“Huh!” said a voice right back of Peter. Peter started ever so little and hastily turned his head, but saw no one.
“Huh!” said the voice again. “Huh! Are you a poet, Peter Rabbit?”
This time Peter turned wholly around in a single jump. Staring up at him from under a mullein-leaf was Old Mr. Toad.
“What's a poet?” demanded Peter.
“A poet is some one who—who—Say, Peter Rabbit, have you eaten something that went to your head?” Old Mr. Toad looked really anxious.
“No,” replied Peter, “it went to my stomach. Everything I eat goes to my stomach.”
“Then it can't be that you are a real poet,” sighed Old Mr. Toad. “I was a little afraid you might be when I overheard you just now. On the whole I am rather glad, Peter. It would be so tiresome to have to listen to you talking that way. By the way, who is it that is not there and is not here, yet no one saw him disappear?”
“Hummer the Hummingbird,” replied Peter eagerly. “You see him in one place and before you can get your mouth open to speak, he is somewhere else. Then in a shake of your tail he isn't anywhere at all. I mean he isn't anywhere in sight.”
“I haven't any tail,” retorted Old Mr. Toad rather testily. “I got rid of the silly thing long ago, as you very well know, Peter Rabbit.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Toad. I didn't mean anything personal. It was just a way of speaking to show how quickly Hummer disappears. I was thinking of my own tail,” said Peter.