Chapter 12

After Freddy had left them, the two ducks tidied up the balloon basket. They folded the blankets and ponchos, and repacked the hamper and the box of canned goods, and dusted and picked up so that everything was as neat as a pin. And then they sat on the edge of the basket and rested, and if they had had rocking chairs, I guess they would have rocked.

“Well, sister,” said Alice, “if anyone had ever told us that we would actually have enjoyed such a dangerous trip, we wouldn’t have believed them, would we?”

“Dear me,” said Emma, “have we enjoyed it? Why, I suppose we have. My, my, how proud Uncle Wesley would have been of us!”

“He would indeed. And how he would have enjoyed it here. Why, it’s as if we had our own front porch to sit on.” Then Alice frowned thoughtfully and looked at her sister. “Did it occur to you, Emma, that something that eagle said might have referred to Uncle Wesley?

Maybe you have never seen a duck frown thoughtfully. To tell the truth, I never have. But I do not see why, with practice, a highly educated duck like Alice couldn’t do it; and anyway, I am reliably informed that she did.

Emma gave her a startled look. “You mean—you mean what he said about the farm at South Pharisee?—when they thought we weren’t listening? It did indeed occur to me. But I didn’t say anything about it because neither Freddy nor Breckenridge seemed to want us to overhear it.”

Alice nodded her head. “We were always taught,” she said, “that when you overhear a conversation that is not meant for your ears, you should try at once to forget it. But in this case I think perhaps we are carrying good manners too far. Let us now admit that we heard it.”

“Well … I admit it,” said Emma.

“So did I. And if it is true, as Breckenridge seemed to hint, that Uncle Wesley is living on such a farm, then I think we should do something about it.”

“But what can we do?”

“I don’t know,” said Alice. “Let me think.” And she closed her eyes as she had seen Freddy do when he was thinking. But in a minute she opened them again. “I must say,” she said, “I don’t see how Freddy manages it.”

“Manages what?”

“Thinking with his eyes shut. Goodness, I should go right to sleep.”

“So does Freddy, I fancy,” said Emma. “Only he pretends he’s awake all the time.”

“He does think of things, though.”

“Perhaps they come to him in his sleep,” said Emma. “Why don’t you try it?”

So Alice shut her eyes and put her head under her wing, and Emma watched her anxiously. Emma didn’t try it herself, because she never thought of anything anyway, whether she was awake or asleep. She always said that it was no use her trying to think—it just confused her.

After quite a long time Alice took her head out from under her wing.

“Did you think of anything?” Emma asked.

“No,” said Alice disgustedly. “I just dreamt that we jumped out of the basket. We spread our wings and fluttered down. Why, dear me,” she said in a surprised voice, “I suppose I did think of something. We can jump down and go see if Uncle Wesley is on that farm. Only it does seem to me that I could have thought of that without going to sleep.”

Emma said in a weak voice that perhaps if she went to sleep again she’d think of something better, but Alice retorted that whatever they decided to do, they’d have to get out of the balloon first, and jumping was the only way. “If you’re afraid,” she said, “I’ll go, and you can wait here.”

Emma sidled to the edge and peered over, and she shuddered so hard that a feather flew out of her wing and went floating slowly earthward. And then suddenly her foot slipped, and with a loud quack of terror she fell.

“Oh, preserve us all!” exclaimed Alice, and craned her neck out over the edge, half expecting to see fragments of Emma strewn over the ground below. What she did see was quite different. For Emma had spread her wings and was beating the air to keep from falling. Indeed she fluttered so frantically, that for a second or two she stayed motionless in the air. And her fear suddenly left her.

“Look, sister, look!” she called, and began giggling delightedly. “I’m—tee, hee—I’m flying! I’m cutting regular—hee, hee, hee!—regular capers!” And indeed she did almost succeed in turning a back flip before her unaccustomed wings began to get tired, and she stopped fluttering, and with wings spread, glided down in a long slow curve to the ground.

“Oh, try it, sister,” she called up. “It’s quite delightful. And so easy! Why, I had no idea!”

“Well,” said Alice doubtfully, and then she clamped her bill tight shut and jumped.

Down on the ground, both ducks were so pleased with their experience that they would have liked to do it over again. But there was no way of getting back into the basket.

“We’ll have to go to South Pharisee now,” said Alice. “Oh, Mr. Webb!” she called, and when the spider came sliding down a long strand of cobweb below the basket, she told him where they were going. “We’ll try to get back before Freddy does,” she said, and Mr. Webb waved some of his legs to show that he understood.

Ducks aren’t built for woods travel, and the sisters had a hard time of it until they came out on a road that they had seen earlier from the balloon. They waddled down this for half a mile or so, and then struck the main road, and there was a sign that said: South Pharisee, 6 Miles.

