“I bet he’s in the pumpkin patch.” But the Duck was not in the pumpkin patch. They could not find him anywhere.
So they waited...All that long afternoon... The Cat watched the door. The Squirrel paced the floor. “The Duck will be sorry when he comes home,” they muttered. But the Duck didn’t come home. Not even at soup time.
But one morning the Duck woke up early. He tiptoed into the kitchen and smiled at the Squirrel’s special spoon. “Wouldn’t it be fine,” he murmured, “If I could be the Head Cook.” He drew up a stool, hopped on top, and reached... until his beak just touched the tip of the spoon...Down it clattered. Then the Duck trotted back to the bedroom, help up the spoon, and said, “Today it’s my turn to stir the soup.”
“That’s mine!” squeaked the Squirrel. “Stirring is my job. Give that back!” “You’re much too small.” snapped the Cat. “We’ll cook the way we always have.” But the Duck held on tight... until the Squirrel tugged with all his might... and -WHOOPS!- the spoon spun through the air, and bopped the Cat on the head. Then there was trouble, a horrible squabble, a row, a racket, a rumpus in the old white cabin.
The soup wasn’t tasty. They’d made it too salty. They didn’t feel hungry anyway. They both sobbed over supper, and their tears dripped into the soup, and made it even saltier. “We should have let him stir the soup,” sniffed the Squirrel. “He was only trying to help,” wept the Cat. “Let’s go out and look for him”.
“One day the squirrel Lesp called his wife and children together and said: ‘We are going to move to a new home.’ ‘Where to, Father Lesp?’ they asked. ‘To the other side of the plain,’ Lesp said. ‘The trees are better over there.”