It was a lovely summer in the countryside. The fields of wheat shone golden in the sunlight, and the oats were a gentle green. In the meadows, tall stacks of hay stood like little hills, and a stork with long red legs walked proudly among them, chattering in a language he had learned from his mother. All around the fields and meadows, thick woods grew, and in the middle of the forest was a deep, quiet lake. Everything was peaceful and beautiful in the country.
Near the lake, in a sunny spot, stood an old farmhouse. Around the farmhouse ran deep, calm canals, and along the walls down to the water’s edge grew great burdock plants. Their leaves were so big and tall that a little child could stand beneath them and be hidden from sight. The spot was wild and green, almost as if it were in the very heart of the forest.
In this cozy, hidden place, a mother duck sat on her nest. She was waiting for her eggs to hatch, hoping to see her little ducklings soon. At first, she had been happy and excited, but as the days went by, she began to feel tired and a little lonely. The eggs were taking such a long time to hatch, and she didn’t have many visitors. The other ducks liked to swim in the canals and didn’t want to climb up the slippery banks to sit under the burdock leaves and chat with her. So, the mother duck spent many days by herself, waiting and waiting.
At last, one day, there was a little crack in one of the eggs. Then another egg cracked, and soon, one by one, the eggs began to open. Out of each shell came a tiny duckling, lifting its head and saying, “Peep, peep.” The mother duck said, “Quack, quack!” and the ducklings tried their best to say it too, looking around at the tall green leaves that surrounded them. Their mother let them look as much as they wanted, because she knew that green was good for their eyes.
“What a big world this is!” said the little ducklings, amazed at how much space there was outside their eggshells.
“Do you think this is the whole world?” asked their mother. “Just wait until you see the garden. Beyond that, the world stretches all the way to the pastor’s field, though I have never gone that far myself. Are you all out?” She stood up and looked at her nest. “No, not all. The biggest egg is still here. I wonder how much longer this will take. I am getting a little tired,” she sighed, but she sat down again to wait.
Just then, an old duck came waddling by to visit. “How are you today?” she quacked.
“There’s one egg that just won’t hatch,” said the mother duck. “The shell is so hard and it won’t break. But look at the others! Aren’t they the prettiest ducklings you’ve ever seen? They look just like their father—though he never comes to visit me.”
“Let me see that egg,” said the old duck. “I think it might be a Guinea fowl’s egg. That happened to me once, and it was a lot of trouble. The young ones were afraid of the water. I quacked and clucked, but it didn’t help. Let me have a look. Yes, I think I’m right; it’s a Guinea fowl’s egg. My advice is to leave it and take the other ducklings to the water.”
“I think I’ll wait a little longer,” said the mother duck. “I’ve waited this long, a day or two more won’t matter.”
“Suit yourself,” said the old duck, and she waddled away.
Finally, after more waiting, the big egg began to crack. Out came a large, awkward duckling. He was much bigger than the others, and he didn’t look like them at all. The mother duck stared at him, not sure what to think. “This is a very big duckling,” she said to herself. “He doesn’t look like the others. Maybe he is a Guinea fowl. Well, we’ll see when we go to the water—because into the water he must go, even if I have to give him a little push.”
The next morning, the sun peeked through the leaves, making everything sparkle. The mother duck was very proud and happy. She gathered all her ducklings close and said, “Today is a special day! We are going to the water.” The little ducklings waddled after her, their soft yellow feathers shining in the sunlight. Even the big, gray duckling followed along, though he felt a little shy.
When they reached the edge of the canal, the mother duck jumped in with a splash. “Quack, quack!” she called. One by one, the ducklings plopped into the water. At first, the water closed over their heads, but in a moment, up they popped, paddling with their little feet. The big, gray duckling swam too, just as well as the others. His feet moved all by themselves, and he glided along the water, feeling happy and free.
The mother duck watched her children with pride. “Look at you all!” she said. “You are wonderful swimmers. And you, my big duckling, you swim just as well as the rest. You must be my own child after all. You are not so very ugly, if I look at you with kind eyes.” She smiled at him and led her family out of the water.
“Now, little ones,” she said, “it’s time to visit the farmyard. Stay close to me, and remember to watch out for the cat.” The ducklings hurried after their mother, their tiny feet pattering on the soft earth. The big, gray duckling walked at the end of the line, trying his best to keep up.
When they reached the farmyard, it was very busy and noisy. Ducks and chickens were everywhere, and two duck families were quarreling over a tasty eel’s head. But just as they argued, a sneaky cat darted in and snatched the eel’s head away. The mother duck shook her head. “That’s how things go sometimes,” she said gently. “Now, let’s show everyone how well you can behave.”
