Funny Frank (4 page)

Now! It was now or never. I'll give it a go, he said to himself, and he ran straight into the water.

Once out of his depth, he began to flap his little wings wildly, trying to fly (which he couldn't), and kicked madly with his legs, trying to swim (which he couldn't). Already his feathers were soaked, and now he began to sink until only his head was sticking out. From his gaping beak came one last despairing cry. “Frank!” he squawked.

“Oh, Uncle Ted, he's going to drown!” cried Jemima just as the little fleet of ducklings sailed by, crying, “We told you so!”

“No he isn't,” said her uncle, and he waded out into the pond and picked up the waterlogged bird. “Looks like you were right, Jemima,” he said. “Frank does want to be a duck, but he's not exactly equipped for it.”

“No, I know. He needs waterproof feathers and webbed feet.”

“Let's get him dried out,” said the vet, “and stick him back in the rabbit hutch, and I'll have a good think about you, funny Frank. In the meantime, don't let him near that duck pond!”

The very next day Jemima's Uncle Ted turned up at the farm again. “I've had an idea,” he said.“About Frank.”

“What is it?” Jemima asked.

“Well, there can only be one reason for him going into the duck pond, and that is that he wants to swim. Now then, suppose
we could help him to do that—make it safe for him to go in the water? He'd be as happy as a pig in muck, Frank would, paddling round with the ducks, wouldn't he now?”

“Oh yes!” said Jemima. “But how? I mean, his feathers … his feet…”

“Tell me this, Jemima,” said Ted Tabb. “When people go surfing at the seaside, no matter how warm the sea is, what do they wear?”

“Wet suits, you mean?” said Jemima.

“Yes,” said her uncle.“Go and ask your mum if she's got an old hot-water bottle she could spare.…”

Chapter Four

Frank's mother, Gertie, was extremely worried. She was a very conventional hen who, in her time, had hatched a great many broods of chicks, all of whom had—she liked to think—been properly brought up. That is to say, they were well mannered and did as they were told and behaved in every way as chicks should.

Now she had somehow managed to produce this funny son, Frank, who was acting in such a very odd fashion. She had seen him with her own eyes walk into the duck pond right up to his chest before the girl had come running to save him.

“Let's hope that will teach him a lesson,” she had said to her friend Mildred.“I don't think he'll do that again in a hurry.”

But she had been wrong. He had done it again, the same day, and Mildred had seen him do it.

Mildred was by nature a pokenose who liked to stick her beak into everyone else's business. She was also a gossip, and she had made sure that the rest of the flock had heard the news before she had run to the bottom of the orchard to tell Gertie about Frank's latest exploit.

“You'll never guess what's happened to Frank!” she panted.“Oh dear, oh dear, it's the end! Poor Gertie, I thought. There was just his little head sticking out of the water, and him calling for help, oh dear, oh dear!”

“He's drowned!” screeched Gertie. “My little Frank, he's drowned!”

“I don't think so, dear,” said Mildred. “The girl was there with a man who waded into the pond, rescued your little lad, and took him away. But oh my, what a worry it must be for you, having a son like that.”

“Like what?” said Gertie.

“Well,” said Mildred, “sort of, you know, not quite …”

“Not quite
what
?” said Gertie rather sharply.

“Well, not quite, er, right in the head,” replied Mildred with an embarrassed cackle.

“Mildred,” said Gertie slowly and deliberately, “we have been friends for many years, you and I. After your last remark, we are friends no longer.”And she stalked off.

The next morning Gertie was sitting in one of the nest boxes in the henhouse when Mildred appeared.

“Good morning, Gertie dear,” she said.

“It is
not
a good morning,” replied Gertie, “and I am about to lay an egg. Kindly go away.”

“But I have something important to tell you, dear,” said Mildred.