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5.10.25 - Part 2 · Children's Hour

• 0:00
  Speaker 1: Welcome to Radioized Children's Story Hour. As a reminder, Radio
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  Eyes a reading service intended for people who are blind
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  or have other disabilities that make it difficult to read
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  printed material. Today, I will be reading from the trumpet
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  of the Swan. Your reader today is Doris. This book
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  was published by Harper Rowe Publishing Company as a copyright
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  year nineteen seventy by E. B. White. After one Sam
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  walking back to camp through the swamp, Sam wondered whether
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  to tell his father what he had seen. I know
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  one thing, he said to himself. I'm going back to
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  that little pond again tomorrow, and I'd like to go alone.
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  If I tell my father what I saw today, he
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  will want to go with me. I'm not sure that's
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  a very good idea. Sam was eleven. His last name
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  was Beaver. He was strong for his age and had
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  black hair and dark eyes like an Indian. Sam walked
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  like an Indian, too, putting one foot straight in front
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  of the other and making very little noise. The swamp
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  through which he was traveling was a wild place. There
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  was no trail, and it was boggy underfoot, which made
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  walking difficult. Every four or five minutes, Sam took his
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  compass out of his pocket and checked his course to
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  make sure he was headed in a westerly direction. Canada
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  is a big place, much of it is wilderness. To
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  get lost in the woods and swamps of Western Canada
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  would be a serious matter. As he trudged on, the
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  boy's mind was full of the wonder of what he
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  had seen. Not many people in the world have seen
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  the nest of a trumpeter swan. Sam had found one
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  on the Lonely Pond on this day in spring. He
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  had seen two great white birds with their long white
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  necks and black bills. Nothing he had ever seen before
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  in all his life had made made him feel quite
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  the way he felt on that wild little pond in
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  the presence of those two enormous swans. They were so
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  much bigger than any bird he had ever seen before.
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  The nest was big, too, a mound of sticks and grasses.
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  The female was sitting on eggs. The male glided slowly
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  back and forth guarding her. When Sam reached camp, tired
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  and hungry, he found his father frying a couple of
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  fish for lunch. Where have you been, asked mister Beaver, exploring,
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  replied Sam. I walked over to a pond about a
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  mile and a half from here. It's the one we
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  see from the air as we're coming in. It isn't
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  much of a place nowhere near as big as this
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  lake were on. Did you see anything over there, asked
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  his father. Well, said Sam. It's a swampy pond with
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  a lot of reeds and cat tails. I don't think
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  it would be any good for fishing, and it's hard
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  to get to. You have to cross a swamp. See anything,
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  repeated mister Beaver. I saw a muskrat, said Sam, and
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  a few red winged blackbirds. Mister Beaver looked up from
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  the wood stove for the fish were sizzling in a pan.
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  Sam He said. I know you like to go exploring,
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  but don't forget. These woods and marshes are not like
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  the country around home in Montana. If you ever go
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  over to that pond again, be careful you don't get lost.
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  I don't like you crossing swamps. They're treacherous. You could
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  step into a soggy place and get bobbed down and
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  there wouldn't be anybody to pull you out. I'll be careful,
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  said Sam. He knew perfectly well he would be going
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  back to the pond where the swans were, and he
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  had no intention of getting lost in the woods. He
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  felt relieved that he had not told his father about
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  seeing the swans, but he felt queer about it too.
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  Sam was not sly boy, but he was odd in
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  one respect. He liked to keep things to himself, and
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  he liked being alone, particularly when he was in the woods.
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  He enjoyed the life on his father's cattle ranch in
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  the Sweet Grass Country in Montana. He loved his mother.
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  He loved Duke, his cow pony. He loved riding the range.
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  He loved watching the guests who came to board at
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  the Beaver's ranch every summer. But the thing he enjoyed
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  most in life was these camping trips in Canada with
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  his father. Missus Beaver didn't care for the woods, so
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  she seldom went along. It was usually just Sam and
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  mister Beaver. They would motor to the border and cross
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  into Canada. There, mister Beaver would hire a bush pilot
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  to fly them to the lake where his camp was
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  for a few days of fishing and loafing and exploring.
