He went there more and more often now that he was staying by himself. There were few trails there, and he hardly ever met any of his friends. That was just what he wanted. For his thoughts had grown serious and his heart heavy. He did not know what was happening within him. He did not even think about it. He merely recalled things aimlessly, and his whole life seemed to have become darker.
He used to stand for hours on the bank. The current, that flowed round a gentle bend there, occupied his entire thought. The cool air from the ripples brought him strange, refreshing, acrid smells that aroused forgetfulness and a sense of trust in him.
Bambi would stand and watch the ducks paddling companionably together. They talked endlessly to one another in a friendly, serious, capable way.
There were a couple of mother ducks, each with a flock of young ones around her. They were constantly teaching their young ones things. And the little ones were always learning them. Sometimes one or the other of the mothers would give a warning. Then the young ducks would dash off in all directions. They would scatter and glide away perfectly noiselessly. Bambi saw how the smallest ones, who could not fly yet, would paddle among the thick rushes without moving a stem that might betray them by swaying. He would see the small dark bodies creep here and there among the reeds. Then he could see nothing more.
Later one of the mothers would give a short call and in a flash they would all flock around her again. In an instant they would reassemble their flotilla and go on cruising quietly about as before. Bambi marveled anew at it each time. It was a constant source of wonder to him.
After one such alarm, Bambi asked one of the mothers, “What was it? I was looking closely and I didn’t see anything.”
“It was nothing at all,” answered the duck.
Another time one of the children gave the signal, turning like a flash and staring through the reeds. Presently he came out on the bank where Bambi was standing.
“There wasn’t anything,” the young one replied, shaking its tail feathers in a grown-up way and carefully putting the tips of its wings in place. Then it paddled through the water again.
Nevertheless Bambi had faith in the ducks. He came to the conclusion that they were more watchful than he, that they heard and saw things more quickly. When he stood watching them, that ceaseless tension that he felt within himself at other times relaxed a little.
He liked to talk with the ducks, too. They didn’t talk the nonsense that he so often heard from the others. They talked about the broad skies and the wind and about distant fields where they feasted on choice tidbits.
From time to time Bambi saw something that looked like a fiery streak in the air beside the brook. “Srrrri!” the humming bird would cry softly darting past like a tiny whirring speck. There was a gleam of green, a glow of red, as he flashed by and was gone. Bambi was thrilled and wanted to see the bright stranger near to. He called to him.
“Don’t bother calling him,” the sedge-hen said to Bambi from among the reed clumps, “don’t bother calling. He’ll never answer you.”
“Where are you?” asked Bambi peering among the reeds.
But the sedge-hen only laughed loudly from an entirely different place, “Here I am. That cranky creature you just called to won’t talk to anyone. It’s useless to call him.”
“He’s so handsome,” said Bambi.
“But bad,” the sedge-hen retorted from still another place.
“What makes you think him bad?” Bambi inquired.
The sedge-hen answered from an altogether different place, “He doesn’t care for anything or anybody. Let anything happen that wants to, he won’t speak to anybody and never thanked anybody for speaking to him. He never gives anybody warning when there’s danger. He’s never said a word to a living soul.”
“The poor …” said Bambi.
The sedge-hen went on talking, and her cheery, piping voice sounded from the far side again. “He probably thinks that people are jealous of his silly markings and doesn’t want them to get too good a look at him.”
“Certain other people don’t let you get a good look at them either,” said Bambi.
In a twinkling the sedge-hen was standing in front of him. “There’s nothing to look at in my case,” she said simply. Small and gleaming with water, she stood there in her sleek feathers, her trim figure restless, animated and satisfied. In a flash she was gone again.
“I don’t understand how people can stand so long in one spot,” she called from the water. And added from the far side, “It’s tiresome and dangerous to stay so long in one spot.” Then from the other side she cried gayly once or twice. “You have to keep moving,” she cried happily, “you’ve got to keep moving if you want to keep whole and hearty.”
A soft rustling in the grass startled Bambi. He looked around. There was a reddish flash among the bushes. It disappeared in the reeds. At the same time a sharp warm smell reached his nostrils. The fox had slunk by.
Bambi wanted to cry out and stamp on the ground as a warning. But the sedges rustled as the fox parted them in quick leaps. The water splashed and a duck screamed desperately. Bambi heard her wings flapping and saw her white body flash through the leaves. He saw how her wings beat the fox’s face with sharp blows. Then it grew still.
At the same moment the fox came out of the bushes holding the duck in his jaws. Her neck hung down limply, her wings were still moving, but the fox paid no attention to that. He looked sidewise at Bambi with sneering eyes and crept slowly into the thicket.
Bambi stood motionless.
A few of the old ducks had flown up with