Emma sighed. “I’ll never make it,” she said. “Never in the world.”

“Perhaps we can thumb a ride,” said Alice.

“We haven’t any thumbs.”

“Well, we can only try,” said Alice, and as a car whirled by she waved one wing in the direction they were going, and quacked as loud as she could. But the man in the car glanced at them and said briefly: “Ducks,” and his wife said: “Uh-huh,” and they went right on.

After several cars had done this, they decided it was no use and they’d better walk. So they started on. Pretty soon they met a squirrel. He was sitting on the stone wall beside the road examining a last year’s hickory nut.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Alice, “but can you tell us where the Pratt farm is?”

“Which one?” said the squirrel. “There’s Adam Pratt up towards Newcome, and there’s Ezekiel Pratt up on Lost Creek, and there’s Hiram Pratt—”

“We want the one that lives near South Pharisee,” interrupted Alice.

The squirrel gnawed at the nut a minute, and then he said: “They all live near South Pharisee. There’s Zebediah Pratt at Winkville, and there’s Zenas Pratt on the Corntassel Road, and—”

“Oh, wait a minute, please,” said Alice. “We’re looking for my uncle, and—”

“If your uncle’s one of the Pratts, you ought to know his first name,” said the squirrel.

“He isn’t one of the Pratts,” replied Alice, “and if you’d listen a minute I could tell you. He’s a duck, and he lives on a farm owned by a Mr. Pratt.”

“A duck,” said the squirrel. “I suppose I should have guessed it. You don’t favor the Pratts. All dark-complected folks, the Pratts are.” He went on gnawing for a minute, and then he said: “All the Pratts keep ducks.”

“Oh, dear!” said Emma, and Alice started to ask the squirrel something, when all at once he began to jump up and down angrily. He had gnawed through the shell of the nut and tasted the kernel. “Just as I thought!” he chattered. “Another rotten one!” Then he looked down at them. “Ducks!” he exclaimed contemptuously. “Pah!” And he threw the nut at Alice.

“Well, really!” said Emma, and Alice said: “There’s no excuse for bad manners, young man. If you can’t be civil—”

“Well, I can’t,” said the squirrel. “Not with ducks. Not today, anyway. You wait till I get my paws on that Wesley! I’ll show him!”

“Wesley!” exclaimed Emma. “Why, that’s our uncle’s name! Oh, where is he?”

The squirrel scratched his head. “Your uncle? Why, he could be, at that. What does he look like—something like this?” And he stuck out his chest, pulled in his chin, and stared down his nose importantly at them.

“Why, he—he does look a little … Only of course you’re making fun of him. He has a sort of bold, fearless look.”

“You wait till I get hold of him and see what happens to his bold fearless look. That’s the sixth rotten nut he’s sold me this week.”

“Sold you?” said Alice. “I don’t think I understand.”

“You mean that Uncle Wesley is in trade?” exclaimed Alice.

“Not much of a trade for me,” said the squirrel. “All those good bread crusts I brought him.”

“Bread crusts, sister,” said Emma. “You remember how fond he always was of bread crusts, and Mrs. Bean used to save them for him, because Mr. Bean wouldn’t eat the crust of store bread?”

“Yes, it must be he,” said Alice. “Will you take us to him, sir?”

“You come with me,” said the squirrel, looking very determined. “Because I’m going to pick a bone with Wesley, and the only thing I haven’t decided is which bone it’ll be. Except it won’t be one of mine.”

“You’d better be careful,” said Emma. “Uncle Wesley won’t stand any nonsense. He simply doesn’t know the meaning of fear.”

“He will before suppertime,” said the squirrel, and he started off along the wall.

“Just a minute,” said Alice. “If this really is our Uncle Wesley—and it certainly sounds like him—I am going to give you a word of advice, young man. If you have a complaint, I’m sure he’ll listen to it. He’s very fair. But don’t say anything to provoke his anger. He is really terrible when he’s angry.”

“He’s pretty terrible any way you look at him,” said the squirrel with a grin. “Well, come on if you want to.”

The ducks shook their heads doubtfully at the squirrel’s temerity, but they followed him up the road a quarter of a mile, then through a fence and across two fields to a little stream that ran down into a patch of woods. And on the way he told them about the hermit duck named Wesley, who lived all alone in these woods, which were on the Hiram Pratt farm. Even the squirrels, who always know everything that is going on, didn’t know where he came from or why he lived alone. “I found out he liked bread crusts, so every now and then I take him down some and trade them for nuts he’s picked up in the woods. But I’ve got to quit it. Six out of the last dozen rotten! That’s too much of a good thing.” He stopped on the bank of the stream at the edge of the woods. “Well, here we are. Maybe you’d better call him, one of you.”

