Peter held his breath, and it was so still that you could have heard a leaf drop had you been there.  When at last the stranger moved, it was his head only.  He turned it suddenly to the right and a moment later to the left.  It was plain that he was listening for suspicious sounds.  All the time his bright eyes searched the edge of the opening until Peter, although he was well hidden, felt that he must be seen.  At last, satisfied that all was safe, the stranger drew in his neck and began to walk about, pecking at the ground here and there and swallowing what he picked up, though what it was Peter couldn’t tell.

A sound seemed to catch the stranger’s quick ears, for he stopped and stared very hard at a little clump of brush.  Peter stared at it too.  At first he saw nothing, but presently he saw a head poked out, and this also was a stranger.  Peter glanced at the big stranger in the opening, and for a minute he wondered if it could be that something was wrong with his eyes.  Never had he seen such a change in anybody.  This stranger didn’t look like the same bird at all.  He was swelled up until Peter was afraid he would burst.  His tail was spread out like a great fan.  His head was laid back on his humped shoulders.  His wings were dropped until the stiffly spread feathers brushed the ground.  His head and neck were as red as blood, and there were no feathers on either.  All the feathers of his body were ruffed out so that the sun shone on them and made them shimmer and shine in colors that seemed to constantly change.

Back and forth in front of the brush from which the other stranger was peeping very shyly this great bird strutted.  He would stand still so that the sun would fall full on his shining coat and show it off to the best advantage, and at the same time he would draw in a great deal of air and then puff it out all at once.  Then he would walk a few steps, turn, drag his wings on the ground to make them rustle, wheel, and run a few steps.  Never had Peter seen such vanity, such conceit, such imposing, puffed-up pride.  He watched until he grew tired, and then he stole away and hurried over to the Smiling Pool to tell Grandfather Frog all about it and ask who these strangers were.

“Chug-a-rum!” exclaimed Grandfather Frog, opening his big mouth very wide to laugh at Peter and his excitement.  “That was Big Tom Gobbler, and he was doing all that for the benefit of Mrs. Gobbler, who was hiding in that brush.  It was her head you saw.  Big Tom is the most conceited fellow in the Green Forest.  He dearly loves to strut.  He is just like his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather.  The Gobblers never have gotten over strutting since Old Mr. Gobbler, the first of the family, got the habit.”

“Tell me about it.  Please, Grandfather Frog, tell me about it,” begged Peter.  “How did Old Mr. Gobbler get the habit?”