Peter happened along as Digger sat there on his doorstep watching his shadow grow longer, so he sat down at a safe and respectful distance and helped Digger watch his shadow grow longer.  Peter delights in doing things like this, because it isn’t hard work at all.  It is only when there is real work concerned that Peter loses interest.  A lot of people are just like Peter in this respect.

Peter gazed over at the Old Pasture and he, too, saw Farmer Brown’s Sheep and the big Ram with the curving horns at his head.  For a long time Peter had greatly admired those horns, though he never had told any one so.  He had admired those horns because they were different from any other horns Peter ever had seen.  They looked perfectly useless for fighting because they curved so that the points never could be made to hurt any one, but just the same Peter admired them.  Now as he watched he spoke aloud, without thinking what he was doing.

“I wish I had a pair of horns like those,” said he wistfully.

Digger the Badger stopped watching his shadow, and turned to stare at Peter.  Then he laughed until finally he choked.  Peter looked at him in surprise.

“What’s the matter with you, Mr. Badger?” asked he.  “What is there to laugh at?”

“Only you, Peter.  Only you,” replied Digger faintly, for he had laughed so hard that he had almost lost his voice.  “I am afraid you would find a pair of horns like those rather heavy, Peter, rather heavy.”

Peter grinned.  “Of course I didn’t really mean that,” said he.  “Of course not.  I was just thinking how nice it would be to have such fine horns, if one were big enough to have horns.  I don’t believe there are any other such horns in all the Great World.”

“And that shows how little you know about the Great World, Peter,” retorted Digger the Badger.

“Did you ever see such horns before?” demanded Peter.

“No, I never did,” confessed Digger, “but I’ve heard my grandfather tell of Sheep that live on the tops of the great mountains as free as Light-foot the Deer or any other of the Green Forest people, and with horns so large that they, the Sheep, are called Big-Horns.  From what I have heard my grandfather say, those horns over there of Mr. Ram’s are nothing to brag about.  No, Sir, they are nothing to brag about.  One of those wild, free cousins of Mr. Ram over there would laugh at those horns.  But they are funny horns, and they’ve been like that always since the days of the first great Ram, the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of all the Sheep, so my grandfather told me.  It was way back in those long-ago days that they became curved and quite useless for fighting, and all because of old Big-Horn going about with a chip on his shoulder.”

Peter pricked up his ears.  “That was a funny thing for Big-Horn to be doing,” said he.  “What under the sun did he have a chip on his shoulder for?  And what harm was there in that, even if he did?”