“Why, pluck some more down from your pretty breast, my dear,” said the man, kindly. “Now stand aside and let me get by, without any nonsense. After all, I’m the stronger of the two and the nest belongs to me.”
But the young eider-duck did not stir from her place. She pecked at his hands with her beak and cried:
“Go down to the beach and catch my husband and my old aunt! Kill them, if you like, and take all their down. It’s only what they deserve. But you must let my down be!”
“Stuff, my pet!” said the man. “The best down is what a mother plucks from her breast. We all know that. And, if your children have to do without, it will come in useful for other children, dainty little human children, whose parents can afford to buy the softest little pillows for them.”
“At least, wait until my children are ready!” cried the eider-duck in despair.
“A nice thing!” said the man. “What, let you lie there and spoil the down? Come, clear out!”
He pushed her aside, took all the down, put it in his basket and went away, saying:
“Pluck some more feathers if you want them for your young. That’s what a good mother always does.”
Then she went to the edge of the rock and looked out.
The eider-duck were disporting themselves gloriously. She could distinctly see her husband and her aunt diving and amusing themselves as though life were a sheer enjoyment. And all the others were doing the same: not one of them thought that there was a man up above emptying all the nests of their precious down.