HOW cosy it was there in the dry hollow of the tree, with the rain
beating harder and harder outside and streaming down the tree trunks.
After a while the ducklings got out their play-things and began to play
with them, but soon they tired of this, and nestling down about their
mother they begged her to tell them a story.
“A story?” said Mother Duck. “Very well. What shall it be about?”
“Tell about Wiggle-Waggle-Wisk-Tail!” cried Squdge and Queek.
“No, no; don’t tell about that,” begged Curly-Tail, almost in tears.
“That’s too sad a story, mother. It always makes me cry.”
“Pshaw! I wouldn’t be such a baby as to cry over a story,” cried
Squdge. “Go ahead, mother! Tell it, won’t you?”
The other four little ducklings wanted to hear it, too, so Mother Duck
told Curly-Tail if she didn’t want to listen she could run over in the
corner and play by herself for awhile, and when that story was finished
she could come back and choose another one—any one that she liked, and
her mother would tell it next.
So Curly-Tail, who was always sweet and obedient, went over in the
corner and got out her doll, and began to play, while Mother Duck told
the others the story.
And this is the sad tale of Wiggle-Waggle-Wisk-Tail.
[Illustration: They fell over backward on the ground]