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 
like 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 telling her the story 
of his adventures. 
