"Pop, pop," sounded in the air, andthe two wild geese fell dead among the rushes, and the water was tinged withblood. "Pop, pop," echoed far and wide in the distance, and wholeflocks of wild geese rose up from the rushes. The sound continued from everydirection, for the sportsmen surrounded the moor, and some were even seated on branchesof trees, overlooking the rushes. The blue smoke from the guns rose like cloudsover the dark trees, and as it floated away across the water, a number ofsporting dogs bounded in among the rushes, which bent beneath them whereverthey went. How they terrified the poor duckling! He turned away his head tohide it under his wing, and at the same moment a large terrible dog passedquite near him. His jaws were open, his tongue hung from his mouth, and his eyesglared fearfully. He thrust his nose close to the duckling, showing his sharpteeth, and then, "splash, splash," he went into the water withouttouching him, "Oh," sighed the duckling, "how thankful I am forbeing 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 overhim. It was late in the day before all became quiet, but even then the pooryoung thing did not dare to move. He waited quietly for several hours, andthen, after looking carefully around him, hastened away from the moor as fastas he could. He ran over field and meadow till a storm arose, and he couldhardly struggle against it. Towards evening, he reached a poor little cottage thatseemed ready to fall, and only remained standing because it could not decide onwhich side to fall first. The storm continued so violent, that the ducklingcould go no farther; he sat down by the cottage, and then he noticed that thedoor was not quite closed inconsequence of one of the hinges having given way.There was therefore a narrow opening near the bottom large enough for him toslip through, which he did very quietly, and got a shelter for the night. Awoman, a tom cat, and a hen lived in this cottage. The tom cat, whom the mistresscalled, "My little son," was a great favorite; he could raise hisback, and purr, and could even throw out sparks from his fur if it were strokedthe wrong way. The hen had very short legs, so she was called "Chickieshort legs." She laid good eggs, and her mistress loved her as if she hadbeen her own child. In the morning, the strange visitor was discovered, and thetom cat began to purr, and the hen to cluck.
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