Old Mr. Toad was sitting in his usual place, but he wasn't singing. He was
staring at something in the water. When Peter said "Good morning," Old Mr.
Toad didn't seem to hear him. He was too much interested in what he was
watching. Peter stared down into the water to see what was interesting Old
Mr. Toad so much, but he saw nothing but a lot of wriggling tadpoles.

"What are you staring at so, Mr. Sobersides?" asked Peter, speaking a
little louder than before.

Old Mr. Toad turned and looked at Peter, and there was a look of great
pride in his face. "I'm just watching my babies. Aren't they lovely?" said
he.

Peter stared harder than ever, but he couldn't see anything that looked
like a baby Toad.

"Where are they?" asked he. "I don't see any babies but those of
Grandfather Frog, and if you ask me, I always did think tadpoles about the
homeliest things in th' world."

Old Mr. Toad grew indignant. "Those are not Grandfather Frog's children;
they're mine!" he sputtered. "And I'll have you know that they are the most
beautiful babies in th' world!"

Peter drew a hand across his mouth to hide a smile. "I beg your pardon, Mr.
Toad," said he. "I--I thought all tadpoles were Frog babies. They all look
alike to me."

"Well, they're not," declared Old Mr. Toad. "How any one can mistake my