each other and never said a word. Leon chased them out with the
hoe and they swam down stream faster than old ones. I stood in
the shallow water behind them and kept them from going back to
the deep place, while Leon worked to catch them. Every time he
got one he brought it to me, and I made a bag of my apron front
to put them in. The supper bell rang before we caught all of
them. We were dripping wet with creek water and perspiration,
but we had the ducks, every one of them, and proudly started
home. I'll wager Leon was sorry he didn't wear aprons so he
could carry them. He did keep the last one in his hands, and
held its little fluffy body against his cheeks every few minutes.

"Couldn't anything be prettier than a young duck."

"Except a little guinea," I said.

"That's so!" said Leon. "They are most as pretty as quail. I
guess all young things that have down are about as cunning as
they can be. I don't believe I know which I like best, myself."

"Baby killdeers."

"I mean tame. Things we raise."

"I'll take guineas."

"I'll say white turkeys. They seem so innocent. Nothing of ours
is pretty as these."

"But these are wild."