THE WIT OF A DUCK 



Well, I am bound to confess that I helped the 

 drake over the wall, but I sat him down in the road 

 as impartially as I could. How well his pink feet 

 knew the course! How they flew up the road! His 

 green head and white throat fairly twinkled under 

 the long avenue of oaks and chestnuts. 



At last we came in sight of the home lane, which 

 led up to the farmhouse one hundred or more yards 

 from the road. I was curious to see if he would 

 recognize the place. At the gate leading into the lane 

 he paused. He had just gone up a lane that looked 

 hke that and had been disappointed. What should he 

 do now .'' Truth compels me to say that he overshot 

 the mark : he kept on hesitatingly along the highway. 



It was now nearly night. I felt sure the duck 

 would soon discover his mistake, but I had not time 

 to watch the experiment further. I went around the 

 drake and turned him back. As he neared the lane 

 this time he seemed suddenly to see some familiar 

 landmark, and he rushed up it at the top of his speed. 

 His joy and eagerness were almost pathetic. 



I followed close. Into the house yard he rushed 

 with uplifted wings, and fell down almost exhausted 

 by the side of his mate. A half hour later the two 

 were nipping the grass together in the pasture, and 

 he, I have no doubt, was eagerly telUng her the story 

 of his adventures. 



