Farmer Brown’s boy had heard Welcome Robin singing in the Old Orchard quite as soon as Peter Rabbit had, and that song of “Cheer up!  Cheer up!  Cheer up!  Cheer!” had awakened quite as much gladness in his heart as it had in Peter’s heart.  It meant that Mistress Spring really had arrived, and that over in the Green Forest and down on the Green Meadows there would soon be shy blue, and just as shy white violets to look for, and other flowers almost if not quite as sweet and lovely.  It meant that his feathered friends would soon be busy house-hunting and building.  It meant that his little friends in fur would also be doing something very similar, if they had not already done so.  It meant that soon there would be a million lovely things to see and a million joyous sounds to hear.

So the sound of Welcome Robin’s voice made the heart of Farmer Brown’s boy even more happy than it was before, and as Welcome Robin just had to sing, so Farmer Brown’s boy just had to whistle.  When his work was finished, it seemed to Farmer Brown’s boy that something was calling him, calling him to get out on the Green Meadows or over in the Green Forest and share in the happiness of all the little people there.  So presently he decided that he would go down to the Smiling Pool to find out how Jerry Muskrat was, and if Grandfather Frog was awake yet, and if the sweet singers of the Smiling Pool had begun their wonderful spring chorus.

Down the Crooked Little Path cross the Green Meadows he tramped, and as he drew near the Smiling Pool, he stopped whistling lest the sound should frighten some of the little people there.  He was still some distance from the Smiling Pool when out of it sprang a big bird and on swift, whistling wings flew away in the direction of the Big River.  Farmer Brown’s boy stopped and watched until the bird had disappeared, and on his face was a look of great surprise.

“As I live, that was a Duck!” he exclaimed.  “That is the first time I’ve ever known a wild Duck to be in the Smiling Pool.  I wonder what under the sun could have brought her over here.”

Just then there was a distant bang in the direction of the Big River.  Farmer Brown’s boy scowled, and it made his face very angry-looking.  “That’s it,” he muttered.  “Hunters are shooting the Ducks on their way north and have driven the poor things to look for any little mudhole where they can get a little rest.  Probably that Duck has been shot at so many times on the Big River that she felt safer over here in the Smiling Pool, little as it is.”

Farmer Brown’s boy had guessed exactly right, as you and I know, and as Peter Rabbit and Jerry Muskrat knew.  “It’s a shame, a downright shame that any one should want to shoot birds on their way to their nesting-grounds and that the law should let them if they do want to.  Some people haven’t any hearts; they’re all stomachs.  I hope that fellow who shot just now over there on the Big River didn’t hit anything, and I wish that gun of his might have kicked a little sense of what is right and fair into his head, but of course it didn’t.”