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  Mister Beaver did most of the fishing and loafing. Sam
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  did the explore, and then the pilot would return to
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  take them out. His name was Shorty. They would hear
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  the sound of his motor and run out and wave
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  and watch him glide down onto the lake and taxi
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  his plane into the dock. These were the pleasantest days
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  of Sam's life, these days in the woods, far far
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  from everywhere. No automobiles, no roads, no people, no noise,
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  no school, no homework, no problems except the problem of
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  getting lost, and of course the problem of what to
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  be when he grew up. Every boy has that problem.
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  After supper that evening, Sam and his father sat for
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  a while on the porch. Sam was reading a bird book.
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  Pop said Sam, do you think we'll be coming back
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  to camp again about a month from now? I mean
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  in about thirty five days or something like that. I
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  guess so, replied mister Beaver. I certainly hope so. But
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  why thirty five days. What's so special about thirty five days? Oh? Nothing,
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  said Sam. I just thought it might be very nice
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  around here in thirty five days. That's the craziest thing
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  I ever heard of, said mister Beaver. It's nice here
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  all the time. Sam went indoors. He knew a lot
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  about birds, and he knew it would take a swan
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  about thirty five days to hatch her eggs. He hoped
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  he could be at the pond to see the young
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  ones when they came out of the eggs. Sam kept
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  a diary, a day book about his life. It was
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  just a cheap note book that was always by his bed.
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  Every night before he turned in, he would write in
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  the book. He wrote about things that he had done,
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  things he had seen, and thoughts he had had. Sometimes
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  he drew a picture. He always ended by asking himself
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  a question so he would have something to think about
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  while falling asleep. On the day he found the swan's nest,
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  this is what Sam wrote in his diary. I saw
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  a pair of trumpeter swans today on a small pond
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  east of camp. The female has a nest with eggs
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  in it. I saw three, but I'm going to put
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  four in the picture. I think she was laying another one.
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  This is the greatest discovery I ever made in my
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  entire life. I did not tell pop. My bird book
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  says baby swines are caused signets. I am going back
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  tomorrow to visit the great swans again. I heard a
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  fox bark today. Why does a fox bark? Is it
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  because he is mad, or worried, or hungry, or because
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  he is sending a message to another fox? Why does
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  a fox bark? Sam closed his notebook undressed, crawled into
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  his bunk, and lay there with his eyes closed, wondering
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  why a fox barks. In a few minutes, he was asleep.
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  Chapter two. The pond, the pone Sam had discovered on
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  that spring morning, was seldom visited by any human being.
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  All winter, snow had covered the ice. The pond lay
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  cold and still under its white blanket. Most of the time.
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  There wasn't a sound to be heard. The frog was asleep,
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  the chipmunk was asleep. Occasionally a jade would cry out,
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  and sometimes at night the fox would bark, a high,
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  rasping bark. Winter seemed to last forever, but one day
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  a change came over the woods and the pond. Warm air,
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  soft and kind blue through the trees. The eyes, which
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  had softened during the night, began to melt. Patches of
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  open water appeared. All the creatures that lived in the
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  pond and in the woods were glad to feel the warmth.
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  They heard and felt the breath of spring, and they
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  stirred with new life and hope. There was a good
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  new smell in the air, a smell of earth waking
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  after its long sleep. The frog buried in the mud
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  at the bottom of the pond knew that spring was here.
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  That chickadee knew and was delighted. Almost everything delights at Chickadee.
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  The vixen dozing in her den knew she would soon
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  have kits. Every creature knew that a better, easier time
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  was at hand. Warmer days pleasanter nights. Trees were putting
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  out green buds. The buds were swelling. Birds began arriving
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  from the south. A pair of ducks flew in. The
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  red winged blackbird arrived and scouted the pond for nesting sites.
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  A small sparrow with a white throat arrived and sang, oh, sweet, Canada, Canada, Canada.
