But one morning, Pip woke up feeling odd .
The other ducklings laughed. "Preep! Preep! Pip the Preep-Duck!" they chanted, splashing away.
Pip felt hot shame under his feathers. He swam to the loneliest edge of the bog, where the reeds grew tall and the water was dark. There, he whispered to his reflection: "What’s wrong with me—preep?"
Once upon a time, in a swampy corner of Clatterbrook Bog, there lived a young duck named Pip. Pip was not a remarkable duck. He paddled in the usual circles, dabbled for the usual weeds, and muttered the usual quack .
Pip froze. He tried again. "Quack—preep. Quack preep."
Pip smiled. He still didn’t know why his voice had split. But he no longer needed to know.
"I don’t know," Pip said, but it came out: "I don’t know—preep."
His mother tilted her head. "Pip, dear, are you unwell?"
Preep — Quack
But one morning, Pip woke up feeling odd .
The other ducklings laughed. "Preep! Preep! Pip the Preep-Duck!" they chanted, splashing away.
Pip felt hot shame under his feathers. He swam to the loneliest edge of the bog, where the reeds grew tall and the water was dark. There, he whispered to his reflection: "What’s wrong with me—preep?"
Once upon a time, in a swampy corner of Clatterbrook Bog, there lived a young duck named Pip. Pip was not a remarkable duck. He paddled in the usual circles, dabbled for the usual weeds, and muttered the usual quack .
Pip froze. He tried again. "Quack—preep. Quack preep."
Pip smiled. He still didn’t know why his voice had split. But he no longer needed to know.
"I don’t know," Pip said, but it came out: "I don’t know—preep."
His mother tilted her head. "Pip, dear, are you unwell?"