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1.11.25 - Part 2 · Children's Hour

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  Speaker 1: Oh, and welcome to Radioized Children's Story Hour. As a reminder,
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  Radio Eyes a reading service intended for people who are
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  blind or have other disabilities that make it difficult to
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  read printed material. Today, I will be reading from the
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  trumpet of the Swan. Your reader today is Doris. This
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  book was published by Harper Rowe Publishing Company has a
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  copyright year nineteen seventy by E. B. White. After one
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  Sam walking back to camp through the swamp, Sam wondered
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  whether to tell his father what he had seen. I
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  know one thing, he said to himself. I'm going back
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  to that little pond again tomorrow, and I'd like to
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  go alone. If I tell my father what I saw today,
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  he will want to go with me. I'm not sure
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  that's a very good idea. Sam was eleven. His last
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  name was Beaver. He was strong for his age and
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  had black hair and dark eyes like an Indian. Sam
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  walked like an Indian, too, putting one foot straight in
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  front of the other and making very little noise. The
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  swamp through which he was traveling was a wild place.
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  There was no trail, and it was boggy underfoot, which
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  made walking difficult. Every four or five minutes, Sam took
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  his compass out of his pocket and checked his course
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  to make sure he was headed in a westerly direction.
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  Canada is a big place, much of it is wilderness.
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  To get lost in the woods and swamps of Western
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  Canada would be a serious matter. As he trudged on,
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  the boy's mind was full of the wonder of what
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  he had seen. Not many people in the world have
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  seen the nest of a trumpeter swan. Sam had found
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  one on the Lonely Pond on this day in spring.
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  He had seen two great white birds, with their long
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  white necks and black bills. Nothing he had ever seen
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  before in all his life had 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 it too. 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 where 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 bogged 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 a sly boy, but he was odd
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  in one respect. He liked to keep things to himself,
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  and he liked being alone, particularly when he was in
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  the woods. He enjoyed the life on his father's cattle
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  wrench in the sweet Grass country in Montana. He loved
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  his mother. He loved Duke, his cow pony. He loved
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  riding the range. He loved watching the guests who came
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  to board at the Beaver's ranch every summer. But the
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  thing he enjoyed most in life was these camping trips
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  in Canada with his father. Missus Beaver didn't care for
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  the woods, so she seldom went along. It was usually
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  just Sam and mister Beaver. They would motor to the
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  border and cross into Canada. There, mister Beaver would hire
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  a bush pilot to fly them to the lake where
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  his camp was for a few days of fishing and
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  loafing and exploring. Mister Beaver did most of the fishing
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  and loafing. Sam did the exploring, and then the pilot
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  would return to take them out. His name was Shorty.
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  They would hear the sound of his motor and run
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  out and wave and watch him glide down onto the
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  lake and taxi his plane into the dock. These were
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  the pleasantest days of Sam's life, these days in the woods,
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  far far from everywhere. No automobiles, no roads, no people,
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  no noise, no school, no homework, no problems except the
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  problem of getting lost, and of course the problem of
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  what to be when he grew up. Every boy has
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  that problem. After supper that evening, Sam and his father
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  sat for a while on the porch. Sam was reading
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  a bird book. Pop said Sam, do you think we'll
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  be coming back to camp again about a month from now?
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  I mean in about thirty five days or something like that.
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  I guess so, replied mister Beaver. I certainly hope so.
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  But why thirty five days. What's so special about thirty
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  five days? Oh? Nothing, said Sam. I just thought it
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  might be very nice around here in thirty five days.
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  That's the craziest thing I ever heard of, said mister Beaver.
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  It's nice here All the time. Sam went indoors. He
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  knew a lot about birds, and he knew it would
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  take a swain about thirty five days to hatch her eggs.
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  He hoped he could be at the pond to see
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  the young ones when they came out of the eggs.
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  Sam kept a diary, a day book about his life.
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  It was just a cheap note book that was always
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  by his bed. Every night before he turned in, he
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  would write in the book. He wrote about things that
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  he had done, things he had seen, and thoughts he
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  had had. Sometimes he drew a picture. He always ended
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  by asking himself a question so he would have something
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  to think about while falling asleep. On the day he
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  found the swan's nest, this is What's wrote in his diary.
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  I saw a pair of trumpeter swans today on a
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  small pond east of camp. The female has a nest
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  with eggs in it. I saw three, but I'm going
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  to put four in the picture. I think she was
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  laying another one. This is the greatest discovery I ever
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  made in my entire life. I did not tell pop.
