He was aware at the same time of a curious
warning instinct that something strange and unpleasant was
about to happen. The duck flung itself confidently forward
into the water, and rolled immediately under the surface.
Its head appeared for a moment and went under again, leaving
a train of bubbles in its wake, while wings and legs churned
the water in a helpless swirl of flapping and kicking. The
bird was obviously drowning. Crefton thought at first that
it had caught itself in some weeds, or was being attacked
from below by a pike or water-rat. But no blood floated to
the surface, and the wildly bobbing body made the circuit of
the pond current without hindrance from any entanglement. A
second duck had by this time launched itself into the pond,
and a second struggling body rolled and twisted under the
surface. There was something peculiarly piteous in the
sight of the gasping beaks that showed now and again above
the water, as though in terrified protest at this treachery
of a trusted and familiar element. Crefton gazed with
something like horror as a third duck poised itself on the
bank and splashed in, to share the fate of the other two.
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