Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE POND
_By Carl Ewald_
TRANSLATED FROM
THE DANISH BY
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS
AND
ILLUSTRATED BY
_Warwick Reynolds_
[Illustration]
THORNTON BUTTERWORTH LTD
15 BEDFORD ST LONDON WC2
_Published 1922_
[Illustration]
THE ROYAL ROAD
LIBRARY
THE CARL EWALD BOOKS
Translated by
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS
* * * * *
1. TWO-LEGS
2. THE OLD WILLOW TREE
and other stories
6. THE POND
THE NETTA SYRETT BOOKS
3. TOBY & THE ODD BEASTS
4. RACHEL & THE SEVEN WONDERS
8. MAGIC LONDON
THE W. H. KOEBEL BOOKS
5. THE BUTTERFLIES' DAY
7. THE PAGEANT OF THE FLOWERS
* * * * *
THE ROYAL ROAD LIBRARY
THE POND
[Illustration: THE CRAYFISH DROPPED OFF p. 105]
CONTENTS
_Page_
CHAPTER I.
THE BEGINNING 13
CHAPTER II.
A MAN OF THE WORLD 19
CHAPTER III.
A MOTHER 27
CHAPTER IV.
THE WATER-SPIDER 37
CHAPTER V.
THE BLADDER-WORT 49
CHAPTER VI.
SUMMER 59
CHAPTER VII.
THE CARP 67
CHAPTER VIII.
THE MUSSEL 77
CHAPTER IX.
THE WATER-LILY 91
CHAPTER X.
THE CRAY-FISH'S JOURNEY 99
CHAPTER XI.
THE WORST DAY OF ALL 109
CHAPTER XII.
THE END 123
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The cray-fish dropped off (_Colour_) _Frontispiece_
The pike appeared among the reeds with wide-open
mouth and rows of sharp teeth and angry
eyes (_Colour_) 40
'He was in my way,' said the spider 44
'Oh! really,' said the perch (_Colour_) 64
He slammed his shell down 80
The Water Lily (_Colour_) 96
He lay in the water, hit by a stray shot 116
CHAPTER I
The Beginning
[Illustration]
One day in early spring, a young reed-warbler sat in a bush in Italy and
hung his beak.
This was not because he really had anything to complain of. The sun was
shining; there were flies in plenty; and no one was doing him harm. A
little while before, a pretty girl, with jet-black eyes, had sat under
the bush and listened to his song and kissed her hand to him.
And yet he wanted something.
He was tired of the Italian flies. He had a feeling in his wings as if
he could do hundreds of miles at a stretch. There were notes in his
throat which he was unable to get out and his little heart was filled
with a longing which he could not understand and which would have made
him cry, if a reed-warbler knew how to cry. But he can only sing and he
sings just alike on all days, whether he be glad or sorry.
So he sang. And, when he stopped, he heard a voice, from a bush close
by, which resembled his own to a nicety, only it was not so strong.
He was off in a moment and alighting on a twig gazed at the sweetest
little lady reed-warbler that one could wish to set eyes on.
There was no one to introduce them to each other and so they introduced
themselves. For there is not the same stiff etiquette among birds as at
a court ball. Also things move more quickly; and, when they had chatted
for five minutes or so, the reed-warbler said:
"Now that I have seen you, I know what's the matter with me. I am
longing to go back to the land where I was born. I have a distinct
recollection of a quiet pond, with reeds and rushes and green beeches
round it."
"I am longing to go there, too," said the little reed-warbler. "I
remember it also."
"Then the best thing that we can do is to get engaged," said he. "As
soon as we come to the pond, we will celebrate our marriage and build a
nest."
"Will you love me till I die?" she asked.
"I can't answer for more than the summer," he replied. "But I promise
you that."
Then she said yes. They had no one to announce the engagement to, for
they had seen none of their relations since the autumn. So they had a
little banquet to themselves. He treated her to some fat flies; and they
sang a little duet and started on their journey.
They flew for many days.
Sometimes they rested a little, when they came to a green valley, and
they also made travelling-acquaintances. For there were many birds going
the same way and they often flew in flocks and flights. But the two
reed-warblers always kept close together, as good sweethearts should.
And, when they were tired, they cheered each other with tales of the
quiet pond.
At last they arrived.
It was a beautiful morning towards the end of May. The sun was shining;
and white clouds floated slowly through the sky. The beeches were quite
out and the oaks nearly. The reeds and rushes were green, the little
waves danced merrily in the sun and all things wore a look of sheer
enjoyment.
"Isn't it lovely?" asked the reed-warbler.
"Yes," she said. "We will live here."
Close to the shore they found a place which they liked. They bound three
reeds together with fine fibres, a yard above the water, and then wove
the dearest little basket, which they lined with nice down. When the
reeds swayed in the wind, the nest swayed too, but that did not matter,
for it was bound fast and reed-warblers are never seasick.
[Illustration]
It took them eight days to build it; and they were awfully happy
together all the time. They sang, so that they could be heard right
across the pond; and, in the evening, when they were tired, they hopped
about in the reeds and smiled upon each other or peeped at their
neighbours on either side and opposite.
"There's the water-lily shooting up through the water," said little Mrs.
Reed-Warbler. "I remember her well; she is so stately and so
beautiful."
"There is the green frog sitting on the edge," said he. "He catches
flies and grubs, just as I do, but there are enough here for both of us,
so we shan't fall out."
"Look at the cray-fish crawling down below!" cried she. "And there's the
roach ... and the perch ... and oh, look, there's quite a green wood at
the bottom of the pond and fish swimming between the branches and
caddis-grubs rocking in their cases!..."
"Yes, it's charming here," he said, in a tone as though it all belonged
to him.
"And they all look so nice," she said, "and so happy. I feel sure they
are all newly married like ourselves."
"Of course," said the reed-warbler. "Every one gets married in the
spring. But I don't believe there's anybody in the wide world as happy
as we are."
And then he stretched out his neck and sang, for all to hear:
There's not in the wide world a sweetheart like mine,
So fair, so fine,
And no singer on earth sings better!
Let others go worship whomever they will,
I'm true to my beautiful sweetheart still
And shall never, forget her.
"And so you're only going to love me for the summer?" she said.
"That's just a way of talking," said he.