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  And if you had been sitting by the pond on
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  that first warm day of spring, suddenly toward the end
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  of the afternoon, you would have heard a stirring sound
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  high above you in the air, a sound like the
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  sound of trumpets, koho ko ho. And if you had
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  looked up, you would have seen high overhead two great
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  white birds They flew swiftly, their legs stretched out straight behind,
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  their long white necks stretched out ahead, their powerful wings
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  beating steady and strong. Koho ko ho, ko ho, a
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  thrilling noise in the sky, the trumpeting of swans. When
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  the birds spotted the pond, they began circling, looking the
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  place over from the air. Then they glided down and
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  came to rest in the water, folding their long wings
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  neatly along their sides and turning their heads this way
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  and that to study their new surroundings. They were trumpeter swans,
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  pure white birds with black bills. They had liked the
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  looks of the swampy pond and had decided to make
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  it their home for a while and raise a family.
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  The two swans were tired from the long flight. They
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  were glad to be down out of the sky. They
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  paddled slowly about and then began feeding, thrusting their necks
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  into the shallow water and pulling roots and plants from
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  the bottom. Everything about the swans was white, except their
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  bills and their feet. These were black. They carried their
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  heads high. The ponds seemed a different place because of
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  their arrival. For the next few days, the swans rested
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  when they were hungry. They ate when they were thirsty,
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  which was a great deal of the time. They drank.
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  On the tenth day, the female began looking around to
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  find a place to build her nest in the spring
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  of the year. Nest building is uppermost in the bird's mind.
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  It is the most important thing there is. If she
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  picks a good place, she stands a good chance of
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  hatching her eggs and rearing her young. If she picks
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  a poor place, she may fail to raise a family.
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  The female swan knew this. She knew the decision she
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  was making was extremely important. The two swans first investigated
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  the upper end of the pond, where a stream flowed
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  slowly in. It was pleasant there, with reeds and bulrushes.
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  Red winged blackbirds were busy nesting in this part of
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  the pond, and a pair of mallard ducks were courting.
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  Then the swan swam to the lower end of the pond,
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  a marsh with woods on one side and a deer
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  meadow on the other. It was lonely here. From one shore,
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  a point of land extended out into the pond. It
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  was a sandy strip like a little peninsula, and at
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  the tip of it. A few feet out into the
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  water was a tiny island, hardly bigger than a dining table.
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  One small tree grew on the island, and there were
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  rocks and ferns and grasses. Take a look at this,
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  exclaimed the female as she swam round and around. Koho
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  replied her husband, who liked to have someone ask his advice.
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  The swan stepped cautiously out into the island. The spot
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  seemed made to order just right for a nesting place.
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  While the male swine floated close by, watching, she snooped
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  about until she found a pleasant spot on the ground.
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  She sat down to see how it felt to be
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  sitting there. She decided it was the right size for
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  her body. It was nicely located a couple of feet
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  from the water's edge, very convenient. She turned to her husband,
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  What do you think, she said, an ideal location? He replied,
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  A perfect place. And I will tell you why it's
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  a perfect place, he continued majestically. If an enemy, a
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  fox or a coon, or a cowdy or a skunk
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  I wanted to reach the spot with murder in his heart,
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  he'd have to enter the water and get wet, and
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  before he could enter the water, he'd have to walk
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  the whole length of that point of land, and by
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  that time we'd see him or hear him, and I
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  would give him a hard time. The male stretched out
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  his great wings eight feet from tip to tip, and
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  gave the water a mighty cloud to show his strength.
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  This made him feel better right away. When a trumpeter
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  swan hits an enemy with his wing, it is like
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  being hit by a baseball bat. A male swan, by
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  the way, is called a cob. No one knows why,
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  but that's what he's called a good Many animals have
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  special names. A male goose is called a gander. A
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  male cow is called a bull. A male sheep is
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  called a ram, a male chicken is called a rooster,
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  and so on. Anyway, the thing to remember is that
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  a male swan is called a cob. The COB's wife
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  pretended not to notice that her husband was showing off,
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  but she saw it all right, and she was proud
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  of his strength and his courage. As husbands go, he
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  was a good one. The cob watched his beautiful wife
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  sitting there on the tiny island. To his great joy,
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  he saw her begin to turn slowly round and around,
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  keeping always in the same spot, treading the mud and grass.
