The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck

What a funny sight it is to see a brood of ducklings with a hen! Listen to the story of Jemima Puddle-duck, who was annoyed because the farmer's wife would not let her hatch her own eggs. Jemima was a rather simple duck. She wore a blue poke bonnet and a pink shawl, and she waddled about the farmyard with an air of great indignation. "It is not fair," said Jemima. "Every single egg I lay is taken away and given to a horrid hen to sit upon. I wish to hatch my own babies. I am perfectly capable." Her sister-in-law, Mrs. Rebeccah Puddle-duck, shook her head. "You have not the patience, Jemima. You know you have not." But Jemima had made up her mind.

One fine spring afternoon, Jemima set off up the cart road that led over the hill. She was determined to find a secret place to make her nest, far away from the farm and far away from interfering hens. When she reached the top of the hill, she saw a wood in the distance. It looked a safe, quiet spot. Jemima flew down and landed rather heavily among the foxgloves. She was startled to find, seated upon a tree stump, an elegantly dressed gentleman reading a newspaper. He had black prick ears and sandy-coloured whiskers, and a long bushy tail, which he was sitting upon because the stump was somewhat damp. "Madam," said the gentleman, raising his eyes above the newspaper, "have you lost your way?" Jemima thought him mighty civil and remarkably handsome. She explained that she was looking for a convenient, dry place to lay her eggs.

The gentleman with the sandy whiskers led Jemima through the wood to a tumbledown shed. The floor was thick with feathers — soft, downy feathers of the most comfortable kind. "You may lay your eggs here," he said politely. "No one will disturb you. I shall take care of that." Jemima was delighted. She did not notice that the shed smelled of fox. She did not notice the bones scattered in the corner. She made herself a beautiful nest and laid nine creamy-white eggs, and she felt very proud indeed. Every afternoon she came back to sit upon them, and every afternoon the gentleman was waiting for her at the edge of the wood, smiling his wide, toothy smile.

One evening, the gentleman made a curious request. "Madam," he said, "before you sit upon your eggs tomorrow, would you be so kind as to bring me some herbs from the farm garden? I should like sage and thyme, and two onions, and some parsley." "How thoughtful," said Jemima. "You must be planning to make an omelette." She waddled home and collected the herbs, thinking what a generous and agreeable friend she had found. It did not occur to Jemima — for she was not a terribly clever duck — that sage and onions are the stuffing for roast duck.

But there was someone on the farm who was a great deal cleverer than Jemima. His name was Kep, and he was the collie dog. Kep had watched Jemima's comings and goings with growing suspicion. When she set off with the herbs tucked under her wing, Kep followed her at a distance, his nose close to the ground. He found the shed. He found the fox. And he understood at once what was happening. Kep called two foxhound puppies from the village, and together they rushed upon the shed with a great barking and commotion. The gentleman with the sandy whiskers fled into the woods and was not seen again.

Poor Jemima was rescued, but she was quite distraught. In the confusion, the foxhound puppies had eaten every one of her beautiful eggs. She cried all the way home, with her bonnet askew and her shawl trailing in the mud. But Jemima Puddle-duck was allowed to keep her next clutch of eggs, and in time she hatched four fine ducklings. Only four, mind you, out of a good many eggs. Jemima said it was because of her nerves. And the moral of this tale, if you care to find one, is that a friendly smile and fine manners do not always mean a friendly heart. But perhaps that is a lesson best learned from a story, and not from a fox.