During lunch Pascal went out of his way to be gracious and thoughtful towards the Spronks; he answered their questions and asked them about what they expected of work and play for the next week. Pascal was a very tactful child and knew it would be inappropriate to ask them about their morning. The Spronks recognized that their child was a bit odd. He was, however, an intelligent, polite, handsome little boy, and they accepted his quirks unflinchingly so long as they didn’t bring him or anyone else to any harm. Due to his politic maneuverings at the lunch table, Pascal thought the Spronks would be open to his request for further outdoors adventuring that afternoon. He asked. The Spronks were clever and sometimes knew when they were being manipulated. They realized this was one of those times, but nevertheless they granted their son’s request.
“One stipulation,” Mr. Spronk said. “You need to tell us where you’re going to be, and be there.”
“Okay,” said Pascal, reasoning that this was very fair. “I’ll stay in our backyard… or the Kepas’.” He suddenly remembered he’d better include that vital information.
“The Kepas’?” inquired Mrs. Spronk, intrigued.
“It’s for a project.” Pascal looked to his father to see if he’d picked up on the hint. Mr. Spronk had just put a fork full of food in his mouth but quickly withdrew it.
“Ah,” he said. “Pascal was telling me about that; he’ll show us later. I guess Aine’s helping him with it.”
“That's fine, then.” Mrs. Spronk was satisfied.
Pascal thought to himself that he’d been given very excellent subjects to rule over. They cared for him very well, but did not let the responsibility they’d been entrusted with get the best of their better natures. They stayed humble and relaxed about Pascal’s gentle insistence that he sometimes had important things to do that did not require their assistance.
Pascal asked to be excused, and waited until he was given permission. He put his dishes in the sink and padded across the kitchen floor to the back door, leaving his parents in quiet communion with each other. Pascal put on his shoes, pulled on his coat, and went outside. He walked across the backyard and opened the shed door. He heard a sudden scrabbling in the cardboard duckling prison, and was glad that his leverage was still alive. Pascal opened the top of the box and peeked in. The bread crusts were gone and the duckling was standing quite still in a corner of the box and looking up at Pascal. The boy closed the lid up again and sat down to think out his strategy.
He finally decided on the story that would allow him to be the most honest with Aine without admitting he made up the necessity. He would bring the duckling to Aine and request her help in caring for it. Pascal was quite sure that she must be very intelligent because of the way she never noticed anything anybody said or did; her own private mental landscape provided her with enough stimulation that there was no need for any other human interaction. She would make a good queen. Pascal, of course, failed to remember that he also was human and therefore unnecessary for Aine’s happiness. But never mind that now.
Pascal reopened the box and hesitated. He wished to take the water dish out but was unsure about how aggressive the duckling would be. He’d heard that generally it was the mother duck that attacked, but perhaps a duckling would also be defensive. Pascal would not blame the duckling if that was the case. Pascal recalled he wasn’t sure of the dentition of Anatidae family members. This thusly decided his next course of action; he would leave the water dish well enough alone and let it slosh around as it desired. Pascal carefully picked up the cardboard box and began the walk to Aine’s house.
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