Once upon a time in The Royal Garden, there lived a Peacock named Peter. It was a bright day, and the old gardener, who knew all Peter’s friends and like to tell them nice stories, fed them every day in the same place.
“Little by little,” said he, “the peacock’s beautiful feathers are growing.” And indeed they did. Peter kept putting his tail up every day, admiring his own feathers. “What are you all looking at?” he said to the other birds.
“At your beautiful tail, certainly,” said they.
“At my tail? is that all? I think you could find a prettier sight,” said Peter.
“Almost anything, to be sure,” replied the other birds; “but we have no such beautiful feathers as yours.” Peter smiled but was silent. “Why did not my father and mother give me such beautiful feathers as yours?” said Molly the Mew.
“Perhaps your father does not wish to make you proud,” answered Peter.
“Proud! who is proud? Not I, certainly; but if I were as beautiful as you, I certainly should be proud.”
Now one night there came a terrible storm, such a storm as never was seen before. The next morning they all met in the garden, and poor Peter came out looking very sad, for not a feather of all his beautiful tail was to be found.
“Where are my beautiful feathers?” cried he, in great distress.
“It is no great matter,” said his neighbour. “You asked me yesterday why I was not so proud as you; I was not too proud then, and I am not at all too proud now.”
Peter looked down, for he had learned that True Beauty lies within.