that he was back at the Smiling Pool before Mr. Sun had kicked off
his rosy blankets and begun his daily climb up in the blue, blue
sky. You see, he felt that he had heard only a part of Mrs. Quack's
story, and he was dreadfully afraid that she would get away before
he could hear the rest. With the first bit of daylight, Mrs. Quack
swam out from her hiding-place among the brown rushes. It looked
to Peter as if she sat up on the end of her tail as she stretched
her neck and wings just as far as she could, and he wanted to laugh
right out. Then she quickly ducked her head under water two or
three times so that the water rolled down over her back, and again
Peter wanted to laugh. But he didn't. He kept perfectly still. Mrs.
Quack shook herself and then began to carefully dress her feathers.
That is, she carefully put back in place every feather that had
been rumpled up. She took a great deal of time for this, for Mrs.
Quack is very neat and tidy and takes the greatest pride in looking
as fine as she can.

Of course it was very impolite of Peter to watch her make her
toilet, but he didn't think of that. He didn't mean to be impolite.
And then it was so interesting. "Huh!" said he to himself, "I don't
see what any one wants to waste so much time on their clothes for."

You know Peter doesn't waste any time on his clothes. In fact,
he doesn't seem to care a bit how he looks. He hasn't learned yet
that it always pays to be as neat and clean as possible and that
you must think well of yourself if you want others to think well
of you.

When at last Mrs. Quack had taken a final shower bath and appeared
satisfied that she was looking her best, Peter opened his mouth to