to see his daughter’s book published.
Mr. Austen was a great reader (as well as a writer of sermons) and read aloud to his children from his vast library. He let them look through his microscope, which no doubt delighted them. He let them put on plays in his barn. Altogether, the parsonage over which Mr. Austen presided must have been a good place for a child to grow up in.
P luck and P lumage
T RACY M ARCHINI
As was to be expected, the day that Mallard Bingley arrived at the pond was a blustery one indeed. It was not, however, the wind blowing hot air so much as the beak of Mrs. Bennet.
“Mr. Bennet,” she quacked, “I insist that you escort our darling ducklings across the pond immediately. For it’s clear that Mallard Bingley has the ability to take up much of the pond, and we’d certainly want our girls to be friendly with such a duck as that. Look at our dear Quane. She and he would make quite the pair indeed.”
Mr. Bennet ruffled his feathers, brushed off a few mites, and sat on yesterday’s copy of the
Times
. “If you insist, but I think our Quelizabeth is just as good a match as Quane. Not that we play favorites here, of course.”
“Please, Mr. Bennet. My nerves. I shall start quacking about my nerves if you don’t get off that paper and swim over there. You know how
my
nerves can get on
your
nerves.”
“Quite right, dear. Quite right,” Mr. Bennet said as he hopped into the pond and started swimming toward the slightly foppish figure of Mallard Bingley. He turned toward his ducklings only once and, for a brief moment, wished they were already flying south for the winter.
Nothing is worse than a pair of young ducklings making a last-minute attempt before the pond freezes
, he thought.
It’s how I ended up with Mrs. Bennet. She had a shinier beak then, and a quieter one
.
Mallard Bingley waded back and forth, waiting for Mr. Bennet to formally introduce himself. Mr. Bennet did, and Bingley dipped his head in a low bow, bringing up an offering of lake moss.
Quite the gentleman
, Mr. Bennet thought as he devoured the treat.
“Sir,” started Mallard Bingley. “I dare say that your lovely ducklings are among the most becoming on the pond. It would be an honor to invite you and your ladies to a wading ball this coming Saturday. I have some friends flying in from out of town, and I am sure that your ladies would be quite the welcome sight to them as well.”
Mallard Bingley spread his wings and showed his under-feathers in a gesture of friendship. He was becoming quite agreeable to Mr. Bennet, who thought that perhaps one less duckling to worry about on the flight south would not be such a terrible circumstance after all. He could part with Quane; she wasn’t that interesting to talk to anyway. Or perhaps Bingley might take Quydia; she could be quite the handful during a long flight.
Anyway
, thought Mr. Bennet,
the ducklings could certainly do worse than this overappeasing mallard
.
Mr. Bennet quacked a goodbye and promised to escort his ducklings of marriageable age across the cooling pond on Saturday.
Upon his return to the Longbourn side of the pond, Mrs. Bennet, Quydia, and Quitty immediately flocked upon him. A plethora of quacks filled the air, and Quane and Quelizabeth would have turned quite red in embarrassment, had their feathers the ability to turn colors. Quary, however, never turned her beak from her Bible and secretly prayed that all of her sisters would go off with the mallard and his friends. It was unnatural the way her sister ducks wanted to dance and take tea together.
Simply unnatural
, she thought as she burrowed further into Genesis.
“Well, Quelizabeth,” said Mr. Bennet when the quacking had died down. “I pray that you find the mallard agreeable, but I hope indeed that you shouldn’t leave me for him. Your mother has it in mind to push Quane on him. I think she’d be agreeable to it; he’s got too much sense to take Quydia or Quitty.”
D ID Y OU K
Mr. Austen was a great reader (as well as a writer of sermons) and read aloud to his children from his vast library. He let them look through his microscope, which no doubt delighted them. He let them put on plays in his barn. Altogether, the parsonage over which Mr. Austen presided must have been a good place for a child to grow up in.
P luck and P lumage
T RACY M ARCHINI
As was to be expected, the day that Mallard Bingley arrived at the pond was a blustery one indeed. It was not, however, the wind blowing hot air so much as the beak of Mrs. Bennet.
“Mr. Bennet,” she quacked, “I insist that you escort our darling ducklings across the pond immediately. For it’s clear that Mallard Bingley has the ability to take up much of the pond, and we’d certainly want our girls to be friendly with such a duck as that. Look at our dear Quane. She and he would make quite the pair indeed.”
Mr. Bennet ruffled his feathers, brushed off a few mites, and sat on yesterday’s copy of the
Times
. “If you insist, but I think our Quelizabeth is just as good a match as Quane. Not that we play favorites here, of course.”
“Please, Mr. Bennet. My nerves. I shall start quacking about my nerves if you don’t get off that paper and swim over there. You know how
my
nerves can get on
your
nerves.”
“Quite right, dear. Quite right,” Mr. Bennet said as he hopped into the pond and started swimming toward the slightly foppish figure of Mallard Bingley. He turned toward his ducklings only once and, for a brief moment, wished they were already flying south for the winter.
Nothing is worse than a pair of young ducklings making a last-minute attempt before the pond freezes
, he thought.
It’s how I ended up with Mrs. Bennet. She had a shinier beak then, and a quieter one
.
Mallard Bingley waded back and forth, waiting for Mr. Bennet to formally introduce himself. Mr. Bennet did, and Bingley dipped his head in a low bow, bringing up an offering of lake moss.
Quite the gentleman
, Mr. Bennet thought as he devoured the treat.
“Sir,” started Mallard Bingley. “I dare say that your lovely ducklings are among the most becoming on the pond. It would be an honor to invite you and your ladies to a wading ball this coming Saturday. I have some friends flying in from out of town, and I am sure that your ladies would be quite the welcome sight to them as well.”
Mallard Bingley spread his wings and showed his under-feathers in a gesture of friendship. He was becoming quite agreeable to Mr. Bennet, who thought that perhaps one less duckling to worry about on the flight south would not be such a terrible circumstance after all. He could part with Quane; she wasn’t that interesting to talk to anyway. Or perhaps Bingley might take Quydia; she could be quite the handful during a long flight.
Anyway
, thought Mr. Bennet,
the ducklings could certainly do worse than this overappeasing mallard
.
Mr. Bennet quacked a goodbye and promised to escort his ducklings of marriageable age across the cooling pond on Saturday.
Upon his return to the Longbourn side of the pond, Mrs. Bennet, Quydia, and Quitty immediately flocked upon him. A plethora of quacks filled the air, and Quane and Quelizabeth would have turned quite red in embarrassment, had their feathers the ability to turn colors. Quary, however, never turned her beak from her Bible and secretly prayed that all of her sisters would go off with the mallard and his friends. It was unnatural the way her sister ducks wanted to dance and take tea together.
Simply unnatural
, she thought as she burrowed further into Genesis.
“Well, Quelizabeth,” said Mr. Bennet when the quacking had died down. “I pray that you find the mallard agreeable, but I hope indeed that you shouldn’t leave me for him. Your mother has it in mind to push Quane on him. I think she’d be agreeable to it; he’s got too much sense to take Quydia or Quitty.”
D ID Y OU K
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