III—­OUT ON THE MOOR

Then he ran and flew over the fence, and the little birds in the bushes flew up in fear.

“That is because I am so ugly!” thought the Duckling; and he shut his eyes, but flew on further; and so he came out into the great moor, where the wild ducks lived.  Here he lay the whole night long, he was so tired and sad.

Toward morning the wild ducks flew up, and looked at their new mate.

“What sort of a one are you?” they asked; and the Duckling turned about to each, and bowed as well as he could.  “You are really very ugly!” said the Wild Ducks.  “But that is all the same to us, so long as you do not marry into our family.”

Poor thing! he certainly did not think of marrying, and only dared ask leave to lie among the reeds and drink some of the swamp water.

There he lay two whole days; then came thither two wild geese, or, more truly, two wild ganders.  It was not long since each had crept out of an egg, and that’s why they were so saucy.

“Listen, comrade,” said one of them.  “You’re so ugly that I like you.  Will you go with us, and become a bird of passage?  Near here is another moor, where are a few sweet lovely wild geese, all unmarried, and all able to say ‘Quack!’ You’ve a chance of making your fortune, ugly as you are.”

“Piff! paff!” sounded through the air; and both the ganders fell down dead in the reeds, and the water became blood-red.  “Piff! paff!” it sounded again, and the whole flock of wild geese flew up from the reeds.  And then there was another report.  A great hunt was going on.  The gunners lay around in the moor, and some were even sitting up in the branches of the trees, which spread far over the reeds.  The blue smoke rose like clouds in among the dark trees, and hung over the water; and the hunting dogs came—­splash, splash!—­into the mud, and the rushes and reeds bent down on every side.  That was a fright for the poor Duckling!  He turned his head to put it under his wing; and at that very moment a frightful great dog stood close by the Duckling.  His tongue hung far out of his mouth, and his eyes glared horribly.  He put his nose close to the Duckling, showed his sharp teeth, and—­splash, splash!—­on he went without seizing it.

“Oh, Heaven be thanked!” sighed the Duckling.  “I am so ugly that even the dog does not like to bite me!”

And so he lay quite quiet, while the shots rattled through the reeds and gun after gun was fired.  At last, late in the day, all was still:  but the poor little thing did not dare to rise up; he waited several hours still before he looked around, and then hurried away out of the moor as fast as he could.  He ran on over field and meadow; there was a storm, so that he had hard work to get away.

IV—­IN THE PEASANT’S HUT