“Did you?” said Mary Jay; “then there must be a little duckling in it alive. Take it up very carefully, and bring it out to me.”
So Lucy took up the egg again, and crept out backward, and handed it to Mary Jay. Then she came out entirely, and stood up before Mary Jay to see the egg. It was cracked and broken by the fall.
“Put the seat back in its place, Lucy,” said Mary Jay, “and then we can get into the sleigh, and sit down.”
So Lucy put the seat back in its place, and they both stepped in and sat down. Then Mary Jay began carefully to pull off the pieces of the shell.
“Are you going to take the little duckling out?” asked Lucy.
“Yes,” replied Mary Jay; “but I don’t believe it will live.”
“Why not?” said Lucy.
“Because,” said Mary Jay, “it is so tender and young. You see it is not fledged yet, and it ought to be kept warm; but the old duck has gone away with the others, and so she will not take care of it; and it is not grown enough to swim about in the water.”
By this time, Mary Jay had got the little duckling out, and held it in her hand. He was partly covered with a coarse sort of bristles, the rudiments of future feathers. He peeped a little, but he could not stand, or hold up his head. He lay extended upon Mary Jay’s hand, almost lifeless and cold.
“How shaggy he looks!” said Mary Jay.