She led her ducklings to an old duck with a bright red ribbon tied around her leg. “This is a very important duck,” whispered the mother. “Bow your heads politely and say ‘Quack!’” The ducklings did as they were told, spreading their feet wide and bending their necks. The big, gray duckling tried his best, too.
But the other ducks in the yard stared at the new family. “Oh dear,” they quacked, “more ducklings! And look at that big, strange one at the back. We don’t want him here.” One of the ducks even waddled over and gave the gray duckling a little peck on the neck.
“Leave him alone,” said the mother duck firmly. “He is not hurting anyone.”
“But he’s so big and different,” said another duck. “He looks so odd!”
The old duck with the red ribbon looked at the gray duckling and said, “The others are very pretty, but that one is not. I wish he looked nicer.”
The mother duck stroked her big duckling’s neck gently. “He may not be pretty, but he is kind and swims very well. I think he will grow up strong and handsome in his own way.”
The old duck nodded. “Well, make yourselves at home. And if you find an eel’s head, bring it to me.”
So the ducklings tried to settle in, but the big, gray duckling was not happy. The other ducks and even the chickens teased him and pushed him away. The turkey puffed himself up and chased the gray duckling, making him feel even more lonely.
The poor duckling wished he could look like the others. He tried to hide, but everywhere he went, someone made fun of him. He felt sad and didn’t know what to do. But his mother stayed close, giving him gentle pats and soft quacks, hoping that one day, everyone would see how special he really was.
So the days passed, and things did not get any easier for the big, gray duckling. Every morning, he tried his best to stay out of the way, but the other ducks and chickens still pecked at him and chased him away. Even his own brothers and sisters sometimes said unkind things, wishing he would just disappear. The mother duck, who had tried so hard to protect him, grew tired and sad, and sometimes, when she thought he couldn’t hear, she whispered that she wished he had never been born at all.
The little duckling’s heart felt heavy. He tried to be brave, but it was hard when everyone seemed to be against him. The girl who brought food to the birds would sometimes push him away with her feet, and the chickens would flap their wings and peck at him if he came too close. The poor duckling felt lonelier than ever.
One day, after a particularly hard morning, the big, gray duckling decided he couldn’t stay any longer. He squeezed through a hole in the fence, startling the little birds in the hedge as he hurried past. “They must be frightened because I look so different,” he thought sadly. So he kept going, running as fast as his tired feet would carry him, until he came to a wide, quiet moor.
The moor was a wild, open place, with tall grasses and cool, still water. The duckling found a soft spot among the rushes and curled up, feeling very small and very alone. Night fell, and the stars twinkled above him. He listened to the gentle sounds of the wind and the water, and though he was sad, he felt a little safer here, far from the teasing and the noise.
When the sun rose the next morning, the wild ducks who lived on the moor noticed the new visitor. They gathered around him, curious. “Who are you?” they asked, looking at his big feet and gray feathers.
The duckling bowed his head politely, just as his mother had taught him, but he didn’t know what to say. The wild ducks looked him up and down. “You are not very handsome,” they said, “but as long as you don’t bother us, you can stay.”
The duckling was grateful. He didn’t want to bother anyone—he just wanted a quiet place to rest and a little water to drink. He stayed among the rushes, watching the wild ducks fly and swim, and tried to keep out of the way.
After two days, two young wild geese came waddling over. They were only a little older than the duckling, and they were full of energy and excitement. “Hello there!” one of them called. “You look different, but we like you. Would you like to come with us? There’s another moor not far from here, with lots of wild geese. Maybe you’ll find a friend there!”
Before the duckling could answer, a loud “BANG! BANG!” echoed across the moor. More loud noises filled the air, and flocks of wild birds flew up in fright. The duckling crouched low, trembling as he heard the shouts and barking of dogs.
Suddenly, a big, scary dog came crashing through the rushes. His mouth was open, and his eyes were bright and wild. The duckling squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the dog wouldn’t see him. The dog sniffed all around, then looked right at the duckling. For a moment, the duckling was sure he would be bitten. But the dog just turned away and splashed into the water, leaving the duckling alone.
The duckling let out a shaky sigh. “Maybe it’s because I look so different,” he thought. “Even the dog doesn’t want me.” He stayed very still, listening to the sounds of the hunters and the dogs, until at last everything grew quiet again.
