“It's a long story,” said Mrs. Quack, shaking the tears from her eyes,
“and I hardly know where to begin.”
“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. You folks who don't have to leave your homes every year don't
know how well off you are or how much you have to be thankful for.”
“I never could understand what people want to leave their homes for,
anyway,” declared Peter.
“We don't leave because we want to, but because we _have_ to,” replied
Mrs. Quack, “and we go back just as soon as we can. What would you do
if you couldn't find a single thing to eat?”
“I guess I'd starve,” replied Peter simply.
“I guess you would, and that is just what we would do, if we didn't
take the long journey south when Jack Frost freezes everything tight
up there where my home is,” returned Mrs. Quack. “He comes earlier up
there and stays twice as long as he does here, and makes ten times as
much ice and snow. We get most of our food in the water or in the mud
under the water, as of course you know, and when the water is frozen,
there isn't a scrap of anything we can get to eat. We just _have_ to
come south. It isn't because we want to, but because we must! There is
nothing else for us to do.”
“Then I don't see what you want to make your home in such a place for,”
said practical Peter. “I should think you would make it where you can
live all the year around.”
“I was born up there, and I love it just as you love the dear Old
Briar-patch,” replied Mrs. Quack simply. “It is home, and there is no
place like home. Besides, it is a very beautiful and a very wonderful
place in summer. There is everything that Ducks and Geese love. We have
all we want of the food we love best. Everywhere is shallow water with
tall grass growing in it.”
“Huh!” interrupted Peter, “I wouldn't think much of a place like that.”
“That's because you don't know what is good,” snapped Jerry Muskrat.
“It would suit me,” he added, with shining eyes.
“There are the dearest little islands just made for safe
nesting-places,” continued Mrs. Quack, without heeding the
interruptions. “And the days are long, and it is easy to hide, and
there is nothing to fear, for two-legged creatures with terrible guns
never come there.”
“If there is nothing to fear, why do you care about places to hide?”
demanded Peter.
“Well, of course, we have enemies, just as you do here, but they are
natural enemies,--Foxes and Minks and Hawks and Owls,” explained Mrs.
Quack. “Of course, we have to watch out for them and have places where
we can hide from them, but it is our wits against their wits, and
it is our own fault if we get caught. That is perfectly fair, so we
don't mind that. It is only men who are not fair. They don't know what
fairness is.”
Peter nodded that he understood, and Mrs. Quack went on. “Last summer
Mr. Quack and I had our nest on the dearest little island, and no one
found it. First we had twelve eggs, and then twelve of the dearest
babies you ever saw.”
“Maybe,” said Peter doubtfully, thinking of his own babies.
“They grew so fast that by the time the cold weather came, they were as
big as their father and mother,” continued Mrs. Quack. “And they were
smart, too. They had learned how to take care of themselves just as
well as I could. I certainly was proud of that family. But now I don't
know where one of them is.”
Mrs. Quack suddenly choked up with grief, and Peter Rabbit politely
turned his head away.