“You must be very careful, however, to make my bed in the right way, for I wish you always to shake it thoroughly, so that the feathers fly about; then they say, down there in the world, that it is snowing; for I am Mother Holle.”
“What are you doing over there?” asked the dog. “Collecting feathers,” said Lotta. She turned around. “And what are you doing?” The dog squinted in the sun. It was early in the morning. The sun’s rays were slanted and did not give off much warmth. The dog was small and black and thin and very dirty.
“Every summer Stina visited her grandfather in his house by the sea. And every summer she went treasure hunting. Smooth sticks, sea stars, feathers, there was so much to be found.”
“She plucked off a berry. She started to gnaw it. It tasted just awful. Almost made her sick. But she wanted that tail, so she swallowed it quick. Then she felt something happen! She felt a small twitch as if she’d been tapped, down behind, by a switch. And Gertrude looked ‘round. And she cheered! It was true! Two feathers! Exactly like Lolla-Lee-Lou!”
“And, finally, when all the pulling was done, Gertrude, beind her, again had just one...That one little feather she had as a starter. But now that’s enough, because now she is smarter.”
“Shortly thereafter, the Mallards molt, and will not be able to fly until their new feathers grow again, and Mrs. Mallard hatches eight ducklings named Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, and Quack.”