think so,” said the swan.
“Oh, well, I like that,” said the cob. “I like that very much. Perhaps the boy’s glasses will make me appear not only larger than I am but even more graceful than I am. Do you think so?”
“It’s possible,” said his wife, “but it’s not likely. You’d better not get too graceful—it might go to your head. You’re quite a vain bird.”
“All swans are vain,” said the cob. “It is right for swans to feel proud, graceful—that’s what swans are for.”
Sam could not make out what the swans were saying; he merely knew they were having a conversation, and just hearing them talk stirred his blood. It satisfied him to be keeping company with these two great birds in the wilderness. He was perfectly happy.
In midmorning, when the sun had gained the sky, Sam lifted his glasses again and focused them on the nest. At last he saw what he had come to see: a tiny head, thrusting through the mother’s feathers, the head of a baby Trumpeter. The youngster scrambled up on to the edge of the nest. Sam could see its grey head and neck, its body covered with soft down, its yellow legs and feet with their webs for swimming. Soon another cygnet appeared. Then another. Then the first one worked his way down into his mother’s feathers again, for warmth. Then one tried to climb up his mother’s back, but her feathers were slippery, and he slid off and settled himself neatly at her side. The swan just sat and sat, enjoying her babies, watching them gain the use of their legs.
An hour went by. One of the cygnets, more daring than the others, left the nest and teetered around on the shore of the little island. When this happened, the mother swan stood up. She decided the time had come to lead her children into the water.
“Come on!” she said. “And stay together! Note carefully what I do. Then you do the same. Swimming is easy.”
“One, two, three, four, five,” Sam counted. “One, two, three, four, five. Five cygnets, just as sure as I’m alive!”
The cob, as he saw his children approach the water, felt that he should act like a father. He began by making a speech.
“Welcome to the pond and the swamp adjacent!” he said. “Welcome to the world that contains this lonely pond, this splendid marsh, unspoiled and wild! Welcome to sunlight and shadow, wind and weather; welcome to water! The water is a swan’s particular element, as you will soon discover. Swimming is no problem for a swan. Welcome to danger, which you must guard against—the vile fox with his stealthy tread and sharp teeth, the offensive otter who swims up under you and tries to grab you by the leg, the stinking skunk who hunts by night and blends with the shadows, the coyote who hunts and howls and is bigger than a fox. Beware of lead pellets that lie on the bottom of all ponds, left there by the guns of hunters. Don’t eat them—they’ll poison you! Be vigilant, be strong, be brave, be graceful, and always follow me! I will go first, then you will come along in single file, and your devoted mother will bring up the rear. Enter the water quietly and confidently!”
The mother swan, glad the speech was over, stepped into the water and called her little ones. The cygnets gazed for a second at the water, then tottered forward, gave a jump, and were afloat. The water felt good. Swimming was simple—nothing to it. The water was good to drink. Each baby dipped up a mouthful. Their happy father arched his long graceful neck over and around them, protectively. Then he set off very slowly, with the cygnets following along in single file. Their mother brought up the rear.
“What a sight!” Sam said to himself. “What a terrific sight! Seven Trumpeters all in line, five of them just out of the egg. This is my lucky day.” He hardly noticed how stiff he had become from sitting so long on the log.
Like all fathers, the cob wanted to show off his children to somebody. So he led the cygnets to where Sam was. They all stepped out of the water and stood in front of the boy—all but the mother swan. She stayed behind.
“Ko-hoh!” said the cob.
“Hello!” said Sam, who hadn’t expected anything like this and hardly dared breathe.
The first cygnet looked at Sam and said, “Beep.”
The second cygnet looked at Sam and said, “Beep.”
The third cygnet greeted Sam the same way. So did the fourth. The fifth cygnet was different. He opened his mouth but didn’t say a thing. He made an effort to say beep, but no sound came. So instead, he stuck his little neck out, took hold of one of Sam’s shoelaces, and gave it a pull. He tugged at the lace for a moment. It came untied. Then he let it go. It was like a greeting. Sam grinned.
The cob now looked worried. He ran his long white neck between the cygnets and the boy and guided the babies back to the water and to their mother.
“Follow me!” said the cob. And he led them off, full of grace and bursting with pride.
When the mother thought her young ones had had enough swimming and might be chilly, she stepped out on to a sandy shore and squatted down and called them. They quickly followed her out of the pond and burrowed down under her feathers to get warm. In a moment there wasn’t a cygnet in sight.
At noon, Sam got up and walked back to camp, his mind full of what he had seen. Next day, he and his father heard Shorty’s motor in the sky and saw the plane approaching. They grabbed their duffel bags. “Good-bye, camp! See you in the fall!” said Mr. Beaver, as he shut the door and gave it a pat. He and Sam climbed into the plane and were soon aloft, on their way home to Montana. Mr. Beaver did not know that his son had seen a Trumpeter Swan bring off her young ones. Sam kept the matter to himself.
“If I live to be a hundred years old,” thought Sam, “I’ll never forget what it feels like to have my shoelace pulled by a baby swan.”
Sam and his father were late arriving home at the ranch, but late as it was, Sam got out his diary before he turned in for the night. He wrote:
There are five cygnets. They are sort of a dirty brownish-grey colour, but very cute. Their legs are yellow, like mustard. The old cob led them right up to me. I wasn’t expecting this, but I kept very still. Four of the babies said beep. The fifth one tried to, but he couldn’t. He took hold of my shoelace as though it was a worm and gave it a tug and untied it. I wonder what I’m going to be when I grow up?
He switched off the light, pulled the sheet up over his head, and fell asleep wondering what he was going to be when he grew up.
ONE EVENING a few weeks later, when the cygnets were asleep, the swan said to the cob, “Have you noticed anything different about one of our children, the one we call Louis?”
“Different?” replied the cob. “In what way is Louis