When the sun began to set, the duckling peeked out from his hiding place. The moor was empty and peaceful once more, but the duckling felt too scared to stay. He hurried away, running through fields and meadows, while the wind began to blow and the sky grew dark with clouds. The storm made it hard to walk, but the duckling kept going, hoping to find a safe place where he could rest and maybe, just maybe, belong.
At last, after walking for a long, long time through the wind and rain, the tired duckling came to a little cottage at the edge of a field. The cottage looked old and wobbly, as if it couldn’t decide which way to lean, but it was the only shelter in sight. The storm was still blowing hard, and the duckling was cold and wet. He waddled up to the door and saw that it wasn’t quite closed—one of the hinges was broken, leaving a small gap at the bottom. The duckling squeezed through the opening as quietly as he could and found himself inside, safe from the wild wind at last.
Inside the cottage, it was warm and cozy. There was a gentle fire crackling in the hearth, and the duckling could smell something nice and toasty in the air. The cottage belonged to an old woman who lived there with her two pets: a fluffy cat and a plump little hen. The cat, whom the woman called “My little son,” liked to curl up by the fire and purr, especially when the woman stroked his back. The hen, named “Chickie Short-legs” because of her tiny legs, was very proud of the eggs she laid and clucked happily whenever the old woman praised her.
That night, the duckling curled up in a quiet corner and listened to the gentle sounds of the cottage. He felt safe for the first time in a long while, and soon he drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, the cat and the hen discovered their new visitor. The cat arched his back and purred, while the hen fluffed her feathers and clucked in surprise. The old woman, whose eyes weren’t very sharp, peered at the duckling and thought he must be a lost duck from a nearby farm. “What a lucky find!” she said. “Maybe this duck will lay eggs for me, too.” She decided to let the duckling stay and see what would happen.
Days passed, and the duckling tried his best to be helpful and polite. But the cat and the hen were very sure of themselves. The cat thought he was the cleverest animal in the world because he could purr and make sparks if someone stroked his fur the wrong way. The hen was proud of her eggs and believed that laying eggs was the most important thing anyone could do. They both liked to say, “We and the world,” as if they were the best and wisest creatures anywhere.
The duckling listened quietly, but sometimes he wondered if there might be other ways to be clever or special. The hen would not hear of it. “Can you lay eggs?” she asked. “No? Then you shouldn’t talk so much.” The cat would say, “Can you purr or make sparks? No? Then you shouldn’t have an opinion when grown-ups are talking.”
The duckling felt small and sad again. He sat in his corner, wishing he could belong. But when the sun shone through the open door and he smelled the fresh air, he remembered how wonderful it felt to swim and dive in the cool water. He couldn’t help but sigh, “Oh, how I wish I could swim again, and feel the water close over my head.”
The hen clucked, “What a silly idea! If you could lay eggs or purr, you wouldn’t think such nonsense.” The cat agreed, “Swimming is not for sensible animals like us. Why would anyone want to get all wet?”
The duckling tried to explain, but they just shook their heads. “You should be grateful you have a warm place to stay,” said the hen. “You should try to learn to lay eggs or purr, like us.”
The duckling knew they didn’t understand. He felt lonelier than ever, even in the cozy cottage. At last, he decided, “I think I must go out into the world again.” The hen just clucked, “Yes, do.”
So, with a heavy heart, the duckling slipped out of the cottage and back into the wide world. He soon found a pond where he could swim and dive, just as he loved to do. But the other animals still stayed away from him, because he looked so different. Even so, the duckling felt a little better, gliding through the water, dreaming that one day he might find a place where he truly belonged.
Autumn arrived, and the world around the little duckling began to change. The leaves on the trees turned bright orange and gold, swirling down from the branches whenever the wind blew. The air grew chilly, and sometimes the sky was filled with heavy gray clouds, ready to sprinkle hail or snowflakes. The reeds by the pond rustled in the cold wind, and a big black raven stood among them, calling out, “Croak, croak!” just as the duckling shivered and tucked his head under his wing for warmth. It was a lonely time for the little duckling, and he missed the cozy cottage, even though he hadn’t truly belonged there.
One evening, as the sun was setting and painting the clouds with pink and gold, something magical happened. Out of the bushes came a flock of the most beautiful birds the duckling had ever seen. They were swans, with long, graceful necks and feathers as white as snow. Their wings shone in the golden light, and they called to each other with voices that sounded like music. The swans lifted their wings and soared high into the sky, flying away to warmer places far across the sea.
