was as happy a young duck as could have been 
found in all Oregon. 
Even the night life held its charms for him. 
Often as the family sat on the bank with the 
mother he would look out from her side at the 
moon riding high in the heavens and all the air 
so still that it seemed like another world. Now 
and then the “‘quack, quack” of some night- 
prowling duck would come out of the marsh and 
then all would be still again. Sometimes he 
saw a muskrat swimming across the creek and 
watched it climb out on a bed of fallen tules, 
sit up, and eat a cherished root in the moonlight. 
At such times he would lie and look and listen 
until so drowsy that his little eyes would stay 
open no longer. He did not always wait so long, 
however, for sometimes as he sat there, warm 
and comfortable, the wild barking howl of a 
coyote would ring across the desert and down 
over the lake. Then with a chill and shudder 
he must have hidden his head and tried his best 
to forget that he had heard the awful sound. 
Best of all, however, were the mornings. 
Even before the sun, big and red, came up out 
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