"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