THE MALLARDS AND THEIR NEIGHBORS

" I'M GLAD to hear that there is no hunting on the Old Homestead," said Mrs. Mallard, after Mr. Bluebird had left. She felt quite relieved, and quacked loudly as she started again to explore the Duck Pond.

"Qua-ack quack-quack-quack," she said, and flapped her wings against the water. She really made quite a noise, for Bud and Mary Smith heard it away up at the Grand Old House as they were leaving for school.

"I hear some wild ducks on the Duck Pond," exclaimed Bud; "let's go past there and count them."

In a short time they were sneaking through the Jungle Thicket that grew along one side of the pond. At last Bud parted the bushes and looked out.

"There are only two," he whispered as he held up two fingers; "a pair of Mallards."

"I wonder what they are doing here," said Mary. "They must be lost."

"Perhaps one of them is wounded," said Bud.

"Oh, I do wish they would stay," said Mary, as they hurried on to school.

Of course Mr. and Mrs. Mallard did not know that they had been seen. Mrs. Mallard stood on her head in the water, with her tail pointing straight up, while she reached for a mouthful of Oozy Mud in which she hoped to find some grains of wild rice or a Wiggly Water Worm. Mr. Mallard swam around in wide circles, looking for choice morsels to eat, and with one eye watching for Sharptoes.

At last Mr. Mallard became tired. His wing was very sore, and he decided to rest awhile. So he swam to a bunch of Waving Wild Rice and Tumbled Bulrushes and crawled beneath them. He was entirely out of sight and felt quite safe unless Trailer the Mink came along. Mr. Mallard knew that Trailer the Mink seldom came out of his Hidden Den during the day, and so he tucked his bill under his strong wing and went to sleep.

Mrs. Mallard was having too good a time to think about sleeping. She swam here and there, while she explored the Sheltered Water Lanes that wound in and out among the clumps of Swamp Grass and Fuzzy Cattails. Every place she went there was plenty to eat. The more she saw of the Duck Pond, the better she liked it.

Only once did Mrs. Mallard think about going farther northward. That was when a flock of ducks flew over. It was Sawbill the Merganser and some of his friends. Mrs. Mallard quacked loudly to attract his attention. She thought perhaps he might like to stop and rest. But Sawbill the Merganser was not quite ready to stop for that day. You see, he was not much interested in such things as Waving Wild Rice to eat. Sawbill was very fond of fish. His bill had sharp points on each side like the teeth of a saw, with which he caught fish, and he ate so many that his flesh was fairly flavored with them. He was like the person who smokes so much that he smells like tobacco smoke. Sawbill the Merganser knew where there was a lake that held many fish, and so he hurried on as if he had not heard Mrs. Mallard's invitation to stop.

A little later two more ducks flew over quite low. They were Mr. and Mrs. Spoonbill. Again Mrs. Mallard quacked an invitation to stop. When Shoveler the Spoonbill heard it, he called to Mrs. Spoonbill. Then they turned and circled back to the Duck Pond.

"Qua-ack quack-quack-quack," said Mrs. Mallard; "this is a nice place to stop."

Soon Mr. and Mrs. Spoonbill were floating lightly on the water near Mrs. Mallard, and squirting soft mud through the comblike strainers on the sides of their broad bills. Shoveler the Spoonbill had a funny way of eating. First he filled his large, spoonlike bill with Oozy Mud or floating things. Then he strained this mouthful by working water through it. If the strainers held anything in his mouth that he liked after the water had washed away the mud, he swallowed it. Perhaps that was his way of washing his food before he ate it.

It was not long until Mrs. Mallard and the Spoonbills were good friends, and they swam along together exploring the Duck Pond. Halfway around the Duck Pond they saw a Sheltered Water Lane that seemed to lead into a Sheltered Little Cove. Mrs. Mallard swam into it and looked around. It did not take her long to see that it suited her exactly. On all sides were Fuzzy Cattails, Waving Wild Rice, and Swamp Grass. There was an open space in the center just large enough for Fluffy Ducklets to play in, and back from the water was a grassy bank with brush where Mrs. Mallard could build a nest.

Yes, the place suited Mrs. Mallard exactly, and she started back to tell Mr. Mallard about it. She did not wait to swim back, but arose in the air, and in a few moments her strong wings had carried her to the place where she had left Mr. Mallard asleep.

"Qua-ack quack-quack-quack," she called in a loud voice, and soon she heard Mr. Mallard's low voice coming from among the Fuzzy Cattails.

You may be sure it did not take long for her to tell Mr. Mallard about the Sheltered Little Cove. Soon they were swimming back to it, with Mrs. Mallard ahead quacking excitedly.

"I know you will like it; I just know you will," she said.

Mrs. Mallard reached the Sheltered Water Lane and turned in, followed closely by Mr. Mallard. They found the Spoonbills still enjoying a feast of the things that grew in the Sheltered Little Cove, and soon Mr. Mallard was acquainted with them also.

"I believe we'll stay right here this summer," said Mrs. Mallard.

"I think we shall too," said Mrs. Spoonbill.

And that is how the Mallards and the Spoonbills happened to be neighbors at the Duck Pond on the Old Homestead.

