A Collection of Beatrix Potter Stories

Beatrix Potter

This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.

http://www.blackmask.com

  • THE TALE OF PETER RABBIT
  • THE TALE OF BENJAMIN BUNNY
  • THE TALE OF THE FLOPSY BUNNIES
  • THE ROLY-POLY PUDDING
  • THE TALE OF MR. TOD
  • THE TALE OF MRS. TIGGY-WINKLE
  • THE TALE OF GINGER PICKLES
  • THE STORY OF MISS MOPPET
  • THE TALE OF MR. JEREMY FISHER
  • THE TALE OF TIMMY TIPTOES
  • THE PIE AND THE PATTY-PAN
  • THE TALE OF JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
  • THE TALE OF PIGLING BLAND
  • THE TALE OF TWO BAD MICE



  • THE TALE OF PETER RABBIT





    ONCE upon a time there
    were four little Rabbits,
    and their names were--
                    Flopsy,
              Mopsy,
         Cotton-tail,
    and Peter.

    They lived with their Mother
    in a sand-bank, underneath the
    root of a very big fir tree.

    "NOW, my dears," said old
    Mrs. Rabbit one morning,
    "you may go into the fields
    or down the lane, but don't go
    into Mr. McGregor's garden:
    your Father had an accident
    there; he was put in a pie by
    Mrs. McGregor."

    "NOW run along, and don't
    get into mischief. I am
    going out."

    THEN old Mrs. Rabbit took
    a basket and her umbrella,
    to the baker's. She bought a
    loaf of brown bread and five
    currant buns.

    FLOPSY, Mopsy, and
    Cottontail, who were good
    little bunnies, went down the
    lane to gather blackberries;

    BUT Peter, who was very
    naughty, ran straight
    away to Mr. McGregor's
    garden and squeezed under
    the gate!

    FIRST he ate some lettuces
    and some French beans;
    and then he ate some radishes;

    AND then, feeling rather
    sick, he went to look for
    some parsley.

    BUT round the end of a
    cucumber frame, whom
    should he meet but Mr.
    McGregor!

    MR. McGREGOR was on
    his hands and knees
    planting out young cabbages,
    but he jumped up and ran after
    Peter, waving a rake and calling
    out, "Stop thief!"

    PETER was most dreadfully
    frightened; he rushed all
    over the garden, for he had
    forgotten the way back to the
    gate.

    He lost one of his shoes
    among the cabbages, and the
    other shoe amongst the potatoes.

    AFTER losing them, he ran
    on four legs and went
    faster, so that I think he might
    have got away altogether if he
    had not unfortunately run into
    a gooseberry net, and got
    caught by the large buttons on
    his jacket. It was a blue jacket
    with brass buttons, quite new.

    PETER gave himself up for
    lost, and shed big tears;
    but his sobs were overheard by
    some friendly sparrows, who
    flew to him in great excitement,
    and implored him to
    exert himself.

    MR. McGREGOR came up
    with a sieve, which he
    intended to pop upon the top
    of Peter; but Peter wriggled
    out just in time, leaving his
    jacket behind him.

    AND rushed into the toolshed,
    and jumped into a can.
    It would have been a
    beautiful thing to hide in, if it
    had not had so much water in it.

    MR. McGREGOR was
    quite sure that Peter
    was somewhere in the toolshed,
    perhaps hidden underneath
    a flower-pot. He began
    to turn them over carefully,
    looking under each.

    Presently Peter sneezed--
    "Kertyschoo!" Mr. McGregor
    was after him in no time,

    AND tried to put his foot
    upon Peter, who jumped
    out of a window, upsetting
    three plants. The window was
    too small for Mr. McGregor,
    and he was tired of running
    after Peter. He went back to
    his work.

    PETER sat down to rest;
    he was out of breath and
    trembling with fright, and he
    had not the least idea which
    way to go. Also he was very
    damp with sitting in that can.

    After a time he began to
    wander about, going lippity--
    lippity--not very fast, and
    looking all around.

    HE found a door in a wall;
    but it was locked, and
    there was no room for a fat
    little rabbit to squeeze
    underneath.

    An old mouse was running
    in and out over the stone doorstep,
    carrying peas and beans
    to her family in the wood.
    Peter asked her the way to the
    gate, but she had such a large
    pea in her mouth that she could
    not answer. She only shook
    her head at him. Peter began
    to cry.

    THEN he tried to find his
    way straight across the
    garden, but he became more
    and more puzzled. Presently,
    he came to a pond where Mr.
    McGregor filled his water-cans.
    A white cat was staring at
    some gold-fish; she sat very,
    very still, but now and then
    the tip of her tail twitched as
    if it were alive. Peter thought
    it best to go away without
    speaking to her; he had heard
    about cats from his cousin,
    little Benjamin Bunny.

    HE went back towards the
    tool-shed, but suddenly,
    quite close to him, he heard
    the noise of a hoe--scr-r-ritch,
    scratch, scratch, scritch.

    Peter scuttered underneath the
    bushes. But presently, as
    nothing happened, he came
    out, and climbed upon a
    wheelbarrow, and peeped over. The
    first thing he saw was Mr.
    McGregor hoeing onions. His
    back was turned towards
    Peter, and beyond him was
    the gate!

    PETER got down very
    quietly off the wheelbarrow,
    and started running
    as fast as he could go, along
    a straight walk behind some
    black-currant bushes.

    Mr. McGregor caught sight
    of him at the corner, but Peter
    did not care. He slipped underneath
    the gate, and was safe at
    last in the wood outside the
    garden.

    MR. McGREGOR hung up
    the little jacket and the
    shoes for a scare-crow to
    frighten the blackbirds.