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  She was making the first motions of nesting. First she
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  squatted down in the place she had chosen. Then she
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  twisted round and around, tamping the earth with her broad
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  webbed feet, hollowing it out to make it like a saucer.
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  Then she reached out and pulled twigs and grasses toward
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  her and dropped them at her sides and under her tail,
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  shaping the nest to her body. The cob floated close
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  to his mate. He studied every move she made. Now
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  another medium sized stick, my love, he said, and she
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  poked her splendid, long, white, graceful neck as far as
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  it would go, picked up a stick and placed it
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  at her side. Now another bit of coarse grass, said
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  the cob, with great dignity. The female reached for grasses,
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  for moss, for twigs, anything that was handy. Slowly, carefully,
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  she built up the nest until she was sitting on
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  a big grassy mound. She worked at the task for
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  a couple of hours, then knocked off for the day
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  and slid into the pond again to take a drink
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  and have lunch. A fine start, said the cob as
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  he gazed back at the nest. A perfect beginning. I
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  don't know how you manage it so cleverly. It comes naturally,
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  replied his wife. There's a lot of work to it,
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  but on the it is pleasant work, yes, said the cob.
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  And when you're done, you have something to show for
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  your trouble. You have a swan's nest six feet across.
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  What other bird can say that, well, said his wife.
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  Maybe an eagle can say it, yes, But in that
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  case it wouldn't be a swan's nest. It would be
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  an eagle's nest, and it would be high up in
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  some old dead trees somewhere instead of right down near
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  the water with all the conveniences that go with water.
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  They both laughed at this. Then they began trumpeting and
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  splashing and scooping up water and throwing it on their backs,
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  darting about as though they had suddenly gone crazy with delight.
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  Ho Ho ho, ho, ho hol, they cried. Every wild
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  creature within a mile and a half of the pond
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  heard the trumpeting of the swans. The fox heard, the
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  raccoon heard, the skunk heard. One pair of ears heard
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  that did not belong to a wild creature, but the
• 18:06
  swans did not know that. Chapter three a visitor. One day,
• 18:12
  almost a week later, the swan slipped quietly into her
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  nest and laid an egg. Each day she tried to
• 18:20
  deposit one egg in the nest. Sometimes she succeeded, sometimes
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  she didn't. There were now three eggs, and she was
• 18:29
  ready to lay a fourth. As she sat there with
• 18:32
  her husband, the cob floating gracefully nearby, she had a
• 18:36
  strange feeling that she was being watched. It made her uneasy.
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  Birds don't like to be stared at. They particularly disliked
• 18:45
  being stared at when they're on a nest. So the
• 18:48
  swan twisted and turned and peered everywhere. She gazed intently
• 18:53
  at the point of land that jutted out into the
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  pond near the nest. With her sharp eyes, she searched
• 18:59
  the nearby sure for signs of an intruder. What she
• 19:03
  finally saw gave her the surprise of her life. There,
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  seated on a log on the point of land was
• 19:10
  a small boy. He was being very quiet, and he
• 19:14
  had no gun. Do you see what I see? The
• 19:17
  swan whispered to her husband. No, what over there on
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  that log it's a boy. Now what are we going
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  to do? How did a boy get here? Whispered the cob.
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  We are deep in the wiles of Canada. There are
• 19:32
  no human beings for miles around. That's what I thought too,
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  she replied. But if that isn't a boy over there
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  on that log, my name isn't Signess Reconator. The cob
• 19:45
  was furious. I didn't fly all the way north into
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  Canada to get involved with a boy, he said. We
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  came here to this idyllic spot, this remote little hideaway,
• 19:56
  so we could enjoy some well deserved privacy. Well, said
• 20:01
  his wife. I'm sorry to see the boy too, but
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  I must say he's behaving himself. He sees us, but
• 20:07
  he's not throwing stones, he's not throwing sticks, he's not
• 20:11
  messing around. He's simply observing. I do not wish to
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  be observed, complained the cob. I did not travel all
• 20:20
  this immense distance into the heart of Canada to be observed. Furthermore,
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  I don't want you to be observed except by me.
