Ocean. Almost all the Feathered Friends like to live there during Old Man Winter's reign in the Chilly Northland, because Jack Frost never comes near to nip the Tender Green Things and drive away the Crawly Bugs. And so there is always plenty to eat.

"No, sir, Jack Frost knows better than to visit the Sunny Southland. He knows that the Laughing Yellow Sun would soon spoil all his fancywork if he did. But we must fly out to the Rustling Cornfield now, and get our supper. It looks as if we would have a stormy night, and we must get back to the Duck Pond early."

And away flew the Mallards after what was to be their last meal on the Old Homestead that year.

In the Rustling Cornfield they met another flock of Mallards. It was some of their friends who had come northward with them in the spring when Mr. Mallard had been wounded. Their friends had their own families of Young Ducklets with them, and soon they were all having a fine time together.

"You must stay with us on the Duck Pond tonight," said Mrs. Mallard to their friends, when they had finished their supper. And so they all left the Rustling Cornfield together.

WHEN the Mallards returned to the Duck Pond, it was snowing furiously. The Merry Little Snowflakes were dancing down and whirling in all directions. Already a Soft White Blanket covered everything. At last the storm that had been threatening all day had arrived.

In came the Mallards from the Rustling Cornfield and landed plump in the middle of the Duck Pond.

"I think we shall stay right here tonight," said Mr. Mallard. "We can draw our feet into our Feathers, tuck our bills under our wings, and go right to sleep after we have had a drink. Then we do not need to fear Reddy Fox or Snoop the Weasel or Trailer the Mink. It will be much nicer than sitting in the snow all night on the Marshy Bank."

But the Young Mallards were not ready to go to sleep. They quacked and splashed and had a fine time. It was only the second snow they had ever seen, and they thought it was jolly fun.

"Just listen to those Mallards tonight," said Bud to Mary; "they must be getting ready to leave."

"Oh, isn't this fun!" said Mary. "Tomorrow after school we can go sliding on the Long Hill. And it will not be long until we can go skating on the Duck Pond."

That was a busy night for the Furry Friends on the Old Homestead. Reddy Fox was out looking for Molly Cottontail; but Molly was safe at home in her Friendly Burrow in the Little Jungle Thicket at the foot of High Cliff Ranger the Coyote was hunting for Jack the jumper; but Jack had made a Cozy Form in the Rustling Cornfield, after he had eaten his supper.

Snoop the Weasel was nosing around the Chicken House in his new, white winter coat, but Bud had been careful to see that he could not get in. Trailer the Mink and Lutra the Otter were both exploring along Little River. Billy Coon was sound asleep in his Hollow Den Tree, and Johnny Chuck was also asleep in his Hidden Den under a big rock on the side of High Cliff not far from where Molly and Peter lived. Digger the Badger was another sleepyhead, and so was Tawny Chipmunk.

Mephitis the Skunk was having the hardest time of all. He was looking for a Hidden Den where he could spend the winter with six or eight of his friends. You see, Mephitis liked to sleep with several in the same bed so he could keep warm. He hoped to find a Hidden Den in which some of his friends had already made a Grassy Bed and were snoozing. Then he could crawl right in and not have to make a bed himself. Of course, Mephitis did not sleep all winter like Tawny Chipmunk. Oh no. On nice warm nights Mephitis liked to take a short stroll to see if he could find Tiny the Meadow Mouse in the Rustling Corn Shocks.

Then there was Worker the Gray Squirrel and his thieving cousin, Chatterer the Red Squirrel. They did not care how much it snowed, for they had wisely provided a supply of cones and nuts and Tempting Kernels in their Secret Storehouses.

Virginia Opossum did not worry about cold weather in her Warm Hollow Log. She could sleep until warm days came again.

Hunting Cat lay sleeping on the Broad Hearth in the Grand Old House, dreaming about catching Whiskers the Mouse. And Nero the Hound was enjoying a warm bed in his new house that Bud had just finished that day.

"Let's pop some corn and get out some apples and play it is Christmas," said Mary, as Bud threw down an armful of wood by the Glowing Fireplace.

"All right," agreed Bud. "Then we will ask; Dad and Mother each to tell us a story."

The next morning was clear and cold, and the Laughing Yellow Sun had a time to make himself felt. The ice had crept inward toward the Mallards until only a small space remained open where. they had stirred up the water during the night. The Rustling Cornfield and the Yellow Stubble Field were covered deeply with a Soft White Blanket, and it would have been a hard matter for the Ducklets to find any Tempting Kernels.

Up at the Grand Old House Bud was scooping many pathways through the deep snow.

"I must take some grain out to Bobby White and the other Feathered Friends," he said to Mary, "for they cannot find any to-day."

"And I will take some alfalfa over to the Little Jungle Thicket for Molly and Peter. Then they will not have to leave their Friendly Burrow to hunt for food; if they did, Ranger the Coyote might catch them," said Mary.

"We must hurry or we shall be late to school," said Bud. "I have to carry in some wood for Mother before I leave."

"And some water," added Mary.

High overhead the Mallards could see flock after flock of Feathered Friends hurrying southward, honking and quacking in the crisp morning air.

"It is time for us to start for the Sunny Southland," said Mr. Mallard, and he flapped his wings a few times to limber them up after sitting on the Duck Pond all night.

Of course, the Young Mallards were anxious to see their winter home in the Land of Sunshine even though they loved the Old Homestead. In a moment they were all in the air and flying swiftly away on their long journey. It was to be the longest game of Sail they had ever played.

Mrs. Mallard looked back and quacked loudly. She could barely see the Sheltered Little Cove because it was covered so deep under snow. "Quaack quack-quack-quack," she said, which was her way of saying, "Good-by, Old Homestead."