He was becoming a queer duck.
Casting one farewell look at his home, he fled. Beyond the outermost paling of the barnyard he went, on into the uncharted wilds of the cow pasture. He waddled blindly.
As he entered a grove of cat-tails, there was a stifled quack. A snowy apparition started up from the couch of reeds where it had been squatting.
"You!" cried Eustace.
She returned his gaze mutely.
"How ... how did you get here?" he asked.
"The cold-heartedness I met with was more than I could bear. It drove me out. Even you, the only living fowl who spoke to me ... even you...."
"Ah, can't you understand!"
"Yes, I understand ... only too well. Let's not talk of it.—Tell me, how is it that you are here?"
"I, too, am an exile."