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  My bird book says baby swins are caused signets. I
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  am going back tomorrow to visit the great swans again.
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  I heard a fox bark today. Why does a fox bark?
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  Is it because he is mad, or worried, or hungry,
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  or because he is sending a message to another fox?
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  Why does a fox bark? Sam closed his notebook undressed,
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  crawled into his bunk, and lay there with his eyes closed,
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  wondering why a fox barks? In a few minutes, he
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  was asleep. Chapter two. The pond, the pone Sam had
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  discovered on that spring morning, was seldom visited by any
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  human being. All winter, snow had covered the ice. The
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  pond lay cold and still under its white blanket. Most
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  of the time. There wasn't a sound to be heard.
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  The frog was asleep, the chipmunk was asleep. Occasionally a
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  jade would cry out, and sometimes at night the fox
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  would bark, a high, rasping bark. Winter seemed to last forever,
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  But one day a change came over the woods and
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  the pond. Warm air, soft and kind blue through the trees.
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  The eyes, which had softened during the night, began to melt.
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  Patches of open water appeared. All the creatures that lived
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  in the pond and in the woods were glad to
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  feel the warmth. They heard and felt the breath of spring,
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  and they stirred with new life and hope. There was
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  a good new smell in the air, a smell of
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  earth after its long sleep. The frog buried in the
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  mud at the bottom of the pond knew that spring
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  was here. That chickadee knew and was delighted. Almost everything
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  delights at Chickadee. The vixen dozing in her den knew
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  she would soon have kits. Every creature knew that a better,
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  easier time was at hand. Warmer days pleasanter nights. Trees
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  were putting out green buds. The buds were swelling. Birds
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  began arriving from the south. A pair of ducks flew in.
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  The red winged blackbird arrived and scouted the pond for
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  nesting sits. A small sparrow with a white throat arrived
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  and sang, oh sweet, Canada, Canada, Canada. And if you
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  had been sitting by the pond on that first warm
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  day of spring, suddenly toward the end of the afternoon,
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  you would have heard a stirring sound high above you
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  in the air, a sound like the sound of trumpets, koho, koho.
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  And if you had looked up, you would have seen
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  high overhead two great white birds. They flew swiftly, their
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  legs stretched out straight behind, their long white necks stretched
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  out ahead, their powerful wings beating steady and strong. Koho, koho,
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  ko ho, a thrilling noise in the sky, the trumpeting
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  of swans. When the birds spotted the pond, they began circling,
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  looking the place over from the air. Then they glided
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  down and came to rest in the water, folding their
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  long wings neatly along their sides and turning their heads
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  this way and that to study their new surroundings. They
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  were trumpeter swans, pure white birds with black bills. They
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  had liked the looks of the swampy pond, and it
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  decided to make it their home for a while and
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  raise a family. The two swans were tired from the
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  long flight. They were glad to be down out of
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  the sky. They paddled slowly about and then began feeding,
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  thrusting their necks into the shallow water and pulling roots
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  and plants from the bottom. Everything about the swans was white,
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  except their bills and their feet. These were black. They
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  carried their heads high. The ponds seemed a different place
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  because of their arrival. For the next few days, The
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  swans rested when they were hungry. They ate when they
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  were thirsty, which was a great deal of the time.
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  They drank. On the tenth day, the female began looking
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  around to find a place to build her nest. In
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  the spring of the year. Nest buildings uppermost in the
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  bird's mind. It is the most important thing there is.
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  If she picks a good place, she stands a good
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  chance of hatching her eggs and rearing her young. If
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  she picks a poor place, she may fail to raise
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  a family. The female swan knew this. She knew the
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  decision she was making was extremely important. The two swans
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  first investigated the upper end of the pond, where a
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  stream flowed slowly in. It was pleasant there, with reeds
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  and bulrushes. Red winged blackbirds were busy nesting in this
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  part of the pond, and a pair of mallard ducks
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  were courting. Then the swan swam to the lower end
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  of the pond, a marsh with woods on one side
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  and a deer meadow on the other. It was lonely here.
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  From one shore, a point of land extended out into
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  the pond. It was a sandy strip, like a little peninsula.