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  You're laying an egg, that is I hope you are,
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  and you are entitled to privacy. It has been my
• 20:35
  experience that all boys throw stones and sticks. It is
• 20:39
  their nature. I'm going over and strike that boy with
• 20:43
  my powerful wing and he'll think he has been hit
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  with a billy club. I'll knock him cold now just
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  a minute, said the swan. There's no use starting a fight.
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  This boy is not bothering me at the moment. He's
• 20:57
  not bothering you either. But how did he get here?
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  Said the cob, who was no longer talking in a whisper.
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  What was beginning to shout? How did he get here?
• 21:10
  Boys can't fly, and there are no roads in this
• 21:14
  part of Canada. We're fifty miles from the nearest highway.
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  Maybe he's lost, said the swan. Maybe he's starving to death.
• 21:23
  Maybe he wants to rob the nest and eat the eggs,
• 21:26
  but I doubt it. He doesn't look hungry anyway. I've
• 21:30
  started this nest, and I have three beautiful eggs, and
• 21:33
  the boys behaving himself at the moment, and I intend
• 21:37
  to go right ahead and try for a fourth egg.
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  Good luck, my love, said the cob. I shall be
• 21:44
  here at your side to defend you if anything happens.
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  Lay the egg. For the next hour, the cob paddled
• 21:51
  slowly round and around the tiny island, keeping watch. His
• 21:55
  wife remained quietly on the nest. Sam said on his log,
• 22:00
  hardly moving a muscle, he was spellbound at the sight
• 22:03
  of the swans. They were the biggest water birds he
• 22:06
  had ever seen. He had heard their trumpeting and had
• 22:09
  searched the woods and swamps until he had found the
• 22:12
  pond and located the nest. Sam knew enough about birds
• 22:16
  to know that these were trumpeters. Sam always felt happy
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  when he was in a wild place among wild creatures.
• 22:24
  Sitting on his log watching the swans, he had the
• 22:28
  same good feelings some people get when they are sitting
• 22:31
  in church. After he had watched for an hour, Sam
• 22:34
  got up. He walked slowly and quietly away, putting one
• 22:38
  foot straight ahead of the other Indian fashion, hardly making
• 22:43
  a sound. The swans watched him go. When the female
• 22:47
  left the nest, she turned and looked back. There, lying
• 22:50
  safely in the soft feathers at the bottom of the
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  nest was the fourth egg. The cob wabbled out on
• 22:57
  to the island and looked in the nest. A masterpiece,
• 23:01
  he said, an egg of supreme beauty and perfect proportions.
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  I would say that that egg is almost five inches
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  in length. His wife was pleased. When the swan had
• 23:13
  laid five eggs. She felt satisfied. She gazed at them proudly.
• 23:18
  Then she settled herself on the nest to keep her
• 23:21
  eggs warm. Carefully, she reached down with her bill and
• 23:25
  poked each egg until it was in just the right
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  spot to receive the heat from her body. The cob
• 23:32
  cruised around close by to keep her company and protect
• 23:35
  her from enemies. He knew that a fox prowl somewhere
• 23:39
  in the woods. He had heard him barking on nights
• 23:42
  when the hunting was good. Days passed, and still the
• 23:46
  swan sat quietly on the five eggs. Nights passed. She
• 23:50
  sat and sat, giving her warmth to the eggs. No
• 23:55
  one disturbed her. The boy was gone, perhaps he would
• 23:59
  never come back. Inside of each egg, something was happening
• 24:03
  that she couldn't see. A little swan was taking shape.
• 24:07
  As the weeks went by, the days grew longer, the
• 24:10
  nights grew shorter. When a rainy day came, the swan
• 24:13
  just sat still and let it rain. My dear, said
• 24:16
  her husband, the cob, one afternoon, Do you ever find
• 24:20
  your duties onorous or irksome. Do you never tired of
• 24:24
  sitting in one place and in one position, covering the eggs,
• 24:28
  with no diversions, no pleasures, no escapades or capers. Do
• 24:33
  you never suffer from boredom? No, replied his wife. Not really.