REDWING the Blackbird was a jolly fellow. In the fall he had joined a large flock of his gentlemen friends, and they had played and had sung together all winter. They had flown from place to place, sometimes here and sometimes there, as if they had not a care in the world and nothing to do but to travel and enjoy new sights. Usually they selected a swamp for their stopping place, where there were plenty of Fuzzy Cattails and Tumbled Bulrushes for them to perch on while they rested.

Mrs. Blackbird and the other lady Blackbirds had gone south, but Redwing and his friends were never in a hurry to leave in the fall. They were never in a hurry to go any place, for that matter. If the weather was not too severe, they sometimes stayed in the Chilly Northland until Merry Little Snowflakes lay so deep upon the weeds that Redwing could find little to eat. Then he and his friends would fly away toward the Sunny Southland for a while, but were very likely to return to the Chilly Northland with the first hint of fair weather.

Redwing and his friends had been playing together for months, flying from place to place. One day after Mrs. Blackbird arrived they spied a Sheltered Little Cove on the edge of a small lake, where Fuzzy Cat-tails and Swamp Grasses were plentiful. Of course they stopped to investigate, and the place suited Redwing and a few of his friends so well they decided to stay.

Not that Redwing and Mrs. Blackbird were ready to start nest building just then. Oh no. Redwing was never in a hurry to build a nest any more than he was in a hurry to do anything else. Some times it was June before Mrs. Blackbird built her nest, and even then Redwing was not much help with the family work. Perhaps the reason that Mrs. Blackbird did not build a nest sooner was that she was waiting for the new Fuzzy Cattails to grow.

You see, Mrs. Blackbird liked to build her nest over the water, and usually she used the Fuzzy Cattails in which to build it. And so perhaps she waited until the new ones were high enough for shelter. It would be hard to say just why Mrs. Blackbird chose to build her nest over water, for it certainly seemed as if that was a dangerous place for Wee Blackbirds to live. What if one of them should have fallen out of the nest?

It may have been that Mrs. Blackbird was vain, and liked to build her nest where she could see her reflection in the water. More than likely she built it there so Hunting Cat and other prowlers could not get to it, for Mrs. Blackbird really had little to be vain about as far as looks were concerned. Her streaked brown coat was very common-looking indeed, and she could not sing. She did not have the shiny black coat and flashy red wing patches that Redwing had. It is no wonder he liked to spread his wings when he sang and to display the scarlet marks that looked very much like the stripes on a soldier's coat sleeve.

No, it was not yet time for the Blackbirds to start housekeeping, and so they flitted from one Fuzzy Cattail to another and explored their new home.

That is what they were doing when they met the Mallards, for of course the Sheltered Little Cove that Redwing had found was the same one where the Mallards were living at the Duck Pond on the Old Homestead.

"Oak-a-lee," sang Redwing the Blackbird, when he first met the Mallards. That was his way of saying, "Hello there, neighbors."

"Qua-ack quack-quack-quack," said Mrs. Mallard, and right away they both knew they would be good friends.

"How long do you plan to stay here?" asked Redwing, for he was not expecting that the Mallards would stay all summer.

"Oh, we are living here now," replied Mrs. Mallard. "You see, Greenhead was shot through the wing and could go no farther." "Greenhead" was Mrs. Mallard's favorite name for Mr. Mallard.

"Then we shall be neighbors all summer," said Redwing, "for I expect to live in the Sheltered Little Cove."

"Yes, and have you met Shoveler and Mrs. Spoonbill?" asked Mrs. Mallard. "They will be our neighbors also. I guess they have gone over to explore Little River to-day."

"I have not seen them," said Redwing, "but I shall be glad to meet them."

"Perhaps you would find them if you flew over to Little River," said Mrs. Mallard.

"I believe I will," replied Redwing, and away he and Mrs. Blackbird flew.

Redwing liked Little River almost as well as he liked the Sheltered Little Cove. He found jungle Thickets and tall grass and rushes in places growing along its banks. There were Quiet Pools where the water flowed slowly past Broad Bends, and it was in one of these that Redwing found the Spoonbills. They were enjoying a feast of good things that they found along the bank.

"Oak-a-lee," sang Redwing the Blackbird.

"Chack-chack," said Mrs. Blackbird.

Of course the Spoonbills were glad to see them and to hear that they were to be neighbors during the summer.

"I am sure that we shall get along nicely," said Shoveler. "Mrs. Mallard said that Mr. Bluebird told her that Bobby White told him that Farmer Smith did not permit hunting on the Old Homestead. And so we should not be disturbed."

Just as Shoveler said that, there was a terrific noise over at the Duck Pond. There could be no mistake about it; it was the sound of a gun. It roared across the little valley, and its echo came back from the side of High Cliff.

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Spoonbill, "I do hope that the Mallards were not killed. I wish we could go to see if they are safe."

"I see some one running across the Green Meadow from the Grand Old House," said Redwing, from his High Perch on a Drooping Willow Tree. "It must be Farmer Smith."

"I hope he catches Terror the Hunter," said Shoveler.

It was a long time before the Spoonbills and the Blackbirds ventured back to the Duck Pond.