Three Good Deeds by Vivian Vande Velde

air.
    Howard remained in the water.
    Something was wrong with him.
    The old witch!
he thought. She wanted to keep him from doing that third good deed so that she wouldn't have to change him back into a boy.
    "Help!" he honked. "Help!"
    Some of the geese gathered around him. They could tell what was wrong with the family that had lost the gosling; they'd all seen goslings lost to predators before. But they couldn't tell what was wrong with him, so that was more interesting.
    "What's the matter, How-Word?" they asked.
    "It's not fair!" Howard slapped at the water with his wings. "The old witch has taken away my ability to fly, so I can't rescue any more of you."
    The geese looked at one another. A soft noise started, which—for one brief moment—Howard thought was a murmur of sympathy.
    It erupted into laughter. Hardly being able to keep a straight goose face, Sunset-Dances-Like-Flames-on-Her-Feathers said, "How-Word, you've molted."
    Angry with her for not being more sympathetic, after he'd helped her—after even the old witch acknowledged that he'd done a good deed by helping her—he said, "Yeah? So I've lost some feathers."
    "You've lost your flight feathers,"
Sunset-Dances-Like-Flames-on-Her-Feathers explained.
    "Because of the old witch?" Howard asked in horror.
    "Because of the time of year." She flapped her wings.
    Howard considered. He remembered thinking that the goose parents were too afraid to pursue the falcon, that he was braver than they were. "You mean this happens to all of you?" he asked.
    The other geese were having a good time with this. "That How-Word," they honked. "Either he's the biggest joker in the poultry kingdom, or he's as dumb as mud."
    This was an especially stinging remark since
he
thought
they
were slow-witted.
    "What did you want to chase that falcon for, anyway?" Mighty-Beak/Bone-Crusher asked. "That wasn't your gosling."
    Howard's head drooped. "I wanted to do a good deed," he muttered at the water.
    The geese spread away from him, chuckling to themselves. "That How-Word," they honked. "He's both a joker
and
dumb."
    He didn't think he was either. But he was, still, a goose.

13. Bravest Goose
    More days passed.
    Some of those days the old witch came out to visit with the geese; some days she didn't.
    What kind of caretaker was she? Howard thought peevishly. If he accomplished that third good deed, he wanted to make sure she was there to see it.
    More of the eggs began to hatch—hatching order being a source of competition among the mothers and a matter of
pride for the fathers. The fuzzy little goslings took to the water obviously born knowing how to swim. And how to call Howard "How-Word."
    Then, one sticky afternoon, when it was too hot to move, Scared-by-a-Rabbit began screaming. "Thief!" she honked. "Thief! Thief! Thief!"
    Howard hadn't seen another falcon, so he wondered if it was vicious-looking grass or another robin Scared-by-a-Rabbit thought was plotting to steal her eggs. Always-First-to-Molt slowly headed back to shore, and Howard—much closer—almost stayed where he was.
    But, ever hopeful, he swam toward her. As he climbed up onto the bank, he came face-to-face with a rat—a rat with big long teeth and nimble fingers.
    "Get away! Get away!" Scared-by-a-Rabbit shrieked, bobbing her head and
flapping her wings at the fierce-eyed creature.
    A threat. A real threat. Smaller than a badger, and unable to fly like a falcon.
    Even knowing the rat could bite him, Howard lunged.
    But instead of biting Howard, the rat bit the egg.
    Howard tried to peck at the rat, but—either Howard wasn't as fast as Mighty-Beak/Bone-Crusher, who never had trouble connecting his beak with the top of Howard's head, or the rat was more skillful about dodging than Howard was. The rat clung to the egg, chewing away at the shell, gnawing, crunching, and sucking away at the inside.
    Howard was able to peck the unrelenting creature once, a glancing blow. Still, it was finally