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  And at the tip of it, a few feet out
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  into the water was a tiny island, hardly bigger than
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  a dining table. One small tree grew on the island,
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  and there were rocks and ferns and grasses. Take a
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  look at this, exclaimed the female as she swam round
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  and around. Koho replied her husband, who liked to have
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  someone ask his advice. The swan stepped cautiously out into
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  the island. The spot seemed made to order just right
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  for a nesting place. While the male swine floated close by, watching,
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  she snooped about until she found a pleasant spot on
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  the ground. She sat down to see how it felt
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  to be sitting there. She decided it was the right
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  size for her body. It was nicely located a couple
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  of feet from the water's edge, very convenient. She turned
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  to her husband, What do you think, she said, an
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  ideal location? He replied, A perfect place. And I will
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  tell you why it's a perfect place, he continued majestically.
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  If an enemy, a fox or a coon, or a
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  cowdy or a skunk, wanting to reach the spot with
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  murder in his heart, he'd have to enter the water
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  and get wet, and before he could enter the water,
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  he'd have to walk the whole length of that point
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  of land, and by that time we'd see him or
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  hear him, and I would give him a hard time.
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  The male stretched out his great wings eight feet from
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  tip to tip, and gave the water a mighty cloud
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  to show his strength. This made him feel better right away.
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  When a trumpeter swan hits an enemy with his wing,
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  it is like being hit by a baseball bat. A
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  male swan, by the way, is called a cob. No
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  one knows why, but that's what he's called a good.
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  Many animals have special names. A male goose is called
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  a gander. A male cow is called a bull. A
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  male sheep is called a ram, A male chicken is
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  called a roost, and so on. Anyway, the thing to
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  remember is that a male swan is called a cob.
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  The COB's wife pretended not to notice that her husband
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  was showing off, but she saw it all right, and
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  she was proud of his strength and his courage. As
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  husbands go, he was a good one. The cob watched
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  his beautiful wife sitting there on the tiny island. To
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  his great joy, he saw her begin to turn slowly
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  round and around, keeping always in the same spot, treading
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  the mud and grass. She was making the first motions
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  of nesting. First she squatted down in the place she
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  had chosen. Then she twisted round and around, tamping the
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  earth with her broad webbed feet, hollowing it out to
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  make it like a saucer. Then she reached out and
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  pulled twigs and grasses toward her and dropped them at
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  her sides and under her tail, shaping the to her body.
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  The cob floated close to his mate. He studied every
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  move she made. Now another medium sized stick, my love,
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  he said, and she poked her splendid, long, white, graceful
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  neck as far as it would go, picked up a
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  stick and placed it at her side. Now another bit
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  of coarse grass, said the cob, with great dignity. The
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  female reached for grasses, for moss, for twigs, anything that
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  was handy. Slowly, carefully, she built up the nest until
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  she was sitting on a big grassy mound. She worked
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  at the task for a couple of hours. That knocked
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  off for the day, and slid into the pond again
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  to take a drink and have lunch. A fine start,
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  said the cob, as he gazed back at the nest.
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  A perfect beginning. I don't know how you manage it
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  so cleverly. It comes naturally, replied his wife. There's a
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  lot of work to it, but on the whole it
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  is pleasant work, yes, said the cob. And when you're done,
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  you have something to show for your trouble. You have
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  a swan's nest six feet across. What other bird can
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  say that, well, said his wife. Maybe an eagle can
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  say it, yes, But in that case it wouldn't be
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  a swan's nest. It would be an eagle's nest, and
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  it would be high up in some old dead trees
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  somewhere instead of right down near the water with all
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  the conveniences that go with water. They both laughed at this.
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  Then they began trumpeting and splashing and scooping up water
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  and throwing it on their backs, darting about as though
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  they had suddenly gone crazy with delight. Hoo hol ko,
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  hold hoo hol they cried. Every wild creature within a
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  mile and a half of the pond heard the trumpeting
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  of the swans. The fox heard, the raccoon heard, the
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  skunk heard. One pair of ears heard that did not
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  belong to a wild creature, but the swans did not
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  know that. Chapter three a visitor. One day, almost a
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  week later, the swan slipped quietly into her nest and
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  laid an egg. Each day she tried to deposit one
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  egg in the nest. Sometimes she succeeded, sometimes she didn't.
