So Charlie waited, and it was not much fun. It grew late, and soon, he knew, it would be supper time. Still he was out in the middle of the duck pond, far from shore.
“Help! Help!” crowed Charlie. “Will no one help me get to land in my boat?”
No one answered him. If Lulu or Alice or Jimmie Wibblewobble, the duck children, had been near there I am sure they would have helped Charlie. But all the ducks were away that day, having gone to a Mother Goose party. So no one heard Charlie call.
“Oh, if there was only some wind!” cried the chicken boy. “I think I shall whistle for a breeze, as I have read of sailors doing when they want their boats to go.”
So Charlie whistled all the tunes he could think of, such as: “Please Don’t Tip the Milk Can Over,” and “Who Put Soap in Dollie’s Eye?”
But, no matter how much the chicken boy whistled, no breeze came to blow against his sail and waft him to shore.
“Well, I guess I will have to blow my own wind,” said Charlie, after a bit. “That may help.” So he puffed up his chest, and through his bill he blew a strong blast on the sail. But it did no good, any more than it would do you good if you took hold of your shoe laces and tried to raise yourself up off the floor.
“Oh, dear!” cried Charlie. “I guess I’ll have to stay here all night, and I want to be home for supper, because they’re going to have corn meal shortcake. Oh will no one help me?”
But no one came near the duck pond and no wind blew, and the boat was still out in the middle of the water. It did look as though Charlie would be out all night, as he once was with the wild turkey.
“Oh, will no one help me?” cried Charlie, for the last time.