“Afraid?” asked Alice contemptuously.

“Afraid he won’t come out if he knows I’m here—sure,” said the squirrel.

“He’ll come out all right, if he’s our uncle,” said Alice. And as the ducks refused to call him, the squirrel said oh, very well, he’d try it.

“We’ll hide,” said Alice. “Because we know Uncle Wesley would always be polite in front of ladies, and we don’t specially want him to be polite to you—not after the things you’ve said about him.”

“Oh, Wesley! Where are you, old chap?” called the squirrel.

Alice nudged her sister happily. “What a surprise he’ll get if he says anything insulting to Uncle Wesley!”

“I’m sort of sorry for that poor squirrel,” said Emma. “He doesn’t know.”

There was a rustling in the bushes, and in a minute a pompous little white duck waddled out. It was Uncle Wesley all right.

“Well, well, Rudy; how are you today?” he said. “More bread crusts to trade? I’m sorry we’re all out of hickory nuts, but we have some very nice acorns this morning.”

“Acorns!” shouted the squirrel. “Nice rotten acorns, and dried up hickory nuts—that’s the kind of stuff you’ve been trading me. Six rotten in the last dozen, and you’ll make ’em good, and right now, or you’ve quacked your last quack.”

“Now, now—easy, young man,” said Uncle Wesley, backing away. “Certainly I’ll make good anything that is not wholly satisfactory. No cause for all this uproar.”

“All right, roll ’em out!” demanded the squirrel. “Six of ’em, and make it snappy, you robber.”

“All right, roll ’em out!”

“Yes, yes; don’t be impatient,” quacked Uncle Wesley. “There’ll be a little delay, I’m afraid. We haven’t at the moment any really first class nuts in stock, but if you can come back in two days—”

Alice and Emma stared at each other in consternation. “But that can’t be our Uncle Wesley!” said Emma. “Why he wouldn’t let a lion talk to him like that!”

The argument went on, with the squirrel talking louder and louder, and Uncle Wesley backing farther and farther away, until at last the squirrel suddenly lost all control of himself, and leaping at the duck, gave him a push that sent him fluttering and protesting over the bank into the water.

“Come, come—this is too much!” said Alice and Emma, and they rushed out from their hiding place and flew at the squirrel, striking him with their wings and bills until they had driven him over the bank after their uncle. Then they stood over him menacingly as he crawled out, dripping and gasping, while Uncle Wesley watched prudently from the other side of the stream.

“You’d better go home, since you don’t seem to know how to act like a gentleman,” said Alice severely.

“I want those nuts,” replied the squirrel, beginning to cry.

“Our Uncle Wesley is not a robber,” said Emma. “He will give you the nuts if he owes them to you. Uncle Wesley,” she called, “can’t you settle this matter?”

“Why, my dear nieces!” exclaimed the duck. “What a pleasure! And what a surprise! Of course, of course. One moment.” And he disappeared.

A few minutes later he returned with six nuts wrapped in a large leaf, and when the squirrel had gone off home with them, still sniffling, he said:

“Well, well, my dears; how on earth did you find me? And what brings you here?”

“We’ll tell you about that later,” said Alice. “Right now, we’d like you to start back home with us. We’ve missed you, Uncle Wesley. The pond hasn’t seemed the same since you went away. Why did you stay here all these years?”

“Dear, dear; the old pond!” said Uncle Wesley sentimentally. “Well, it’s a long story. I should like to tell it to you. Can you stay a few days with me in my modest forest retreat?”

“We would love to,” said Alice, “but we really have to leave very soon.”

“Well, do sit down for a little while,” said Uncle Wesley. “There is a little backwater in the brook here that is quite cool and comfortable. I hope you won’t rush right off again. Dear me,” he said, shaking his head, “I hope that squirrel’s impudence didn’t upset you. Perhaps I was too patient with his nonsense. I should have thrown him into the brook at once, instead of listening to him until he became violent. But I never like to use force against smaller animals.”

“But—but we were the ones that threw him in the brook, Uncle Wesley,” said Emma.

“Ah, yes; so you were, my dear.” He shook his head again. “Tut, tut; I’m afraid you rather forgot yourselves there. I don’t like to scold you the very first thing after such a long separation, but it was hardly ladylike, was it? I do hope that in my absence you haven’t forgotten your manners.—However, let us say no more about it now. How are you both?”

The sisters looked at each other. This was the Uncle Wesley that they knew and admired. But why had he acted in such a cowardly way with the squirrel? They were pretty puzzled. But they said that they were well, and after giving him the news of the farm, and telling him about their trip, they again repeated their wish that he should go back home with them. “We had an idea,” said Alice, “that when you left us so suddenly, you went unwillingly. You said nothing to us; one morning you were just gone. We were dreadfully worried.”