• 24:38
  Isn't it uncomfortable to sit on eggs? Yes, it is,
• 24:42
  replied the wife. But I can put up with a
• 24:45
  certain amount of discomfort for the sake of bringing young
• 24:48
  swans into the world. Do you know how many more
• 24:51
  days you must sit, he asked, Having any idea, she said,
• 24:56
  but I noticed that the ducks at the other end
• 24:58
  of the pond have their young ones. I noticed that
• 25:02
  the red winged blackbirds have hatched theirs. And the other
• 25:05
  evening I saw a striped skunk hunting along the shore,
• 25:09
  and she had four little skunks with her. So I
• 25:12
  think I must be getting near the end of my time.
• 25:15
  With any luck, we will soon be able to see
• 25:18
  our children, our beautiful little signets. Don't you ever feel
• 25:23
  the pangs of hunger or suffer the tortures of thirst,
• 25:26
  asked the cob Yes, I do, said his mate. As
• 25:30
  a matter of fact, I could use a drink right now.
• 25:34
  The afternoon was warm, the sun was bright. The swine
• 25:37
  decided she could safely leave her eggs for a few minutes.
• 25:41
  She stood up first, she pushed some loose feathers round
• 25:45
  the eggs, hiding them from view and giving them a
• 25:48
  warm covering in her absence. Then she stepped off the
• 25:52
  nest and entered the water. She took several quick drinks.
• 25:57
  Then she glided over to a shallow place, thrust her
• 26:00
  head underwater, and pulled up tender greens from the bottom.
• 26:05
  She next took a bath by tossing water over herself.
• 26:08
  Then she waddled out into a grassy bank and stood
• 26:12
  there preening her feathers. The swan felt good. She had
• 26:17
  no idea that an enemy was near. She failed to
• 26:20
  notice the red fox as he watched her from his
• 26:23
  hiding place behind a clump of bushes. The fox had
• 26:27
  been attracted to the pond by the sound of splashing water.
• 26:31
  He hoped he would find a goose. Now he sniffed
• 26:34
  the air and smelled the swan. Her back was turned,
• 26:38
  so he began creeping slowly toward her. She would be
• 26:41
  too big for him to carry, but he decided he
• 26:44
  would kill her anyway. And get a taste of blood.
• 26:48
  The cob, her husband, was still floating on the pond.
• 26:52
  He spied the fox. First look out, he trumpeted, look
• 26:57
  out for the fox who is creeping toward you. Even
• 27:00
  as I speak, his eyes bright, his bushy tail out street,
• 27:05
  his mind lusting for blood, its belly almost touching the ground.
• 27:10
  You're in grave danger, and we must act immediately. While
• 27:14
  the cob was making this elegant speech of warning, something
• 27:18
  happened that surprised everybody. Just as the fox was about
• 27:22
  to spring and sink his teeth in the swan's neck,
• 27:25
  a stick came hurtling through the air. It struck the
• 27:29
  fox full of the nose, and he turned and ran away.
• 27:32
  The two swans couldn't imagine what had happened. Then they
• 27:36
  noticed a movement in the bushes. Outstepped Sam Beaver, the
• 27:41
  boy who had visited them a month ago. Sam was
• 27:44
  grinning in his hand. He held another stick in case
• 27:48
  the fox should return. But the fox was in no
• 27:51
  mood to return. He had a very sore nose, and
• 27:54
  he had lost his appetite for fresh swan. Hello, said
• 27:58
  Sam in a low voice. Koho koho, replied the cob Koho,
• 28:03
  said his wife. The pond rang with the trumpet sounds,
• 28:07
  sounds of triumph over the fox, sounds of victory and gladness.
• 28:12
  Please this installment of radioized Children's Story Hour. Please join
• 28:17
  us next time as we read more stories, fables and
• 28:20
  fairy tales. Thank you for listening, and please stay tuned
• 28:23
  on Radio Eye