through that moment when he should meet Cæsar face to face.
But, to his sorrow, he must have fallen down in the very yard where Cæsar lived,
for there he stood right over him. "Who are you?" he growled. "How did you get
into the house? Don't you belong down among the reed banks?"
It was with great difficulty that he gained the courage to speak. "Don't be
angry with me, Cæsar, because I came into the house!" he pleaded. "It isn't my
fault. I have been wounded by a gunshot. It was the mistress herself who laid me
in this basket."
"Oho! so it was the house-folk themselves that placed you here," said Cæsar.
"Then it is surely their intention to cure you; though for my part, I think it
would be more sensible for them to eat you, since you are in their power. But,
at all events, you are safe in the house. You needn't look so scared. Now, we're
not down on Tåkern."
With that Cæsar stretched himself full-length before the the blazing log-fire,
to sleep. As soon as Jarro understood that this terrible danger was past,
extreme lassitude crept upon him, and he fell asleep anew.
The next time Jarro awoke, he saw that a dish with grain and water stood before
him. He was still quite ill, but he felt hungry nevertheless, and began to eat.
When the mistress saw that he ate, she came over and petted him, and looked
pleased. After that, Jarro fell asleep again. For several days he did nothing
but eat and sleep.
One bright morning Jarro felt so well that he stepped from the basket and
wandered along the floor. But he hadn't gone very far before he keeled over, and
lay there. Then along came Cæsar, who opened his big jaws and grabbed him. Jarro
believed, of course, that the dog was going to bite him to death; but Cæsar
carried him back to the basket without harming him. Because of that Jarro had
such a confidence in the dog, Cæsar, that on his next walk in the cottage, he
went over to the dog and laid down beside him. Thus Cæsar and he became good
friends, and every day, for several hours, Jarro lay and slept between Cæsar's
fore-paws.
But an even greater affection than he had for Cæsar, did Jarro feel toward his
mistress. Of her he had not the least fear; but rubbed his head against her hand
when she brought him his food. Whenever she went out from the cottage he sighed
with regret; and when she came back he cried welcome to her in his own language.
Jarro forgot entirely how afraid he had been of both dogs and humans in other
days. He thought now that they were gentle and kind, and he loved them. He
wished that he were well, so he could fly down to Tåkern and tell the wild ducks
that their enemies were not dangerous, and that they need not fear them.
He had observed that the human beings, as well as Cæsar, had calm eyes, which it
did one good to look into. Clawina, the house cat, was the only one in the
cottage whose glance he did not care to meet. She did him no harm, either, but
he couldn't place any confidence in her. Then, too, she quarrelled with him
constantly, because he loved human beings. "You think they protect you because
they are fond of you," said Clawina. "You just wait until you are fat enough!
Then they'll wring the neck off you. I know them, I do."
Jarro, like all birds, had a tender and affectionate heart; and he was
unutterably distressed when he heard this. He couldn't imagine that his mistress
would wish to wring the neck off him, nor could he believe any such thing of her
son, the little boy who sat for hours beside his basket, and babbled and
chattered. He seemed to think that both of them had the same love for him that
he had for them.
One day, while Jarro and Cæsar lay on their usual spot before the fire, Clawina
sat on the hearth and began to tease the wild duck.
"I wonder, Jarro, what you wild ducks will do next year, when Tåkern is drained
and turned into grain-fields?" said Clawina. "What's that you say, Clawina?"
cried Jarro, and jumped up ­ scared through and through. "I always forget,
Jarro, that you do not understand human speech, like Cæsar and myself," purred
the cat. "Otherwise you surely would have heard the men who were here yesterday
say that all the water was to be drained from Tåkern, and that next year the
lake-bottom would be as dry as a house-floor. And now I wonder where you wild
ducks will go." While Jarro listened to this talk he became so furious that he
hissed like a snake. "You are just as mean as a common coot!" he screamed at
Clawina. "You only want to incite me against human beings. I don't believe they
want to do anything of the sort. They must know that Tåkern is the wild ducks'
property. Why should they make so many birds homeless and unhappy? You have
certainly hit upon all this to scare me. I hope that you may be torn in pieces
by Gorgo, the eagle! I hope that my mistress will chop off your whiskers!"
But Jarro couldn't shut Clawina up with this outburst. "So you think I'm lying,"
said she. "Ask Cæsar, then! He was also in the house last night. Cæsar never
lies."
"Cæsar", said Jarro, "you understand human speech much better than Clawina. Say
that she hasn't heard aright! Think how it would be if the people were to drain
Tåkern, and change the lake-bottom into fields! Then there would be no more
pondweed or duck-food for the grown wild ducks, and no blackfish or worms or
gnat-eggs for the ducklings. Then the reed-banks would disappear ­ where now the
ducklings conceal themselves until they are able to fly. All ducks would be
compelled to move away from here, and seek another home. But where shall they
find a retreat like Tåkern? Cæsar, say that Clawina has not heard aright!"
It was wonderful to watch Cæsar's behaviour during this altercation. He had been
wide-awake the whole time before, but now, when Jarro turned to him, he panted,
laid his long nose on his fore-paws, and was sound asleep within the wink of an
eyelid.
The cat looked down at Cæsar with a knowing smile. "I believe that Cæsar doesn't
care to answer you," she said to Jarro. "It is with him as with all dogs; they
will never admit that humans can do any wrong. But you can rely upon my word, at
any rate. I shall tell you why they wish to drain the lake just now. So long as
you wild ducks were still in power on Tåkern they did not wish to drain it, for
then they got some good out of you; but now that grebes and coots, and other
birds who are useless as food, have infested nearly all the reed-banks, the
people think it needless to let the lake remain on their account."
