Four yellow ducklings hatched, and then Bram. He was grey, and his feet were too big, and he stood a whole head taller. "He'll grow into it," said his mother. "Not yet."
Bram could not quack properly and his paddling made waves. The other ducklings swam in a neat line without him. He practised at the far end of the pond.
In autumn the ducks lifted off together over the reeds. "Now?" called Bram, running along the bank. "Not yet," they called back, and then they were gone.
Bram stayed. He ate what was left in the frozen reeds and slept under the willow roots. Every morning he cracked the ice at the pond edge with his bill.
In spring three swans came down on the water. Bram looked at them, and then he looked down. "Now," said the swans, and Bram found that his neck was long enough to answer.
