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It was springtime, and in the river the little fish jumped while the water ran merrily and birds darted about up above. The creek pooled into calmer spots, and on the edge of one little pond, rimmed with plenty of reeds, sat Ms. Mallard. She sat very still, for she was perched upon a nest and expecting ducklings.
She had been waiting for many days, and at last her patience was about to pay off. One by one the eggs began to crack, and soon she was greeted by a chorus of small peeps. “Quack, quack!” said the new mother, gathering up her ducklings. They fluffed themselves up and gazed around, wondering at the wide new world.
“What fine children you have,” claimed an old duck who was passing by. “Will you take them swimming later?”
“Thank you,” replied the new mother. “After all this sitting I feel as excited for a swim as they are, but there’s still one more egg to be hatched. I hope it won’t be much longer.”
“Let me have a look at it,” the old duck said, and she studied its smooth surface. After half a minute she pronounced, “It's a dud, or a turkey egg more likely. The shape’s all wrong. You can take my word for it.”
Ms. Mallard looked appalled. “I haven’t left this nest for weeks! How could a turkey egg get under me?”
“These things happen,” the old duck declared sagely. “I’ve seen it more than once with turkey eggs, swan eggs, even the occasional golf ball. If I were you, I wouldn’t bother with that one. Turkey chicks are more trouble than they’re worth, and to top it off, they’re afraid of the water. You should go and teach your other children to swim.”
Ms. Mallard looked at the egg and wondered if it was indeed a turkey’s. In spite of the old duck’s wisdom, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that that wasn’t her egg, even if the shape was a bit larger and longer than the rest. “Oh, I'll sit a little longer,” she sighed. If I've been at it this long, another day can’t hurt.”
“Suit yourself,” shrugged the old duck, and she waddled away.
Soon enough, the big egg did start to crack. One thin line turned into a spiderweb of fractures, and presently the little creature was calling out, “Peep.”
The mother duck looked her new son over. That's a really big duckling, she thought. And he doesn't look at all like the others. Could there be something wrong? Maybe he is a turkey chick. She pushed the absurd thought out of her little duck mind. Of course he was her son! He was just still developing. The other ducklings had taken a while to fluff up, so certainly this one just needed time to do the same. He’d get a layer of soft down soon. And turn yellow. And grow a beak. Could ducks be born without a beak?
The next day the weather was splendid for a swim. The mother duck led her family down to the moat. Splashing into the water, she took a moment to stretch her legs before turning back to her ducklings. “Quack, quack! Follow me!” she prompted, and the ducklings needed no further coaxing. One after another they plunged in, bobbing to the surface momentarily. With glee, they paddled about. Even the big, ugly, green one was swimming along.
Well, he swims just fine, she thought. Perhaps even better than the others. Of course he isn’t a turkey! What was that old duck thinking, making me doubt my son like that? He’s a duck through and through. She shook her head. “Quack, quack! Come with me, children! Who wants to look around?”
When the answer came back affirmative, Ms. Mallard swam across the river with her children in tow. Ducks, turkeys, and other fowl were waddling about, cackling and pecking. The mother duck paraded her children around, watching them take in the world and admiring the impression they were making.
“What fine children you have, Ms. Mallard,” said an old duck matriarch. “All except that last one. What on earth is wrong with him?”
“Absolutely nothing,” said the mother. “He’s still growing, and will soon have his feathers like the rest. Besides, he swims as well as everyone else, if not a little better. What does it matter beyond that?” She preened his scales and gently pulled him away from the group of tadpoles he’d been terrorizing. “I think he will be quite strong, and certainly handsome.”
The old duck recoiled. “My goodness, that thing is ugly,” she said. Then she held up her head and paddled away.
After that, things went from bad to worse. The poor ugly duckling was pecked at and pushed about and made fun of by the ducks, and the songbirds and turkeys as well. No matter what he did, they always found something to pick on. “He's too big,” they all said. “Where are his feathers? Just look at his teeth!” His mother, being only a duck, maintained that he’d grow into it all, but she couldn’t help much beyond that. Things became so awful that even the ugly duckling’s own brothers and sisters teased him. “How can we be related to you?” they would say. “You’re so ugly, and you don’t even swim like us! Don’t come near us—we don’t want to be knocked over by that tail.”
And on it went until the winter, when the wind blew cold and the leaves left the trees. In groups, the other ducks and birds left the river and the ugly duckling behind. Not even his own siblings would let him fly south with them. He might of gone with his mother or just tagged along with some of the other birds, but his lack of wings made following them difficult. And so he watched the river empty and the weather grow cooler.
Last to leave were the magnificent swans. The ugly duckling hid in the reeds, too ashamed of his appearance to even approach them. Off they took, oblivious to his presence, and trailed across the sky in a perfect V. They soon disappeared from sight, and then the duckling was alone.
With not much else to do, the ugly duckling wandered about in search of shelter. Late in the evening he came to a hovel that shivered in the wind. Noticing a crack under the door, the ugly duckling poked his long, pointed snout under it and spied a warm fire and a basket of fish waiting to be roasted. Needing no further encouragement from the miserable wind, he squeezed through it and took shelter in the small home.
Inside there lived an old woman with her cat and her hen. Come morning, the latter two were quick to notice the strange duckling sleeping in the now-empty basket. The cat began to purr and the hen began to cluck in agitation. The old woman looked around, but she was short-sighted, and she mistook the duckling for a large duck that had lost its way. “Well then! Now I shall have duck eggs!” she thought happily. “Mind that you earn your keep and don’t bother Henny and Mr. Pounce, and we’ll get along just fine.“
So the duckling was given shelter, at least for a time. He waddled over to the corner with the cat and hen and tucked his long tail under himself. The cat and hen watched him with distaste.
At last the hen broke the silence. “Can you really lay eggs?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” replied the duckling.
The cat arched his back and asked, “Can you purr?”
“No,” he said again.
“Then why are you here? You are the ugliest creature we’ve ever seen.”
The duckling felt more despondent than ever. “I think I'd better go,” he said.
“Suit yourself,” said the hen, ruffling her feathers.
So off went the duckling. He dug a hole in the mud, stuck his snout above the water, and waited out the winter in a state of dormancy.
The next time spring came upon the river, the duckling felt the warm sun outside his mud hole. The larks began to sing again and the flowers returned to bloom. The duckling paddled about in the water and felt refreshed.
Suddenly, down the river floated three lovely swans. They ruffled their white feathers and swam as a picture of grace. The duckling watched those noble creatures, and sadness one again came upon him. I can’t go near these noble birds! I’m so ugly compared to them, I couldn’t bear it. I have to hide! he thought.
So he ducked beneath the water, leaving just the tip of his snout above it, and for good measure he darted behind some reeds. Still the swans swam toward him.
“Excuse me, but who are you?” asked one as she approached.
“And why are you hiding?” added another.
The poor ducking was overcome with embarrassment. How could he show himself to the beautiful swans? They would only laugh at him, or worse. “I can’t!” he wailed.
“Why not?” asked the first swan.
“I-I’m hideous, a-and—” The ugly duckling covered his face with his claws, and as he did so, he caught his reflection in the water. “—And an alligator?!”
The swans, giving up all impressions of serenity, screamed and flapped away. The ugly duckling, who was by this time very confused, proceeded to have a long conversation with his mother before eating all his bullies. In his gator hole, a fine duck haunch in hand, he sighed, “I never dreamed there could be so much happiness, when I was the ugly duckling.”