In the morning, when the wild ducks rose in the air, they stared at their new comrade. “What sort of a duck are you?” they all said, coming round him.
He bowed to them, and was as polite as he could be. But he did not reply to their question. “You are exceedingly ugly,” said the wild ducks, “but that will not matter, unless want to marry one of our family.”
Poor thing! He had no thoughts of marriage. All he wanted was permission to lie among the rushes, and drink some of the water on the moor.
After he had been on the moor two days, there came two wild geese, or rather goslings, for they had not been out of the egg long, and were very saucy.
“Listen, friend,” said one of them to the duckling, “you are so ugly, that we like you very well. Will you go with us, and become a bird of passage? Not far from here is another moor. There are some pretty wild geese, all unmarried. It is a chance for you to get a wife. You may be lucky, ugly as you are.”
“Bang, bang” sounded in the air. The two wild geese fell dead among the rushes. The water was tinged with blood. “Bang, bang,” echoed far and wide in the distance, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up from the rushes.
The sound continued from every direction, for the sportsmen surrounded the moor. Some were even seated on branches of trees, overlooking the rushes. The blue smoke from the guns rose like clouds over the dark trees. And as it floated away across the water, a number of sporting dogs bounded in among the rushes. The rushes bent beneath them wherever they went.
How they terrified the poor duckling! He turned away his head to hide it under his wing. At the same moment a large terrible dog passed quite near him. His jaws were open, his tongue hung from his mouth, and his eyes glared fearfully. He thrust his nose close to the duckling, showing his sharp teeth, and then, “splash, splash,” he went into the water without touching him.
“Oh,” sighed the duckling, “how thankful I am for being so ugly; even a dog will not bite me.” And so he lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes, and gun after gun was fired over him. It was late in the day before all became quiet, but even then the poor young thing did not dare to move. He waited quietly for several hours. Then, after looking carefully around him, he hastened away from the moor as fast as he could.
He ran over field and meadow till a storm arose, and he could hardly struggle against it. Towards evening, he reached a poor little cottage. It seemed ready to fall, and only remained standing 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.