“Ah! my dear, they will come white; they’re not bleached yet. But they are strong, aren’t they? Look at the little ones, now, only four hours old, and feeding themselves! Don’t you wish yours would? Only think of the trouble they give before they can feed alone!”

“Well!” said Mrs Spottleover, “that’s all very well, but, after all, those little downy balls take as much looking after as our little ones; and then only think of one’s child growing up to say nothing better than ‘Quack-quack,’ besides being flat-nosed and frog-footed. Depend upon it, my dear, things are best as they are!”

“Well, I suppose you are right,” said Mrs Flutethroat; “but I must not stay here gossiping, for I have no end of work to do this morning.” Saying which the hen blackbird shook out her long dusky wings, cried “Pink-pink-pink,” and flew off to the laurel bush to attend to her little ones; while the thrush hopped up into a tree to see how the haws were getting on, and whether there would be a good crop for the winter.

Just then there was a great shadow passed over the pond, and the ducklings splashed through the water, because they were so frightened, and then flop-flop, flip-flop, flip-flop, there came old Shadowbody, the heron, to the pond, and pitched down by the haunt of the kingfisher, where he stood with his long stilty legs half in the water, his great floppy wings doubled up close to his sides, and his long neck squeezed between his shoulders all of a bundle; and there he stood looking as though he were going to sleep; but not a bit of it, old Shadowbody, or Bluescrags, as some of the saucy young birds called him, did not stand by the side of a pond to go to sleep, but to look after his dinner.

By-and-by the ducklings, seeing that the heron did not move, came nearer to him; and at last a little white fly went sailing along under his beak, and two ducklings set off on a race over the surface of the pond to see which would get the little white fly; and so busy were they that they forgot all about the great heron, and went up close to him, splashing him all over with the bright sparkling water.

“Take that, you ugly little downy dab,” said the heron in a pet. “Do you think I came here to be made a water-mop of? Get out with you! see how you’ve wetted my waistcoat. Take that!”

And the poor little duckling did take that, and scampered off to its mother, crying out in such a pitiful voice, “Wheedle-wheedle-wheedle,” that the heron forgot his ill-humour and burst out laughing, and felt quite sorry that he had given poor little Yellow-down such a cruel poke in its back with his long sharp beak.

“Serve it right, though,” said the heron; “coming splashing, and dashing, and sending the water all over a sedate, quiet gentleman, quietly fishing by the side of a pond! And a nice pond it seems too, with plenty of fish in it. It strikes me I shall often come here.”

Just then Bluescrags made a poke at a fish, and caught it in his long bill, and gobbled it up in no time. But he was not to enjoy himself long, for the duck was telling all her neighbours about the ill-usage her little one had received; and the mischief-making little wagtail thought as he had seen the lanky bird eating what he called the kingfisher’s fishes, he would go and tell, and then sit on the bank and see the quarrel there would be; for he considered that the heron had no more business to take the fish out of the pond than the toad had to catch flies. So he ran to the blue bird’s hole, and sticking in his little thin body, he ran up it to the nest, shouting, “Neighbour, neighbour; thieves, thieves!”

“Where, where?” said Ogrebones the kingfisher.