“Yes’m,” said Sunny.
He might have explained that he was good, but the ducks were certainly as bad as they could be. It was still light enough in the room for him to see the furniture, but try as he might he could not get that foolish, obstinate frightened little duck to come out from behind the bureau. Finally he gave it up and went to bed to take care of the other one, and that fell or jumped out on the other side of the bed and poor Sunny had to get up again and try to find it. The foolish thing let him chase it under the bed, and he was half way under and half way out when Grandpa opened the bedroom door.
“Look here, Sunny, what are you up to now?” began Grandpa. “Your mother is tired and she sent me up to settle you. My soul, boy! what are you doing under the bed?”
Sunny Boy wriggled out and turned a flushed face to Grandpa.
“Nothing,” he said, beginning to climb into bed.
Grandpa was helping him smooth the tangled covers when one of the ducks began to peep.
“What’s that?” said he sharply. “Sunny, what have you got in here? What’s that noise?”
“It’s a duck,” confessed Sunny Boy reluctantly.
Grandpa sat down on the bed.
“A duck? Up here?” he gasped. “Why, how on earth did a duck get in the house?”