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  There were now three eggs, and she was ready to
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  lay a fourth. As she sat there with her husband,
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  the cob floating gracefully nearby, she had a strange feeling
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  that she was being watched. It made her uneasy. Birds
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  don't like to be stared at. They particularly disliked being
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  stared at when they're on a nest. So the swan
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  twisted and turned and peered everywhere. She gazed intently at
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  the point of land that jutted out into the pond
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  near the nest. With her sharp she searched the nearby
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  shore for signs of an intruder. What she finally saw
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  gave her the surprise of her life. There, seated on
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  a log on the point of land was a small boy.
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  He was being very quiet, and he had no gun.
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  Do you see what I see? The swan whispered to
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  her husband. No, what over there on that log it's
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  a boy. Now what are we going to do? How
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  did a boy get here? Whispered the cob. We are
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  deep in the wiles of Canada. There are no human
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  beings for miles around. That's what I thought too, she replied.
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  But if that isn't a boy over there on that log,
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  my name is a signus beconator. The cob was furious.
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  I didn't fly all the way north into Canada to
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  get involved with a boy, he said. We came here
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  to this idyllic spot, this remote little hideaway, so we
• 19:58
  could enjoy some welders, serve privacy. Well, said his wife.
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  I'm sorry to see the boy too, but I must
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  say he's behaving himself. He sees us, but he's not
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  throwing stones, he's not throwing sticks, he's not messing around.
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  He's simply observing. I do not wish to be observed,
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  complain the cob. I did not travel all this immense
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  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're entitled to privacy. It has been my experience
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  that All boys throw stones and sticks. It is their nature.
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  I'm going over and strike that boy with my powerful
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  wing and he'll think he has been hit with a
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  billy club. I'll knock him cold. Now just a minute,
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  said the swan. There's no use starting a fight. This
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  boy is not bothering me at the moment. He's not
• 20:59
  bothering you either. But how did he get here? Said
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  the cob, who was no longer talking in a whisper.
• 21:07
  What was beginning to shout? How did he get here?
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  Boys can't fly, and there are no roads in this
• 21:15
  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.
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  Maybe he wants to rob the nest and eat the eggs,
• 21:27
  but I doubt it. He doesn't look hungry anyway. I've
• 21:32
  started this nest, and I have three beautiful eggs, and
• 21:35
  the boys behaving himself at the moment, and I intend
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  to go right ahead and try for a fourth egg.
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  Good luck, my love, said the cob. I shall be
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  here at your side to defend you if anything happens.
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  Lay the egg For the next hour. The cob paddles
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  slowly round and around the tiny island, keeping watch. His
• 21:57
  wife remained quietly on the nest. Sam sat on his log,
• 22:02
  hardly moving a muscle. He was spellbound at the sight
• 22:05
  of the swans. They were the biggest water birds he
• 22:08
  had ever seen. He had heard their trumpeting and had
• 22:11
  searched the woods and swamps until he had found the
• 22:14
  pond and located the nest. Sam knew enough about birds
• 22:18
  to know that these were trumpeters. Sam always felt happy
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  when he was in a wild place among wild creatures.
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  Sitting on his log watching the swans, he had the
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  same good feelings some people get when they are sitting
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  in church. After he had watched for an hour, Sam
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  got up. He walked slowly and quietly away, putting one
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  foot straight ahead of the other Indian fashion, hardly making
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  a sound. The swans watched him go. When the female
• 22:49
  left the nest, she turned and looked back. There, lying
• 22:52
  safely in the soft feathers at the bottom of the
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  nest was the fourth egg. The cob waddled out on
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  to the eye and looked in the nest. A masterpiece,
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  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
• 23:15
  laid five eggs, she felt satisfied. She gazed at them proudly.
• 23:20
  Then she settled herself on the nest to keep her
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  eggs warm. Carefully, she reached down with her bill and
• 23:27
  poked each egg until it was in just the right
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  spot to receive the heat from her body. The cob
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  cruised around close by to keep her company and protect
• 23:37
  her from enemies. He knew that a fox prowl somewhere
• 23:41
  in the woods. He had heard him barking on nights
• 23:44
  when the hunting was good. Days passed, and still the
• 23:48
  swan sat quietly on the five eggs. Nights passed. She
• 23:52
  sat and sat, giving her warmth to the eggs. No
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  one disturbed her. The boy was gone, perhaps he would
• 24:01
  never come back. Inside of each egg, something was happening
• 24:05
  that she couldn't see. A little swan was taking shape.
