The Portuguese Duck Page #2

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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 neighborhood 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 the whole company started up and clapped
their wings. The Portuguese awoke too, and rushed over to the other
side: in so doing she trod upon the little singing-bird.

"Tweet," he cried; "you trod very hard upon me, madam."

"Well, then, why do you lie in my way?" she retorted, "you must
not be so touchy. I have nerves of my own, but I do not cry 'tweet.'"

"Don't be angry," said the little bird; "the 'tweet' slipped out
of my beak unawares."

The Portuguese did not listen to him, but began eating as fast
as she could, and made a good meal. When she had finished, she lay
down again, and the little bird, who wished to be amiable, began to
sing,--

  "Chirp and twitter,
    The dew-drops glitter,
  In the hours of sunny spring,
    I'll sing my best,
    Till I go to rest,
  With my head behind my wing."


"Now I want rest after my dinner," said the Portuguese; "you
must conform to the rules of the house while you are here. I want to
sleep now."

The little bird was quite taken aback, for he meant it kindly.
When madam awoke afterwards, there he stood before her with a little
corn he had found, and laid it at her feet; but as she had not slept
well, she was naturally in a bad temper. "Give that to a chicken," she
said, "and don't be always standing in my way."

"Why are you angry with me?" replied the little singing-bird,
"what have I done?"

"Done!" repeated the Portuguese duck, "your mode of expressing
yourself is not very polite. I must call your attention to that fact."

"It was sunshine here yesterday," said the little bird, "but
to-day it is cloudy and the air is close."

"You know very little about the weather, I fancy," she retorted,
"the day is not over yet. Don't stand there, looking so stupid."

"But you are looking at me just as the wicked eyes looked when I
fell into the yard yesterday."

"Impertinent creature!" exclaimed the Portuguese duck: "would
you compare me with the cat--that beast of prey? There's not a drop of
malicious blood in me. I've taken your part, and now I'll teach you
better manners." So saying, she made a bite at the little
singing-bird's head, and he fell dead on the ground. "Now whatever
is the meaning of this?" she said; "could he not bear even such a
little peck as I gave him? Then certainly he was not made for this
world. I've been like a mother to him, I know that, for I've a good
heart."

Then the cock from the neighboring yard stuck his head in, and
crowed with steam-engine power.

"You'll kill me with your crowing," she cried, "it's all your
fault. He's lost his life, and I'm very near losing mine."

"There's not much of him lying there," observed the cock.

"Speak of him with respect," said the Portuguese duck, "for he had
manners and education, and he could sing. He was affectionate and
gentle, and that is as rare a quality in animals as in those who
call themselves human beings."

Then all the ducks came crowding round the little dead bird. Ducks
have strong passions, whether they feel envy or pity. There was
nothing to envy here, so they all showed a great deal of pity, even
the two Chinese. "We shall never have another singing-bird again
amongst us; he was almost a Chinese," they whispered, and then they
wept with such a noisy, clucking sound, that all the other fowls
clucked too, but the ducks went about with redder eyes afterwards. "We
have hearts of our own," they said, "nobody can deny that."

"Hearts!" repeated the Portuguese, "indeed you have, almost as
tender as the ducks in Portugal."

"Let us think of getting something to satisfy our hunger," said
the drake, "that's the most important business. If one of our toys is
broken, why we have plenty more."
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