THE WIT OF A DUCK 
lose his bearings, and get hopelessly confused in 
the tangle of roads that converged at the station. 
But he seemed to have an exact map of the 
country in his mind; he soon left the station road, 
went around a house, through a vineyard, till he 
struck a stone fence that crossed his course at right 
angles; this he followed eastward till it was joined 
by a barbed wire fence, under which he passed 
and again entered the highway he had first taken. 
Then down the road he paddled with renewed 
confidence: under the trees, down a hill, through a 
grove, over a bridge, up the hill again toward home. 
Presently he found his clue cut in two by the 
railroad track; this was something he had never 
before seen; he paused, glanced up it, then down 
it, then at the highway across it, and quickly con- 
cluded this last was his course. On he went again, 
faster and faster. 
He had now gone half the distance, and was get- 
ting tired. A little pool of water by the roadside 
caught his eye. Into it he plunged, bathed, drank, 
preened his plumage for a few moments, and then 
started homeward again. He knew his home was 
on the upper side of the road, for he kept his eye 
bent in that direction, scanning the fields. Twice 
he stopped, stretched himself up, and scanned the 
landscape intently; then on again. It seemed as if 
an invisible cord was attached to him, and he was 
being pulled down the road. 
55 