• 24:09
  As the weeks went by, the days grew longer, the
• 24:12
  nights grew shorter. When a rainy day came, the swan
• 24:15
  just sat still and let it rain. My dear, said
• 24:18
  her husband, the cob, one afternoon, do you ever find
• 24:22
  your duties onerous or irksome? Do you never tired of
• 24:26
  sitting in one place and in one position, covering the eggs,
• 24:30
  with no diversions, no pleasures, no escapades or capers. Do
• 24:35
  you never suffer from boredom? No, replied his wife. Not really.
• 24:40
  Isn't it uncomfortable to sit on eggs? Yes, it is,
• 24:44
  replied the wife. But I can put up with a
• 24:47
  certain amount of discomfort for the sake of bringing young
• 24:50
  swans into the world. Do you know how many more
• 24:53
  days you must sit, he asked, Having any idea, she said,
• 24:58
  but I noticed that the ducks at the other end
• 25:00
  of the pond have hatched their young ones. I noticed
• 25:04
  that the red winged blackbirds have hatched theirs. And the
• 25:07
  other evening I saw a striped skunk hunting along the shore,
• 25:11
  and she had four little skunks with her. So I
• 25:14
  think I must be getting near the end of my time.
• 25:17
  With any luck, we will soon be able to see
• 25:20
  our children, our beautiful little signets. Don't you ever feel
• 25:25
  the pangs of hunger or suffer the tortures of thirst?
• 25:28
  Asked the cob Yes, I do, said his mate. As
• 25:32
  a matter of fact, I could use a drink right now.
• 25:36
  The afternoon was warm, the sun was bright. The swine
• 25:39
  decided she could safely leave her eggs for a few minutes.
• 25:43
  She stood up first, she pushed some loose feathers round
• 25:47
  the eggs, hiding them from view and giving them a
• 25:50
  warm covering in her absence. Then she stepped off the
• 25:55
  nest and entered the water. She took several quick drinks.
• 25:59
  Then she over to a shallow place, thrust her head
• 26:03
  under water, and pulled up tender greens from the bottom.
• 26:07
  She next took a bath by tossing water over herself.
• 26:11
  Then she waddled out into a grassy bank and stood
• 26:14
  there preening her feathers. The swine felt good. She had
• 26:19
  no idea that an enemy was near. She failed to
• 26:22
  notice the red fox as he watched her from his
• 26:25
  hiding place behind a clump of bushes. The fox had
• 26:30
  been attracted to the pond by the sound of splashing water.
• 26:34
  He hoped he would find a goose. Now, he sniffed
• 26:37
  the air and smelled the swine. Her back was turned,
• 26:40
  so he began creeping slowly toward her. She would be
• 26:44
  too big for him to carry, but he decided he
• 26:47
  would kill her anyway and get a taste of blood.
• 26:51
  The cob, her husband, was still floating on the pond.
• 26:54
  He spied the fox. First look out, he trumpeted, look
• 26:59
  out for the fire, who is creeping towards you. Even
• 27:02
  as I speak. His eyes bright, his bushy tail out straight.
• 27:07
  It's mind lusting for blood, its belly almost touching the ground.
• 27:12
  You're in grave danger, and we must act immediately. While
• 27:16
  the cob was making this elegant speech of warning, something
• 27:20
  happened that surprised everybody. Just as the fox was about
• 27:24
  to spring and sink his teeth in the swan's neck,
• 27:27
  a stick came hurtling through the air. It struck the
• 27:31
  fox full of the nose, and he turned and ran away.
• 27:35
  The two swans couldn't imagine what had happened. Then they
• 27:38
  noticed a movement in the bushes. Outstepped Sam Beaver, the
• 27:43
  boy who had visited them a month ago. Sam was
• 27:46
  grinning in his hand, he held another stick in case
• 27:50
  the fox should return. But the fox was in no
• 27:53
  mood to return. He had a very sore nose, and
• 27:57
  he had lost his appetite for fresh swan. Hello, said
• 28:00
  Sam in a low voice. Ko ho koho, replied the
• 28:04
  cob ko Hoo, said his wife. The pond rang with
• 28:08
  the trumpet sounds, sounds of triumph over the fox, sounds
• 28:12
  of victory and gladness. Please this installment of radioized Children's
• 28:17
  Story Hour. Please join us next time as we read
• 28:21
  more stories, fables and fairy tales. Thank you for listening,
• 28:24
  and please stay tuned on Radio Eye