sense, Peter. We can't live without eating any more than you can,
and in winter there is no food at all here for most of us, so we
go where there is food. Those who are lucky enough to eat the
kinds of food that can be found here in winter stay here. They
are lucky. That's what they are--lucky. Still--" Jenny Wren
paused.

"Still what?" prompted Peter.

"I wonder sometimes if you folks who are at home all the time
know just what a blessed place home is," replied Jenny. "It is
only six months since we went south, but I said it seems ages,
and it does. The best part of going away is coming home. I don't
care if that does sound rather mixed; it is true just the same.
It isn't home down there in the sunny South, even if we do spend
as much time there as we do here. THIS is home, and there's no
place like it! What's that, Mr. Wren? I haven't seen all the
Great World? Perhaps I haven't, but I've seen enough of it, let
me tell you that! Anyone who travels a thousand miles twice a
year as we do has a right to express an opinion, especially if
they have used their eyes as I have mine. There is no place like
home, and you needn't try to tease me by pretending that there
is. My dear, I know you; you are just as tickled to be back here
as I am."

"He sings as if he were," said Peter, for all the time Mr. Wren
was singing with all his might.

Jenny Wren looked over at Mr. Wren fondly. "Isn't he a dear to
sing to me like that? And isn't it a perfectly beautiful spring