Where God Father, and God Son,
And God the Spirit dwell."
Hardly was the song ended when he saw Emmerence coming toward him from the brick-yard.
With a dry fir-twig she was driving some young ducklings before her. On coming up to Ivo she stopped and began to talk.
"Oh, you can't think," said she, "what trouble I had getting my four ducklings out of the puddle in the brickyard. Four gray ones and two white, you see. They're just a week old now. Only think, my mother made a hen sit on the eggs, and now the hen won't take care of 'em: they run about, and nobody looks after 'em at all."
"They're orphans," said Ivo, "and you must be their mother."
"Yes, and you don't know how pitifully they can look at you one-sided,'--this way." She laid her head on one side, and looked up at Ivo prettily enough.
"Look at them," said he: "they can't be quiet a minute, they keep splashing and floundering about all the time. It 'ould make me giddy to go on that way."
"I can't see," said Emmerence, looking very thoughtful, "how these ducklings found out that they can swim. If a duck had hatched 'em out, she might show 'em; but the hen never looked at 'em; and, for all that, as fast as they could waddle they toddled on till they got into the water."