Clinton had one sister, but no brothers; her name was Annie; and she was seven years younger than her brother. She was a beautiful child, with large, blue eyes full of confidence and love, a fat, rosy face, and hair that hung in golden curls about her white shoulders. She was all gentleness and affection, and was the pet and favorite of the household. No boy of his age ever loved a sister more than Clinton did his. Though she was so much younger than himself, he spent much of his time with her, joining in sports in which she could take a part, or making playthings for her amusement. It was very rarely that he allowed himself to use an unkind or impatient word toward her; and when he did, he was sure to repent of it, for he could not bear the silent and sorrowful reproach of those eyes. Annie, for her part, was proud of her brother, and returned, with interest, all the affection he bestowed upon her. She was sure that no other little girl in Brookdale had such a brother; and when this subject was talked about after school one day, she was not a little offended with Susan Lovering, because she persisted in maintaining that her brother Herbert was just as good and as ingenious a boy as Clinton Davenport. Annie thought the idea absurd, and it was some time before she could forgive Susan for making such a remark.
The only other inmate of the house I have described, was Clinton’s mother. Mrs. Davenport was an excellent woman, gentle and lady-like in her manners, and extremely fond of her children. Mr. Davenport employed one or two hired men on his farm a portion of the year, but they did not live with the family.
“Father,” said Clinton one day, on coming home from the mill, and before he had alighted from the wagon, “Father, may I keep some ducks?”
“Ducks! what do you want of them, Clinty?” inquired his father.
“Why, I’ve just seen Jerry Preston, and he’s got some real handsome ones, and he says I may have four of them for a dollar.”
“Yes, but that isn’t answering my question. No doubt Jerry would be glad to sell his ducks, but what do you want of them, and what will you do with them? We must always think of these things before we buy anything. I am not so sure but that if you had the ducks you would be almost as badly off as the man who came into possession of an elephant, which he could not keep, sell, nor give away.”
“Why, father,” replied Clinton, “I can build a little house to keep them in, down by the side of the brook, and Jerry says they will lay more than eggs enough to pay for their keeping. They don’t need so much grain as hens do. They look real handsome, too, sailing on the water.”
“Well, if you are willing to pay for them out of your own money, and will provide a suitable place for them, I don’t know as I shall object to your keeping a few. But it seems to me you might make a better bargain than you propose. Won’t Jerry sell you some eggs?”
“I don’t know as he has any, yet, for he has just begun to keep ducks; but I will ask him.”
“Do so,” said Mr. Davenport, “and if he will sell you a dozen, at a reasonable price, you may buy them.”