It was a glorious day in the countryside. Summer had come, the corn stood golden in the fields, the oats were tall and green, the hay had been stacked in the meadows, and the stork walked on his long red legs, chattering in Egyptian (which was the language he’d learned from his mother). Around the fields and meadows were vast forests, and in the middle of the forests were deep lakes. Yes, it really was a glorious day.

There, in the sunshine, stood an old farmhouse with a moat around it, and from its wall down to the water, large burdock plants grew. The largest were so tall that little children could stand upright underneath them. It was a spot as wild as the thickest forest.

Here a duck sat on her nest, waiting for her ducklings to hatch. But they were taking such a long time and she had been sitting for so many days that she was starting to get impatient. How much longer would this go on? And didn’t the other ducks realize that she would like a little company now and then? But no—they went right on swimming in the moat and having a wonderful time, and they were never considerate enough to come by and sit down with her for a nice chat under the burdock leaves.

Finally, one egg cracked, then another, then another, until six of them had cracked open. “Peep, peep!” they said. The yolks had suddenly come to life, and each one stuck its little head out of the shell.

“Quack, quack!” said the mother duck encouragingly, and the ducklings all crawled out as well as they could and looked around at the green leaves. The mother duck let them look as much as they wanted to, because green is good for the eyes.