The little duckling watched them with wide eyes, his heart beating fast. He had never seen such wonderful birds before. He spun in the water, stretching his neck toward them, and let out a cry that surprised even himself. He didn’t know why, but he felt a longing deep inside, as if he wished he could follow them and be with them. He didn’t want to be as beautiful as the swans—he just wanted to belong somewhere, to be loved and safe.
But soon the swans were gone, and the cold wind blew again. The days grew shorter, and winter crept in. The pond where the duckling swam began to freeze, and every night the patch of water grew smaller and smaller. The duckling paddled as hard as he could to keep the ice from closing in, but he grew tired and weak. One morning, he could not move anymore—the ice had trapped him, and he lay still and helpless.
Just then, a kind farmer came walking by. He saw the little duckling frozen in the ice and gently broke it with his wooden shoe. He picked up the shivering duckling and carried him home to his warm kitchen. The farmer’s wife wrapped the duckling in a soft cloth, and soon he felt warm again. But when the children came to play, the duckling was frightened. He fluttered and flapped, splashing into a bowl of milk and then into a tub of flour, making a big mess! The children laughed, but the noise and excitement scared the duckling even more. He darted out the open door and hurried away, back into the cold, snowy world.
The winter was long and hard for the little duckling. He had to hide from the wind and search for tiny bits of food. Sometimes he felt very lonely and tired, but he never gave up hope. At last, after many cold nights, the sun began to shine warmly again. The snow melted, and little green shoots poked up from the ground. Birds sang in the trees, and the world was filled with the sweet smell of spring.
One bright morning, the duckling found himself in a beautiful garden. Apple trees were covered in pink and white blossoms, and the grass was soft and green. The stream sparkled in the sunlight, and the air was full of gentle birdsong. From behind a bush, three lovely white swans glided onto the water, their feathers shining in the morning light. The duckling watched them, his heart full of wonder and hope, and wondered if he might finally find a place where he belonged.
The little duckling watched the three beautiful swans gliding across the sparkling stream. His heart beat quickly with hope and worry all at once. He wanted so much to be near them, but he remembered all the times he had been chased away and called ugly. Still, something inside him whispered, “Go on, be brave.” So, with a deep breath, the duckling stepped into the cool water and began to swim toward the swans.
As he drew closer, he thought, “They are so grand and lovely. If I swim to them, maybe they will not want me here. Maybe they will chase me away, or even hurt me. But that would be better than being pecked and pushed and left all alone.” Even though he felt scared, the little duckling kept swimming, his head held low.
But the swans did not chase him away. Instead, they saw him coming and opened their wings wide, gliding toward him with gentle, welcoming eyes. The little duckling felt so shy and nervous that he bent his head down to the water, waiting for something bad to happen.
Then, in the clear, shining stream, he saw his own reflection. He blinked and looked again. Where was the scruffy, gray duckling he had always seen? Now, in the water, he saw a graceful bird with snowy white feathers, a long, elegant neck, and bright, kind eyes. He was not a duckling at all—he was a beautiful swan!
The little duckling could hardly believe it. He stretched his wings, and they were strong and white, just like the other swans’. He curved his neck and felt the soft breeze ruffle his feathers. The three swans swam around him, greeting him with gentle touches of their beaks, as if to say, “Welcome! You belong with us.”
Just then, some children came running into the garden. They laughed and clapped their hands when they saw the swans on the water. One of the youngest children pointed and shouted with delight, “Look! There’s a new swan! He’s so pretty!” The other children cheered and tossed pieces of bread and cake into the stream for the swans to eat.
The little duckling—who was now a swan—felt shy when he heard the children say he was beautiful. He tucked his head under his wing, not quite sure what to do with all this happiness. He remembered the days when he had been chased and teased, and he felt a little bashful. But the other swans bowed their heads to him, and the children danced and laughed with joy.
Even the old tree by the water seemed to bend its branches down, as if to greet the new swan. The sun shone warm and bright, making the water sparkle all around. The little swan fluffed his feathers and curved his neck, feeling a happiness so big he could hardly believe it.
He thought, “I never dreamed that I could be this happy. Once, I was the lonely, ugly duckling, but now I am loved and welcomed. I am a swan, just like the others.”
And so, in the gentle garden, with the sun shining and the birds singing, the little swan found his family at last. He was never lonely again, for he had found where he truly belonged. And every spring, when the apple trees bloomed and the grass grew soft and green, he remembered how hope and kindness had led him home.
And as the stars twinkled above the quiet pond, the little swan tucked his head under his wing, safe and warm, and drifted off to sleep, dreaming sweet dreams in his beautiful new home.