appearance as a herdsman of ducks! Why
must there be a jar to the even tenor of such joys? The too frequent
encounter of my tender skin with the hard ground had given me a large
and painful blister on the heel. Had I wanted to put on the shoes stowed
away in the cupboard for Sundays and holidays, I could not. There was
nothing for it but to go barefoot over the broken stones, dragging my
leg and carrying high the injured heel.

Let us make a start, hobbling along, switch in hand, behind the ducks.
They too, poor little things, have sensitive soles to their feet; they
limp, they quack with fatigue. They would refuse to go any farther if I
did not, from time to time, call a halt under the shelter of an ash.

We are there at last. The place could not be better for my birdlets;
shallow, tepid water, interspersed with muddy knolls and green eyots.
The diversions of the bath begin forthwith. The ducklings clap their
beaks and rummage here, there and everywhere; they sift each mouthful,
rejecting the clear water and retaining the good bits. In the deeper
parts, they point their sterns into the air and stick their heads under
water. They are happy; and it is a blessed thing to see them at work. We
will let them be. It is my turn to enjoy the pond.

What is this? On the mud lie some loose, knotted, soot-colored cords.
One could take them for threads of wool like those which you pull out of
an old ravelly stocking. Can some shepherdess, knitting a black sock and
finding her work turn out badly, have begun all over again and, in her
impatience, have thrown down the wool with all the dropped stitches? It
really looks like it.

I take up one of those cords in my hand. It is sticky and extremely
slack; the thing slips through the fingers before they can catch hold of
it. A few of the knots burst and shed their contents. What comes out is
a black globule, the size of a pin's head, followed by a flat tail. I
recognize, on a very small scale, a familiar object: the tadpole, the
frog's baby. I have seen enough. Let us leave the knotted cords alone.

The next creatures please me better. They spin round on the surface of
the water and their black backs gleam in the sun. If I lift a hand to
seize them, that moment they disappear, I know not where. It's a pity: I
should have much liked to see them closer and to make them wriggle in a
little bowl which I should have put ready for them.

Let us look at the bottom of the water, pulling as