"Why just three more of us, Squawker, dear," she answered.
This remark made all three children open their eyes very wide.
"Nonsense," began Rudolf angrily, "we aren't geese!"
From the other end of the room came the voice of the Gentleman Goose, who spoke without turning round. "What makes you think that?" he asked.
"Because we aren't—we—"
—"You're molting pretty badly, of course, now you mention it," interrupted the Lady Goose, "you and the little one. But this one's feathers seem in nice condition." As she spoke she laid a long claw lovingly on Ann's head. "How much would you say a pound, father?"
"Can't say till I get 'em in the scales, of course," and, smoothing down his apron, the Gentleman Goose advanced toward Ann in a businesslike fashion. The two little apprentices, carrying bags, followed at his heels.
Ann clung to Rudolf. "I haven't any feathers," she screamed. "They're curls. I'm not a nasty bird—I'm a little girl with hair!"
"She doesn't want to be plucked!" exclaimed the Gray Goose who had returned to the stove to stir the contents of the iron pot. "Well, now, did you ever! Maybe it goes in her family. I had a great-aunt once on my father's side who—"
"They're feathers, all right," chuckled Squawker. "You're a perfect little duck, that's what I think."