“But I can talk,” said the Portuguese duck; “and I’ll do something for the little fellow; it’s my duty;” and she stepped into the water-trough, and beat her wings upon the water so strongly that the little bird was drowned by a shower-bath; but the duck meant it kindly. “That is a good deed,” she said; “I hope the others will take example by it.”
“Tweet, tweet!” said the little bird, for one of his wings being broken, he found it difficult to shake himself; but he quite understood that the bath was meant kindly; and he said, “You are very kind-hearted, madam,” but he did not wish for a second bath.
“I have never thought about my heart,” replied the Portuguese duck; “but I know that I love all my fellow-creatures, except the cat, and nobody can expect me to love her, for she ate up two of my ducklings. But pray make yourself at home; it is easy to make one’s self comfortable. I am myself from a foreign country, as you may see by my bearing and my feathery dress. My drake is a native of these parts; he’s not of my race; but I am not proud on that account. If any one here can understand you, I may say positively I am that person.”
“She’s quite full of ‘Portulak,’” said a little common duck, who was witty. All the common ducks considered the word “Portulak” a good joke, for it sounded like Portugal. They nudged each other, and said, “Quack! that was witty!”
Then the other ducks began to notice the little bird. “The Portuguese has certainly a great flow of language,” they said to the little bird. “For our part, we don’t care to fill our beaks with such long words, but we sympathise with you quite as much. If we don’t do anything else, we can walk about with you everywhere, and we think that the best thing we can do.”
“You have a lovely voice,” said one of the eldest ducks; “it must be a great satisfaction to you to be able to give so much pleasure as you do. I am certainly no judge of your singing, so I keep my beak shut, which is better than talking nonsense, as others do.”
“Don’t plague him so,” interposed the Portuguese duck; “he requires rest and nursing. My little singing-bird, do you wish me to prepare another bath for you?”
“Oh, no! no! pray let me be dry,” implored the little bird.
“The water-cure is the only remedy for me, when I am not well,” said the Portuguese. “Amusement, too, is very beneficial. The fowls from the neighbourhood will soon be here to pay you a visit. There are two Cochin Chinese amongst them; they wear feathers on their legs, and are well educated. They have been brought from a great distance, and consequently I treat them with greater respect than I do the others.”
Then the fowls arrived, and the cock was polite enough to-day to keep from being rude. “You are a real songster,” he said, “and you do as much with your little voice as it is possible to do; but there requires more noise and shrillness in any one who wishes it to be known who he is.”
The two Chinese were quite enchanted with the appearance of the singing-bird. His feathers had been much ruffled by his bath, so that he seemed