“I knew that you must be,” said Uncle Wesley. “But there was no way to let you know. You see, I had gone out for my morning walk when I was attacked by an eagle. No doubt he mistook me for some simple domestic fowl who could offer no resistance.” Uncle Wesley laughed. “How surprised that eagle was when he found out who he had really tackled! I fancy I put up rather more of a fight than he expected. Of course, his superior weight and strength were in his favor, but courage and skill will always win in the end, and it was no different in this case. I beat him severely, and at last he gave in and flew off screaming. But he had carried me up into the air, and the fight went on for a good many miles, so that when I came to earth I was in entirely strange country. Well, there was no question of trying to get home, for I had sprained my ankle in landing. So in looking around for a place to stay, I found this delightful spot. I quite fell in love with it. So much pleasanter than the Bean farm, with all those great animals tramping around and getting in the way! Don’t you agree?”

“Why, it’s very pleasant,” said Emma. “But do you mean that you really didn’t want to come back home?”

“Want to? Of course I wanted to. But you know how it is. You stay on from day to day, always saying: ‘Well, tomorrow I’ll start home.’ But I would hardly expect you to understand, my dears. You have led such a sheltered and protected life; the very thought of travel and adventure is terrifying to you. But in me there is a strong strain of the adventurer, the gypsy. Ah, adventure, the open road, the thrill of danger—!”

“This doesn’t seem very adventurous to me,” said Alice flatly. “Living in a safe little hideout in the woods.”

“And I guess we haven’t been so terrified as you think,” said Emma. “We thought you’d be very pleased, Uncle Wesley, at our taking this trip.”

“Come, come, my dears,” said the duck severely. “You mustn’t argue with your old uncle. I’m afraid that in my long absence you have allowed yourselves to become a little unladylike. But there; we will soon correct that. For you must give up this nonsense about going back to the Bean farm, which I always disliked. You will from now on live here with me.”

Alice took a deep breath and let it out again without saying anything; then she took another, and this time she said: “We want you to go home with us.”

“Sister!” exclaimed Emma in dismay, and Uncle Wesley puffed out his chest and pulled in his chin and stared at her. But for the first time in her life Alice stared back. “See here, Uncle Wesley,” she said; “maybe we have changed since you went away, but I can tell you we’ve changed more in the past ten minutes than in all the rest of the time. But never mind that now. We have always admired you intensely, and have done always what we thought would please you. You told us that we were poor weak females whom it was your duty to guard from danger and unpleasantness. You, on the other hand, you said, were bold and adventurous by nature. Well, we would like to continue to think that you are. We’d like to think that it was your example that made us go on this balloon trip. But we can’t think so if you refuse an adventure that two poor weak females aren’t afraid of. Do you agree, sister?”

Emma looked doubtfully at her uncle. “Oh, forgive me, Uncle Wesley, but I—I’m afraid I do.”

Uncle Wesley stared at them a moment, then turned his back, and bowing his head: “That I should live to see the day,” he said mournfully, “when my own nieces, whom I have nurtured in every luxury—”

“Boloney!” said a loud voice in the treetops above them, and they looked up to see the squirrel staring down at them.

“Give it to him, girls,” said the squirrel. “I know his kind. Regular tyrant around the house with his women folks, but as meek as Moses out around town. Made you toe the mark, I bet. Told you he was as brave as a lion. But did you ever see him being brave? No, I guess not. Why a hoptoad could push him around.”

“You—you scalawag!” shouted Uncle Wesley furiously. “You—how dare you! Comedown from there. I’ll show you who’s boss around here.”

“O.K., old hero,” said the squirrel. “I’ll be right down.”

“Oh, go away, you,” said Alice. “We don’t want you here.”

“O.K., lady,” said the squirrel. “You’re the one that’s boss. And don’t forget it.—Hey, look at old Up-and-at-’em,” he said, throwing a nut at Uncle Wesley, who was edging towards the brook. Then with a flirt of his tail he jumped into the next tree and vanished.

“An impossible person,” said Uncle Wesley. “I find it is always best not to pay any attention to vulgar people. They—”

“Are you ready to go with us?” interrupted Alice.

Uncle Wesley looked sharply from Alice to Emma, and back again. Then he pulled himself together and gave what he hoped was a hearty laugh. “You must let your uncle have his little joke,” he said. “Nothing—nothing in the world could keep me from sharing this adventure with you. I perhaps merely wanted to be quite sure that, after all these years, you really wanted your old uncle back.” He hesitated, but neither of them said anything. “Well, well,” he went on briskly, “what are we waiting for? No hanging back, no weak flinching from the task before us. And your old uncle, whom I’m afraid you were a bit doubtful of, will show you how an adventure should be met!”