Jarro didn't trouble himself to answer Clawina, but raised his head and shouted
in Cæsar's ear: "Cæsar! You know that on Tåkern there are still so many ducks
left that they fill the air like clouds. Say it isn't true that human beings
intend to make all of these homeless!"
Then Cæsar sprang up with such a sudden outburst at Clawina that she had to save
herself by jumping upon a shelf. "I'll teach you to keep quiet when I want to
sleep," growled Cæsar. "Of course I know that there is some talk of draining the
lake this year. But there has been talk of this many times before without
anything coming of it. And that draining business is a matter in which I take no
stock whatever. For how would it go with the game if Tåkern were laid waste.
You're a donkey to gloat over a thing like that. What will you and I have to
amuse ourselves with, when there are no more birds on Tåkern?"
THE DECOY-DUCK
Sunday, April seventeenth.
JARRO was so well now that he could fly all about the house. He was petted a
good deal by the mistress, and her little boy ran out into the yard and plucked
for him the first spring grass-blades. When the mistress caressed him, Jarro
thought that, although he was so strong now that he could fly down to Tåkern at
any time, he shouldn't care to be separated from human beings. He had no
objection to remaining with them all his life.
But early one morning the mistress placed a halter, or noose, over Jarro, which
prevented him from using his wings, and then she turned him over to the
farm-hand who had found him in the yard. The farm-hand poked him under his arm,
and went down to Tåkern with him.
The ice had melted during Jarro's illness. The old, dry fall leaves still lay
scattered along the shores and islets, but all the water-weeds had begun to take
root down in the deep; and the green stems had already reached the surface. And
now nearly all the birds of passage were at home. The curlews' hooked bills
peeped out from the reeds. The grebes glided about with new feather-collars
around their necks; and the jacksnipe were gathering straws for their nests.
The farm-hand got into a scow, laid Jarro in the bottom of the boat, and began
to pole out. Jarro, who had now accustomed himself to expect only good of human
beings, said to Cæsar, who was also of the party, that he felt very grateful
toward the farm-hand for taking him out on the lake. But there the man needn't
keep him so tightly fettered for he was not thinking of flying away. To this
Cæsar made no reply. He was very close-mouthed that morning.
The only thing which struck Jarro as being a bit strange was that the farm-hand
had taken his gun along. He couldn't believe that any of the good folk in the
cottage would want to shoot at birds. And, besides, Cæsar had told him that the
people didn't hunt at this time of the year. "It is a prohibited time", he had
said, "although this doesn't concern me, of course."
The farm-hand rowed over to one of the little reed-enclosed mud-islets. There he
stepped from the boat, gathered some old reeds into a pile, and laid down behind
it. Jarro was free to wander around on the ground with the halter over his
wings, and tethered to the boat with a long string.
Suddenly Jarro caught sight of some young ducks and drakes, in whose company he
had formerly raced back and forth over the lake. They were a long way off, but
Jarro called them to him with loud shouts. They responded, and a large and
beautiful flock approached. Even before they were there, Jarro began to tell
them about his marvellous rescue, and of the kindness of human beings. Just
then, bang went two shots behind him, and three ducks sank down in the reeds ­
lifeless. Cæsar bounded out and captured them.
Then Jarro understood. The human beings had saved him only that they might use
him as a decoy-duck. And they had also succeeded. Three ducks had been killed on
his account. He thought he should die of shame. He fancied that even his friend
Cæsar looked contemptuously at him; and when they got back to the cottage, he
didn't dare lie down and sleep beside the dog.
The next morning Jarro was again taken out on the shallows. This time, also, he
sighted some ducks. But when he observed that they flew toward him, he called to
them: "Away! Away! Be careful! Fly in another direction! There's a hunter hidden
behind the reed-pile. I'm only a decoy-bird!" And he actually succeeded in
preventing them from coming within shooting distance.
Jarro hardly had time to taste of a grass-blade, so busy was he keeping watch.
He called out his warning as soon as a bird drew nigh. He even warned the
grebes, although he detested them because they crowded the ducks out of their
best hiding-places. But he did not wish that any bird should meet with
misfortune on his account. And, thanks to Jarro's vigilance, the farm-hand had
to go home without firing a single shot.
All the same, Cæsar looked less displeased than on the previous day; and when
the evening was come he took Jarro in his mouth, carried him over to the
fireplace, and let him sleep between his fore-paws.
Nevertheless, Jarro was no longer contented in the cottage, but was grievously
unhappy. His heart suffered at the thought that humans never had loved him. When
the mistress or the little boy came forward to caress him, he stuck his bill
under his wing and pretended that he slept.
For several days Jarro continued his distressful watch-service; and he was
already known over the whole lake. Then it happened one morning, while he called
out as usual: "Have a care, birds! Don't come near me! I'm only a decoy-duck,"
that a grebe-nest came floating toward the shallows where he was tied. There was
nothing extraordinary about this. It was a nest from the year before; and since
grebe-nests are built in such a way that they can move on water like boats, it
often happens that they drift out on the lake. Yet Jarro stood there gazing
toward the nest, which was headed so straight for the islet that it appeared as
if some one were steering its course over the water.
As the nest came nearer, Jarro saw that a little human being ­ the tiniest he
had ever seen ­ sat in the nest and rowed forward with a pair of sticks. And
this little human called to him: "Go as near the water as you can, Jarro, and be
ready to fly. You shall soon be freed."
A few seconds later the grebe-nest lay near land, yet the little oarsman did not
leave it, but sat huddled between branches and straw. Jarro, too, held himself
almost rigid. He was actually paralyzed with fear lest the rescuer should be
discovered.
And next a flock of wild geese came flying over. Then Jarro woke up to business,
