CHAPTER III.
TEMPTATION.
Clinton’s brood of ducks at length made their appearance, just one month after he had put the eggs to the hen. There were eight of them, four of the eggs having produced nothing. If madame Specky was a little astonished at the singular appearance which her children presented, she kept it all to herself, like a good, prudent mother, for she behaved toward them just the same as though they were ordinary chickens. She did not appear to think anything strange of their large bills, or their clumsy, webbed feet, or their awkward, waddling gait. If a dog or cat ventured near them, or a hawk happened to sail through the air, hen never put on bolder front than did mistress Specky. And there was need enough for all her courage, for her young family had so little control over their big feet, that they never could have saved themselves by their legs, had a foe invaded the premises.
For several days after the ducks were hatched, they continued about the poultry-yard, ignorant as yet that there was such a thing as water, except as they had made its acquaintance in the little tin pan from which they were accustomed to drink. Clinton’s father had told him that it was a good plan to keep them from water for the first three or four days, as they were so tender as to be easily injured by cold and dampness. On the fifth day, Clinton concluded to introduce them to their new home; so, gathering up the ducklings into a basket, and taking the hen under his arm, he carried them down to the brook, where he had made the duck-house and pond before-mentioned. It was now about the middle of September, and the brook was nearly dry; but the little round pond contained plenty of water. This pond received all the water that came down in the brook; and there was a dam, at the lower side of it, so that the water could not pass on its way, until it had filled the pond, and flowed over the dam. The pond was thus kept full, all the time, but it could be easily emptied, when necessary, by opening a gate which Clinton had made in the dam.
Clinton had no sooner deposited his basket of ducklings by the side of the pond, than they all seemed possessed to get into the water. Away they ran, pell mell, and before their cautious and anxious mother could warn them of their danger, every one of them had launched away into the new element. And now they were as graceful and beautiful as they had been ungainly and ugly. They glided along over the water as naturally and elegantly as does the new ship on its first entrance upon its destined element. Annie, who had come to witness the scene, was delighted with the sight, and clapped her hands in glee, exclaiming:—
“O, isn’t it beautiful, Clinty? Look! look! see that cunning little one duck its head into the water!”
“Yes,” said Clinton, without turning to look at the sight which so pleased Annie, “yes, and only see what a fuss the old hen is making on the bank! Look quick! Ha, ha, ha!” and the boy, whose love of the ludicrous was as strong as his sister’s love of the beautiful, burst into a hearty laugh. Nor did he laugh without a reason. Madame Specky, good, honest old hen that she was, had never seen such strange doings before, and she was greatly alarmed for the safety of her brood. So she stood by the side of the pond, clucking and calling with all her might, and with her wings partially opened, as if to receive back her naughty children. Her neck was stretched out yearningly towards them, and she was so excited that she could not stand still a moment, but kept dancing, like a boy whose legs are undergoing that peculiar tingling sensation produced by a smart switching with a birch rod. There was horror in her eye, and frenzy in her attitude. But the little ducks, who were the innocent authors of all this alarm, were sailing about as calmly as though nothing unusual had happened. Clinton and Annie remained with them a long time, now admiring the graceful movements of the ducks, and now laughing at the distraction of the old hen, as she tried in vain to call them ashore. After a while, Clinton carried them all to the duck-house, and shut them up for the remainder of the day, that they might get used to their new home.
Mr. Davenport was at this time engaged in getting a piece of land ready for a crop of winter wheat, and he required the assistance of Clinton a considerable portion of each day. The field had to be broken up and manured, and the soil finely pulverized, to prepare it for the seed, which must be sown early in the fall, and not in the spring, like most other seeds. Mr. Davenport always did thoroughly whatever he undertook. His motto was, “If a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well;” and a very good motto it is. Clinton sometimes thought his father was more particular about his work than was necessary; he certainly took more pains than some of his neighbors did. But somehow or other, he always seemed to get paid back liberally for his extra care, by better and larger crops than those could show who were less particular about their work. Mr. Davenport was especially anxious to have the ground well prepared for this crop, because it was an experiment; he never before having attempted to raise winter wheat. Indeed, but very little of this grain had ever been raised in the State, and it was yet uncertain whether the climate was favorable to its production. He therefore determined to give it a fair trial, not only to satisfy his own mind, but that others might be benefited by the experiment; for if he and his neighbors could raise their own flour, instead of sending several hundred miles for it, he thought it was very important that they should know it. Were it not for such men as he, who are willing to enter into patient and careful experiments, for the common benefit, the world would make but slow progress in improvement.
The land was at length about ready for the seed. Clinton had worked pretty hard for several days, and as the family arose from their noon meal, Mr. Davenport said:—
“Well, Clinty, I hope you wont get sick of raising wheat before we have planted it. You have had a pretty hard time, and I think you must be tired. You need not go into the field this afternoon, but you may tackle up Fanny, and drive over to Mr. Fletcher’s, and get the seed-wheat that I bought of him. Get back as early as you can, as I want to have the seed cleaned to-night, and ready to put into the ground to-morrow morning.”
Clinton was not sorry to hear this announcement of his afternoon’s work; for though he was not a lazy boy, it really seemed to him, that just then a ride to the Cross-Roads would be quite as pleasant as an afternoon spent at work in the field. So Fanny was soon harnessed into the wagon, and Clinton started on his errand.