have given them a thought if they had noticed them. But Blacky knew
right away that those were feathers from a Duck. He knew that a
Duck, or perhaps a flock of Ducks, had been resting or feeding in
there among those rushes, and that in moving about they had left
those two or three downy feathers.

"Ha!" exclaimed Blacky. "Mr. and Mrs. Quack or some of their
relatives have been here. It is just the kind of a place Ducks
like. Also some Ducks like corn.

If they should come back here and find this corn, they would have a
feast, and they would be sure to come again. That man who scattered
the corn here didn't have a terrible gun, but that doesn't mean that
he isn't a hunter. He may come back again, and then he may have a
terrible gun. I'm suspicious of that man. I am so. I believe he put
that corn here for Ducks and I don't believe he did it out of the
kindness of his heart. If it was Farmer Brown's boy I would know
that all is well; that he was thinking of hungry Ducks, with few
places where they can feed in safety, as they make the long journey
from the Far North to the Sunny South. But it wasn't Farmer Brown's
boy. I don't like the looks of it. I don't indeed. I'll keep watch
of this place and see what happens."

All the way to his favorite perch in a certain big hemlock-tree in
the Green Forest, Blacky kept thinking about that corn and the man
who had seemed to be generous with it, and the more he thought, the
more suspicious he became. He didn't like the looks of it at all.

"I'll warn the Quacks to keep away from there. I'll do it the very
first thing in the morning," he muttered, as he prepared to go to