“There seem to be as many Ducks as there are Owls,” remarks Bobbie. “This fellow is called Baldpate, but he’s not bare on top of his head like Gran’pa, at all.”

“No, his head is feathered as well as any Duck’s head,” replies mamma. “I remember hearing him called the Widgeon, I think.”

“Yes, that’s what it says here, the American Widgeon, a game bird, you know, mamma.”

“Yes, its flesh is very delicious, almost as good as the Canvas-back.”

“Oh, but these Baldpates are cunning fellows,” exclaims Bobbie, continuing his reading, “It says they are fond of a certain grass plant which grows deep in both salt and fresh water, but they don’t dive for it as the Canvas-back and other deep water Ducks do.”

“Well?” says mamma, as Bobbie stops, his lips moving, but uttering no sound.

“I stopped to spell a word,” explains Bobbie. “It says they closely follow and watch the Canvas-back and other Ducks, and when they rise to the surface of the water with the roots of the plant in their bills, Mr. Baldpate quickly snatches a part, or all of the catch, and hurries off to eat it at his leisure.”

“A mean fellow, indeed,” remarks mamma, “but he has no reason to guide him, as you have, you know.”

“Indeed I don’t know,” quickly says Bobbie. “You remember that story about the imprisoned Duck that had its leg broken and was put under a small crate, or coop, to keep it from running about? Well, some of the other Ducks pitied the little prisoner and tried to release him by forcing their necks under the crate and thus lifting it up. They found they weren’t strong enough to do that, and so they quacked, and quacked, and quacked among themselves, then marched away in a body. Soon they came back with forty ducks, every one in the farm yard. They surrounded the crate and tried to lift it as before, but again they failed. Then they quacked some more, and after a long talk the whole of them went to one side of the crate. As many as could thrust their necks underneath it, and the rest pushed them forward from behind. A good push, a strong push, up went the crate a little way, and out waddled the little prisoner. I want to know if they didn’t reason that out, mamma?”