III
HOW cosy it was there in the dry hollow of the tree, with the rain beating harder and harder outside and streaming down the tree trunks.
After a while the ducklings got out their play-things and began to play with them, but soon they tired of this, and nestling down about their mother they begged her to tell them a story.
“A story?” said Mother Duck. “Very well. What shall it be about?”
“Tell about Wiggle-Waggle-Wisk-Tail!” cried Squdge and Queek.
“No, no; don’t tell about that,” begged Curly-Tail, almost in tears. “That’s too sad a story, mother. It always makes me cry.”
“Pshaw! I wouldn’t be such a baby as to cry over a story,” cried Squdge. “Go ahead, mother! Tell it, won’t you?”