[_The_ UGLY DUCKLING _sits on the hill of a_ MOLE _near the brook which
winds through the Moor Farm._]

MOLE (_from the mole hill_). Will you please move? I wish to come out.

DUCKLING (_rising quickly_). Why, 't is a mole hill I've been sitting on!

(_The Mole comes out from the hill._)

I'm sorry, friend Mole, I didn't notice your hill.

MOLE. Who are you?

DUCKLING. Madam Duck of this farm is my mother.

MOLE. That can't be! You are no duck.

DUCKLING. Yes, but I am. Only, I am uglier than any duck in the world.

MOLE. You have not the voice of a duck. You do not speak with the quack of
which they are so proud. And then, if you are truly a duck, why are you not
with your family?

DUCKLING. They drove me out last summer because I was ugly and could not
quack.

MOLE. Then why have you come back?

DUCKLING. To let the swans kill me.