One day, however, the quiet was disturbed by a little drama which
convulsed the calm but busy spot.

Mother Etienne had given to a Cochin-China hen, which she had
christened Yollande, some white duck's eggs to sit on. The batch
of fifteen eggs had all come out. It was really wonderful to see
these fifteen baby ducks, yellow as canaries, beaks and webbed
feet pink, swarming around the big patient sitting mother, ducking
under her wings, to come out presently and clamber helter-skelter
onto her broad back. As often happens with nurses, Yollande loved
the ducklings as her own children, and without worrying about
their shape or plumage, so different from her own, she showered
upon them proofs of the tenderest affection. Did a fly pass within
their reach, all these little ones jumped at it--tumbling in their
efforts to catch it. The little yellow balls with their wide-awake
air never took a second's rest.

Well cared for and well fed, they grew so rapidly that soon they
had to have more space. Mother Etienne housed them then on the
edge of the pond in a latticed coop opening onto a sloping board
which led down to the water. It was, as it were, a big swimming
bath, which grew gradually deeper and deeper. The ducks and geese
loved to plunge in and hardly left the water except to take their
meals.

Yollande felt very out of place in this new dwelling. The
ducklings on the contrary, urged on by their instinct, madly
enjoyed it and rushed pell-mell into the water.