To begin with, the others will not allow him to go into the pond.

There is an organised cabal against it, and he sits solitary on the bank, calm and resigned, but, naturally, a trifle hurt.
His favourite retreat is a tiny sort of island on the edge of the pool under the alders, where with his bent head, and red-rimmed philosophic eyes he regards his own breast and dreams of happier days.

When the others walk into the country twenty-three of them keep together, and Burd Alane (as I have named him from the old ballad) walks by himself.

The lack of harmony is so evident here, and the slight so intentional and direct, that it almost moves me to tears.

The others walk soberly, always in couples, but even Burd Alane's rightful spouse is on the side of the majority, and avoids her consort.
{Out of favour with the entire family: p61.jpg} What is the nature of his offence?
There can be no connubial jealousies, I judge, as geese are strictly monogamous, and having chosen a partner of their joys and sorrows they cleave to each other until death or some other inexorable circumstance does them part.