The Child's World Part 25

[Ill.u.s.tration: The ugly duckling and the other ducks]

"Let him alone," said the mother; "he is doing no harm."

"Perhaps not," said the duck who had bitten the poor duckling, "but he is too ugly to stay here. He must be driven out."

"Those are pretty children that the mother has," said the old duck with the rag around her leg. "They are all pretty but that one. What a pity!"

"Yes," replied the mother duck, "he is not handsome, but he is good-tempered, and he swims as well as any of the others. I think he will grow to be pretty. Perhaps he stayed too long in the egg."

"Well, make yourselves at home," said the old duck. "If you find an eel's head, you may bring it to me."

And they did make themselves at home--all but the poor ugly duckling.

His life was made quite miserable. The ducks bit him, and the hens pecked him. So it went on the first day, and each day it grew worse.

The poor duckling was very unhappy. At last he could stand it no longer, and he ran away. As he flew over the fence, he frightened the little birds on the bushes.

"That is because I am so ugly," thought the duckling.

He flew on until he came to a moor where some wild ducks lived. They laughed at him and swam away from him.

Some wild geese came by, and they laughed at the duckling, too. Just then some guns went bang! bang! The hunters were all around. The hunting dogs came splas.h.!.+ into the swamp, and one dashed close to the duckling.

The dog looked at him and went on.

"Well, I can be thankful for that," sighed he. "I am so ugly that even the dog will not bite me."

When all was quiet, the duckling started out again. A storm was raging, and he found shelter in a poor hut. Here lived an old woman with her cat and her hen. The old woman could not see well, and she thought he was a fat duck. She kept him three weeks, hoping that she would get some duck eggs, but the duckling did not lay.

After a while the fresh air and suns.h.i.+ne streamed in at the open door, and the duckling longed to be out on the water. The cat and the hen laughed when he told them of his wish.

"You must be crazy," said the hen. "I do not wish to swim. The cat does not; and I am sure our mistress does not."

"You do not understand me," said the duckling. "I will go out into the wide world."

"Yes, do go," said the hen.

And the duckling went away. He swam on the water and dived, but still all the animals pa.s.sed him by because he was so ugly; and the poor duckling was lonesome.

III

Now the winter came, and soon it was very cold. Snow and sleet fell, and the ugly duckling had a very unhappy time.

One evening a whole flock of handsome white birds rose out of the bushes. They were swans. They gave a strange cry, and spreading their great wings, flew away to warmer lands and open lakes.

The ugly duckling felt quite strange, and he gave such a loud cry that he frightened himself. He could not forget those beautiful happy birds.

He knew not where they had gone, but he wished he could have gone with them.

The winter grew cold--very cold. The duckling swam about in the water to keep from freezing, but every night the hole in which he swam became smaller and smaller. At last he was frozen fast in the ice.

Early the next morning a farmer found the duckling and took him to the farmhouse. There in a warm room the duckling came to himself again. The children wished to play with him, but he was afraid of them.

In his terror he fluttered into the milk pan and splashed the milk about the room. The woman clapped her hands at him, and that frightened him still more. He flew into the b.u.t.ter tub and then into the meal barrel.

How he did look then! The children laughed and screamed. The woman chased him with the fire tongs. The door stood open, and the duckling slipped out into the snow.

It was a cruel, hard winter, and he nearly froze. At last the warm sun began to s.h.i.+ne, and the larks to sing. The duckling flapped his wings and found that they were strong. Away he flew over the meadows and fields.

Soon he found himself in a beautiful garden where the apple trees were in full bloom, and the long branches of the willow trees hung over the sh.o.r.es of the lake. Just in front of him he saw three beautiful white swans swimming lightly over the water.

"I will fly to those beautiful birds," he said. "They will kill me because I am so ugly; but it is all the same. It is better to be killed by them than to be bitten by the ducks and pecked by the hens."

So he flew into the water and swam towards the beautiful birds. They saw the duckling and came sailing down toward him. He bowed his head saying, "Kill me, oh, kill me."

But what was this he saw in the clear water? It was his own image, and lo! he was no longer a clumsy dark-gray bird, but a--swan, a beautiful white swan. It matters not if one was born in a duck yard, if one has only lain in a swan's egg. The other swans swam around him to welcome him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The little children see the new swan]

Some little children came into the garden with corn and other grains which they threw into the water. The smallest one cried, "Oh, see! there is a new swan, and it is more beautiful than any of the others."

The ugly duckling was shy and at first hid his head under his wing. Then he felt so happy that he raised his neck and said, "I never dreamed of so much happiness when I was an ugly duckling."

--HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

THE WHITE BLACKBIRD

I

I was born a blackbird in a bushy thicket near a meadow. My father took good care of his family and would peck about all day for insects. These he brought home to my mother, holding them by the tail so as not to mash them. He had a sweet voice, too, and every evening sang beautiful songs.

I should have been happy, but I was not. I ate little and was weak; and from the first, I was different from my brothers and sisters. They had glossy, black feathers, while mine were dirty gray. These made my father angry whenever he looked at them.

When I moulted for the first time, he watched me closely. While the feathers were falling out and while I was naked, he was kind; but my new feathers drove him wild with anger. I did not wonder. I was no longer even gray; I had become snow white. I was a white blackbird! Did such a thing ever happen in a blackbird family before?

It made me very sad to see my father so vexed over me. But it is hard to stay sad forever, and one suns.h.i.+ny spring day I opened my bill and began to sing. At the first note my father flew up into the air like a sky-rocket.

"What do I hear?" he cried. "Is that the way a blackbird whistles? Do I whistle that way?"

"I whistle the best I can," I replied.

"That is not the way we whistle in my family," my father said. "We have whistled for many, many years and know how to do it. It is not enough for you to be white; you must make that horrible noise. The truth is you are not a blackbird."

"I will leave home," I answered with a sob. "I will go far away where I can pick up a living on earthworms and spiders."

"Do as you please," my father said. "You are not a blackbird."