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It was so beautiful in the country. It was the summer time. The wheat fields were golden, the oats were green, and the hay stood in great stacks in the green meadows. All around the meadows and cornfields grew thick woods, and in the midst of the forest was a deep lake. It was very beautiful, it was delightful in the country.
In a sunny spot stood a pleasant old farmhouse. From the walls down to the water’s edge grew great burdocks. In this snug retreat sat a duck upon her nest. She was watching her young brood. But she felt no pleasure. She was tired and bored. She seldom had visitors. The other ducks liked much better to swim about in the canals than to sit under the burdock leaves to have a gossip with her.
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And so he lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes. Gun after gun was fired over him. It was late in the day before all became quiet. But even then the poor duckling did not dare to move. He waited quietly for several hours and then he looked carefully around him. He saw, nobody. Then he hastened away from the moor as fast as he could. He ran over field and meadow till a storm arose.
Towards evening he reached a poor little cottage. It was ready to fall, and stood because it could not decide on which side to fall first. The storm continued so violent that the duckling could go no farther. He sat down by the cottage, and then he noticed that the door was not closed. There was, therefore, a narrow opening near the bottom. It was large enough for him. He slipped through very quietly, and got a shelter for the night.
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