“Eat it! Eat a fly? Haven’t you any corn or bread or things of that kind at home?”
Queek shook his head. “We don’t know what corn is, or bread either.”
“Don’t know what they are! Why, at the farmyard where I live the farmer’s wife comes out twice a day and gives us all we can eat. Sometimes she gives us a dish of curds, too; or a meat bone to pick. Though mostly we have to share our meat bones with the watch-dog. He’s a great friend of mine, old Mr. Tige is. He’d let me have his bones any time if I wanted them.”
“Mr. Tige!” cried Squdge. “Why, that’s the name of the watch-dog at the farm where our mother used to live. Where is your farmyard?”
“Oh, over there,” said the chicken, pointing with his wing. “Who is your mother, anyway?”
The ducklings told him who their mother was, and where they lived, and all about themselves.
They, in turn, asked him about the farmyard.
“I’m just sure that’s where our mother used to live,” said Buff. “Oh, how I wish we could see it.”
“Well, you can. Come along with me, and I’ll show it to you.”
