A DUCK once arrived from Portugal， but therewere some who said she came from Spain， which isalmost the same thing. At all events， she was calledthe “Portuguese，” and she laid eggs， was killed，and cooked， and there was an end of her. But theducklings which crept forth from the eggs were alsocalled “Portuguese，” and about that there may besome question. But of all the family one onlyremained in the duckyard， which may be called a farmyard， as the chickens were admitted，and the cock strutted about in a very hostile manner. “He annoys me with his loud crowing，”said the Portuguese duck; “but， still， he's a handsome bird， there's no denying that，although he's not a drake. He ought to moderate his voice， like those little birds who aresinging in the lime-trees over there in our neighbor's garden， but that is an art only acquiredin polite society. How sweetly they sing there; it is quite a pleasure to listen to them! I call itPortuguese singing. If I had only such a little singing-bird， I'd be kind and good as a mother tohim， for it's in my nature， in my Portuguese blood.”
While she was speaking， one of the little singing-birds came tumbling head over heels fromthe roof into the yard. The cat was after him， but he had escaped from her with a brokenwing， and so came tumbling into the yard. “That's just like the cat， she's a villain，” said thePortuguese duck. “I remember her ways when I had children of my own. How can such acreature be allowed to live， and wander about upon the roofs. I don't think they allow suchthings in Portugal.” She pitied the little singing-bird， and so did all the other ducks who werenot Portuguese.
“Poor little creature!” they said， one after another， as they came up. “We can't sing，certainly; but we have a sounding-board， or something of the kind， within us; we can feelthat， though we don't talk about it.”
“But I can talk，” said the Portuguese duck; “and I'll do something for the little fellow; it'smy duty;” and she stepped into the water-trough， and beat her wings upon the water sostrongly that the bird was nearly drowned by a shower-bath; but the duck meant it kindly. “That is a good deed，” she said; “I hope the others will take example by it.”
“Tweet， tweet!” said the little bird， for one of his wings being broken， he found itdifficult to shake himself; but he quite understood that the bath was meant kindly， and hesaid， “You are very kind-hearted， madam;” but he did not wish for a second bath.
“I have never thought about my heart，” replied the Portuguese duck， “but I know that Ilove all my fellow-creatures， except the cat， and nobody can expect me to love her， for sheate up two of my ducklings. But pray make yourself at home; it is easy to make one's selfcomfortable. I am myself from a foreign country， as you may see by my feathery dress. Mydrake is a native of these parts; he's not of my race; but I am not proud on that account. Ifany one here can understand you， I may say positively I am that person.”
“She's quite full of 'Portulak，'” said a little common duck， who was witty. All the commonducks considered the word “Portulak” a good joke， for it sounded like Portugal. They nudgedeach other， and said， “Quack! that was witty!”
then the other ducks began to notice the little bird. “The Portuguese had certainly a GREatflow of language，” they said to the little bird. “For our part we don't care to fill our beaks withsuch long words， but we sympathize with you quite as much. If we don't do anything else，we can walk about with you everywhere， and we think that is the best thing we can do.”
“You have a lovely voice，” said one of the eldest ducks; “it must be GREat satisfaction toyou to be able to give so much pleasure as you do. I am certainly no judge of your singing so Ikeep my beak shut， which is better than talking nonsense， as others do.”
“Don't plague him so，” interposed the Portuguese duck; “he requires rest and nursing.My little singing-bird do you wish me to prepare another bath for you?”
“Oh， no! no! pray let me dry，” implored the little bird.