running down his cheeks. He was doing sums in a greasy sort of
butcher's book that seemed quite full already of funny scratchy
figures.

"That must be Squealer, the one who got his ears boxed," whispered Ann
to Rudolf, "but what do you suppose is the matter with the other
duck, the one in the heap? He will be smothered, I know he will!"

Rudolf thought so, too, yet it didn't seem polite to mention it. The
Lady Goose had been busily helping the children to brush off the
feathers that were sticking to them, and patting Peter on the back
with her bill because he said he was sure he had swallowed at least a
pound. She now brought forward chairs for them all. As the children
looked around more closely they saw that the room they were in was a
very cozy sort of place, long and low and neatly furnished with a
white deal table, a shiny black cook-stove, a great many bright copper
saucepans, and a red geranium in the window. A large iron pot was
boiling merrily on the stove and from time to time the Gray Goose
stirred its contents with a wooden spoon. It smelled rather good, and
Peter, sniffing, began to put on his hungry expression.

"No, not even a family resemblance," went on the Gray Goose, waving
her spoon, "although, as is generally known, a Roman nose is
characteristic in our family, having developed in fact at the time of
that little affair when we repelled the Gauls in the year--"

But Rudolf felt he could not stand much more of this. "I beg your
pardon," he interrupted, "but would you mind if we helped the little
one out of the heap, the--the--duck who is getting so thoroughly
smothered?"