“Huh!” grunted Old Mr. Toad just as before. “Then you weren't thinking of much.”
Peter laughed. “Not so very much,” he replied. “Still I can shake it, even if there isn't much of it. See!” He stood up and twitched his funny little tail until solemn Old Mr. Toad had to laugh in spite of himself.
“Hummer is such a wonderful little fellow,” continued Peter eagerly. “He is so tiny it doesn't seem possible that he can be like other birds. I don't feel really acquainted with him because he isn't still long enough for me to more than nod to him.”
“That's true,” replied Old Mr. Toad, nodding sagely. “He isn't still down near the ground, but if you happened to find his home, you would often see him sitting near it as still as any other bird. By the way, Peter, did you ever hear how it happened that he comes by such a long bill?”
“A story!” cried Peter, jumping up and down and clapping his hands. “Oh, Mr. Toad, I never did hear, and I'm just dying to know. Please do tell me!” There was a twinkle in Old Mr. Toad's beautiful eyes,—for they really are beautiful, you know. He backed a little farther under the big mullein-leaf where the sun couldn't reach him, opened and closed his big mouth two or three times without making a sound, rolled his eyes back as if he were looking way, way into the past, and then, just as Peter had begun to think that there wasn't going to be any story after all, he began to talk in a funny little voice that seemed to come from way down where his throat and his stomach meet.
“It was long, long, long ago,” said he.
“I know! It was way back when the world was young,” interrupted Peter eagerly.
“Oh! So you know the story after all, do you?” grunted Old Mr. Toad rather crossly.
“I beg your pardon. I do indeed. I'm sorry,” Peter hastened to say.
“Very well. Very well,” grumbled Old Mr. Toad, “but don't do it again. Now I'll have to begin all over again. It was a long, long, long time ago in the beginning of things when Old Mother Nature had made all the big birds and the middle-sized birds and the little birds that she discovered that she had just a teeny, weeny bit of the things birds are made of left over. There wasn't enough to make even the head of an ordinary bird. No bird had use for another head, anyway.