“I saw him here; I saw him there;
And now he is not anywhere!
He is not there; he is not here,
Yet no one saw him disappear.”
|PETER RABBIT didn't intend that for any ears but his own, but it never
is safe to talk out loud if you want no one else to hear.
“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.
“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.
“Now Old Mother Nature never could bear to waste anything, and she
didn't intend to begin. So she made a teeny, weeny bird and she made him
just as perfect as any other bird. She gave him feathers just like any
other bird, only of course his feathers were teeny, weeny. She gave him
a tail just like any other bird, only it was a teeny, weeny tail. She
gave him feet with toes and claws just like any other bird, only they
were teeny, weeny feet. And she gave him a bill, only it was a teeny,
weeny bill and it was short. And because he was so teeny, weeny and yet
a perfect bird, Old Mother Nature was very proud of him, so she gave
him a beautiful green coat. The beautiful ruby throat was not given
him until later, when he proved so brave of heart and so loyal to King
Eagle, you remember.”
“I remember,” said Peter. “He got his ruby throat when old King Eagle
won his crown of white.”
“When Old Mother Nature sent little Mr. Hummingbird out into the Great
World to join the other birds, she told him that tiny as he was she
could treat him no differently from the others, and that he would have
to take care of himself and prove that he was worthy to live and have a
place in the work of the Great World, for that was a law which she could
not break for any one, great or small.
“So little Mr. Hummingbird darted away to join the other birds and find
a place for himself in the Great World. When the other birds first saw
him, they laughed at him because he was so tiny, and made fun of him.
though truth to tell some of them were envious because of his beautiful
coat, and others were envious because of the way in which he could
dart about, for not one among them could fly so swiftly as little Mr.
Hummingbird.
“Tiny though he was, he was stout of heart and fairly bursting with
spunk. He would dash into the very faces of those who tried to tease him
and would be away again before they could so much as strike at him. So
it wasn't long before they let him alone, though among themselves they
still looked on him as a joke and were sure he would not live long.
Being such a teeny, weeny fellow, of course Mr. Hummingbird had a teeny,
weeny stomach, and he soon discovered that he couldn't eat the things
that other birds did but must hunt for teeny, weeny things. It didn't
take him long to find out that there were many teeny, weeny insects just
suited to him, especially about the flowers. So Mr. Hummingbird spent
most of his time darting about among the flowers catching teeny, weeny
insects to fill his teeny, weeny stomach.
“One day he paused in front of a deep-throated flower and discovered
that many teeny, weeny insects had hidden in the heart of it. Try as he
would he could not reach them. Now his own swift little wings were
not quicker than Mr. Hummingbird's temper, and he promptly pulled that
flower to pieces. Then he caught all the insects, and in doing this he
discovered that in the heart of the flower were sweet juices, better
than anything he ever had tasted before. After that he wasted no time
hunting for teeny, weeny insects in the air, but darted from one
deep-throated flower to another, pulling them to pieces and filling his
teeny, weeny stomach with the insects hiding there and the sweet juices.
“One day along came Old Mother Nature to see how things were going. On
every side were beautiful flowers torn to rags. She threw up her hands
in dismay. 'Dear me!' she cried. 'I wonder who can have been doing such
dreadful mischief!'
“Just then she caught sight of little Mr. Hummingbird tearing another
flower to pieces. Sternly she called him before her, and he came
fearlessly. 'Why are you tearing my beautiful flowers to pieces?' she
demanded.
“'Because it is the only way I can get the food in the hearts of them,
and it is the food best suited to me,' replied little Mr. Hummingbird
promptly but respectfully.
“Old Mother Nature tried to look severe, but a twinkle crept into her
eyes. Secretly she was pleased with the fearlessness of the teeny, weeny
bird.
“'That may be, but I cannot have my beautiful flowers destroyed this
way. It will never do at all!' said she.
“She scratched her head thoughtfully for a few minutes. Then she reached
out and took hold of Mr. Hummingbird's teeny, weeny bill. 'Pull,' said
she. Little Mr. Hummingbird pulled with all his might, and his bill was
pulled out until it was long and slender, and his tongue was pulled out
long with it.
“'Now,' said Old Mother Nature, 'I guess you won't have to pull my
flowers to pieces.'
“Little Mr. Hummingbird darted away to the nearest deep-throated flower
and found that he could reach the teeny, weeny insects and the sweet
juices without the least trouble, and from that time on he took the
greatest care not to hurt the beautiful flowers. That is how Hummer,
whom you know, happens to have a long bill,” concluded Old Mr. Toad.
“And I suppose that is why he seems to love the flowers so,” said Peter
as he looked down at Old Mr. Toad thoughtfully.
“It is,” replied Old Mr. Toad, and yawned sleepily.