together to the water and launch them,— but 

 something happened. 



And this happening concerns little Aix in 

 particular, and this is now his story only. 



I had known little Aix since egghood. I 

 knew his parents before him. Where Silver 

 Eun grows darkly silent and glides into the open 

 pond, there still leans the great maple stub 

 from the hollow top of which little Aix and 

 eleven others, in their buff-white shells, were 

 taken and carried away to my neighbor's farm 

 to be hatched. 



A sweeter, wilder home never was than this 

 along the run. A world of lake and swampy 

 wood lies all around. Moss-grown oaks and 

 maples shadow the cedar-scented stream which 

 slips directly beneath the broken stub and 

 widens — first among a hundred tiny islands, 

 then into the quiet, unbroken surface of the 

 pond. 



More than once I have pushed softly into the 

 run, led by one of the wood -ducks. Stemming 

 ahead of the skiff, with a grace that would make 

 me forget the charm of his exquisite dress, he 

 would quietly lead me to the bend beyond the 

 [227] 



