When Mrs. Quack told of her twelve children and how she didn't know
where one of them was, Peter Rabbit and Jerry Muskrat knew just how
badly she was feeling, and they turned their heads away and pretended
that they didn't see her tears. In a few minutes she bravely went on
with her story.
“When Jack Frost came and we knew it was time to begin the long
journey, Mr. Quack and myself and our twelve children joined with some
other Duck families, and with Mr. Quack in the lead, we started for
our winter home, which really isn't a home but just a place to stay.
For a while we had nothing much to fear. We would fly by day and at
night rest in some quiet lake or pond or on some river, with the Great
Woods all about us or sometimes great marshes. Perhaps you don't know
what marshes are. If the Green Meadows here had little streams of water
running every which way through them, and the ground was all soft
and muddy and full of water, and the grass grew tall, they would be
marshes.”
Jerry Muskrat's eyes sparkled. “I would like a place like that!” he
exclaimed.
“You certainly would,” replied Mrs. Quack. “We always find lots of your
relatives in such places.”
“Marshes must be something like swamps,” ventured Peter Rabbit, who had
been thinking the matter over.
“Very much the same, only with grass and rushes in place of trees and
bushes,” replied Mrs. Quack. “There is plenty to eat and the loveliest
hiding-places. In some of these we stayed days at a time. In fact, we
stayed until Jack Frost came to drive us out. Then as we flew, we began
to see the homes of these terrible two-legged creatures called men, and
from that time on we never knew a minute of peace, excepting when we
were flying high in the air or far out over the water. If we could have
just kept flying all the time or never had to go near the shore, we
would have been all right. But we had to eat.”
“Of course,” said Peter. “Everybody has to eat.”
“And we had to rest,” said Mrs. Quack.
“Certainly,” said Peter. “Everybody has to do that.”
“And to eat we had to go in close to shore where the water was not at
all deep, because it is only in such places that we can get food,”
continued Mrs. Quack. “It takes a lot of strength to fly as we fly,
and strength requires plenty of food. Mr. Quack knew all the best
feeding-places, for he had made the long journey several times, so
every day he would lead the way to one of these. He always chose
the wildest and most lonely looking places he could find, as far as
possible from the homes of men, but even then he was never careless.
He would lead us around back and forth over the place he had chosen,
and we would all look with all our might for signs of danger. If we saw
none, we would drop down a little nearer and a little nearer. But with
all our watchfulness, we never could be sure, absolutely sure, that all
was safe. Sometimes those terrible two-legged creatures would be hiding
in the very middle of the wildest, most lonely looking marshes. They
would be covered with grass so that we couldn't see them. Then, as we
flew over them, would come the bang, bang, bang, bang of terrible guns,
and always some of our flock would drop. We would have to leave them
behind, for we knew if we wanted to live we must get beyond the reach
of those terrible guns. So we would fly our hardest. It was awful, just
simply awful!”
Mrs. Quack paused and shuddered, and Peter Rabbit and Jerry Muskrat
shuddered in sympathy.
“Sometimes we would have to try three or four feeding-places before we
found one where there were no terrible guns. And when we did find one,
we would be so tired and frightened that we couldn't enjoy our food,
and we didn't dare to sleep without some one on watch all the time. It
was like that every day. The farther we got, the worse it became. Our
flock grew smaller and smaller. Those who escaped the terrible guns
would be so frightened that they would forget to follow their leader
and would fly in different directions and later perhaps join other
flocks. So it was that when at last we reached the place in the sunny
Southland for which we had started, Mr. Quack and I were alone. What
became of our twelve children I don't know. I am afraid the terrible
guns killed some. I hope some joined other flocks and escaped, but I
don't know.”
“I hope they did too,” said Peter.
V