"You're quite sure?" asked the Platypus, doubtfully, and evidently more
than half inclined to dive into the pool.

"Quite," said Dot.

"Then I'll try to believe you," said the Platypus, clumsily waddling
towards some grass, amongst which it settled itself comfortably. "But
it's very difficult to believe you Humans, for you tell such dreadful
fibs," it continued, as it squirted some dirty water out of the bag that
surrounded its bill, and swallowed some water beetles, small snails and
mud that it had stored there. "See, for instance, the way you have all
quarrelled and lied about me! First one great Human, the biggest fool of
all, said I wasn't a live creature at all, but a joke another Human had
played upon him. Then they squabbled together one saying I was a Beaver;
another, that I was a Duck; another, that I was a Mole, or a Rat. Then
they argued whether I was a bird, or an animal, or if we laid eggs, or
not; and everyone wrote a book, full of lies, all out of his head.

"That's the way Humans amuse themselves. They write books about things
they don't understand, and keep the game going by each new book saying the
others are all wrong. It's a silly game, and very insulting to the
creatures they write about. Humans at the other end of the world, who,
never took the trouble to come here to see me, wrote books about me.
Those who did come were more impudent than those who stayed away. Their
idea of learning all about a creature was to dig up its home, and frighten
it out of its wits, and kill it; and after a few moons of that sort of
foolery they claimed to know all about us. Us! whose ancestors knew the
world millions of years before the ignorant Humans came on the earth at
all!" The Platypus spluttered out more dirty water, in its indignation.