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Updated: June 20, 2025
The long neck of each of those great birds was stretched to its full height, and Peter knew that each bird was listening for the slightest suspicious sound. Slowly they drew near, Honker in the lead. They were a picture of perfect caution. When they reached the sandy bar they remained quiet, looking and listening for some time.
It seemed to Peter that he had sat there half the night, but really it was only a short time, before he heard a low signal out in the Black Shadows which covered the middle of the Big River. It was the voice of Honker. Then Peter saw little silvery lines moving on the water and presently a dozen great shapes appeared in the moonlight. Honker and his friends were swimming in.
I certainly am glad to be back safe and sound, for the hunters with terrible guns have been at almost every one of our resting places, and it has been hard work to get enough to eat. It is a relief to find one place where there are no terrible guns." "Have you come far?" asked Peter. "Very far, Peter; very far," replied Honker. "And we still have very far to go.
Peter could hardly wait for the coming of the Black Shadows, and just as soon as they had crept out over the Green Meadows he started for the Big River. He knew just where to go, because he knew that Honker and his friends would rest and spend the night in the same place they had stopped at the year before.
I certainly never will forget that. It's about as crazy sounding as the voice of Old Man Coyote, and that is saying a great deal." "There's one thing I forgot to tell you," said Honker. "Dippy can't fly from the land; he must be on the water in order to get up in the air." "You can, can't you?" asked Peter. "Of course I can," replied Honker. "Why, we Geese get a lot of our food on land.
"I was speaking of Glutton the Wolverine who lives in the Great Forests of the Far North, and whom everybody hates." "Is Glutton his name?" asked Peter, wrinkling his brows in perplexity, for it seemed a very queer name for any one. "Certainly," replied Honker. "Certainly that is his name, and a very good name for him it is.
"Begin at the beginning," said Jerry Muskrat. "Your home is somewhere way up in the Northland where Honker the Goose lives, isn't it?" Mrs. Quack nodded. "I wish I were there this very minute," she replied, the tears coming again. "But sometimes I doubt if ever I'll get there again.
It is to-day, it was then; for the sound that the man heard drawing nearer and nearer that October afternoon was the swelling, diminishing note of the migrant on its way south, of the grey Canada honker en route from the Arctic circle to the Gulf of Mexico. "Honk! honk!" Sonorous, elusive, came the sound.
"Oh! shucks! it's only a sort of wild-goose call I tried to make from directions I read in a little book," confessed the ingenious one. "It don't seem to imitate a wild honker much, but say, I c'n make the most unearthly sounds come out of this hollow bone you ever listened to. Why, it nigh about freezes my own blood when I try the call in the pitch dark. Now watch and see what happens."
"Tell you about what?" asked Honker, pretending not to understand. "About how the first Wolverine got the name of Glutton," replied Peter promptly. "There must have been a very good reason, and if there was a very good reason, there must be a story. Please, Honker, tell me all about it."
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