    PETER never stopped running
    or looked behind
    him till he got home to the
    big fir-tree.

    He was so tired that he
    flopped down upon the nice
    soft sand on the floor of the
    rabbit-hole, and shut his eyes.
    His mother was busy cooking;
    she wondered what he had
    done with his clothes. It was
    the second little jacket and
    pair of shoes that Peter had
    lost in a fortnight!

    I AM sorry to say that Peter
    was not very well during
    the evening.

    His mother put him to bed,
    and made some camomile tea;
    and she gave a dose of it to
    Peter!

    "One table-spoonful to be
    taken at bed-time."

    BUT Flopsy, Mopsy, and
    Cotton-tail had bread
    and milk and blackberries,
    for supper.

    THE END




    THE TALE OF BENJAMIN BUNNY



    FOR THE CHILDREN OF SAWREY
    FROM
    OLD MR. BUNNY


    ONE morning a little rabbit
    sat on a bank.

    He pricked his ears and
    listened to the trit-trot,
    trit-trot of a pony.

    A gig was coming along the
    road; it was driven by Mr.
    McGregor, and beside him sat
    Mrs. McGregor in her best
    bonnet.

    AS soon as they had passed,
    little Benjamin Bunny
    slid down into the road, and
    set off--with a hop, skip and
    a jump--to call upon his relations,
    who lived in the wood at
    the back of Mr. McGregor's
    garden.

    THAT wood was full of
    rabbit holes; and in the
    neatest sandiest hole of all,
    cousins--Flopsy, Mopsy,
    Cotton-tail and Peter.

    Old Mrs. Rabbit was a
    widow; she earned her living
    by knitting rabbit-wool mittens
    and muffetees (I once bought
    a pair at a bazaar). She also
    sold herbs, and rosemary tea,
    and rabbit-tobacco (which is
    what WE call lavender).

    LITTLE Benjamin did not
    very much want to see
    his Aunt.

    He came round the back of
    the fir-tree, and nearly tumbled
    upon the top of his Cousin
    Peter.

    PETER was sitting by himself.
    He looked poorly,
    and was dressed in a red cotton
    pocket-handkerchief.

    "Peter,"--said little Benjamin,
    in a whisper--"who has
    got your clothes?"

    PETER replied--"The scarecrow
    in Mr. McGregor's
    garden," and described how he
    had been chased about the
    garden, and had dropped his
    shoes and coat.

    Little Benjamin sat down beside
    his cousin, and assured him
    that Mr. McGregor had gone
    out in a gig, and Mrs. McGregor
    also; and certainly for the day,
    because she was wearing her
    best bonnet.

    PETER said he hoped that
    it would rain.

    At this point, old Mrs.
    Rabbit's voice was heard inside
    the rabbit hole calling--
    "Cotton-tail! Cotton-tail!
    fetch some more camomile!"

    Peter said he thought he
    might feel better if he went
    for a walk.

    THEY went away hand in
    hand, and got upon the
    flat top of the wall at the bottom
    of the wood. From here they
    looked down into Mr. McGregor's
    garden. Peter's coat
    and shoes were plainly to be
    seen upon the scarecrow,
    topped with an old tam-o-
    shanter of Mr. McGregor's.

    LITTLE Benjamin said,
    "It spoils people's clothes
    to squeeze under a gate; the
    proper way to get in, is to
    climb down a pear tree."

    Peter fell down head first;
    but it was of no consequence,
    as the bed below was newly
    raked and quite soft.

    IT had been sown with lettuces.

    They left a great many odd
    little foot-marks all over the
    bed, especially little Benjamin,
    who was wearing clogs.

    LITTLE Benjamin said that
    the first thing to be done
    was to get back Peter's clothes,
    in order that they might be
    able to use the pocket handkerchief.

    They took them off the scarecrow.
    There had been rain
    during the night; there was
    water in the shoes, and the
    coat was somewhat shrunk.

    Benjamin tried on the tam-
    o-shanter, but it was too big
    for him.

    THEN he suggested that
    they should fill the pocket-
    handkerchief with onions, as
    a little present for his Aunt.

    Peter did not seem to be
    enjoying himself; he kept
    hearing noises.

    BENJAMIN, on the contrary,
    was perfectly at
    home, and ate a lettuce leaf.
    He said that he was in the
    habit of coming to the garden
    with his father to get lettuces
    for their Sunday dinner.

    (The name of little Benjamin's
    papa was old Mr. Benjamin
    Bunny.)

    The lettuces certainly were
    very fine.

    PETER did not eat anything;
    he said he should
    like to go home. Presently he
    dropped half the onions.

    LITTLE Benjamin said that
    it was not possible to get
    back up the pear-tree, with a
    load of vegetables. He led
    the way boldly towards the
    other end of the garden. They
    went along a little walk on
    planks, under a sunny red-
    brick wall.

    The mice sat on their door-
    steps cracking cherry-stones,
    they winked at Peter Rabbit
    and little Benjamin Bunny.

    PRESENTLY Peter let the
    pocket-handkerchief go
    again.

    THEY got amongst flower-
    pots, and frames and
    tubs; Peter heard noises worse
    than ever, his eyes were as big
    as lolly-pops!

    He was a step or two in
    front of his cousin, when he
    suddenly stopped.

    THIS is what those little
    rabbits saw round that
    corner!

    Little Benjamin took one
    look, and then, in half a minute
    less than no time, he hid himself
    and Peter and the onions
    underneath a large basket. . . .

    THE cat got up and stretched
    herself, and came and
    sniffed at the basket.

    Perhaps she liked the smell
    of onions!

    Anyway, she sat down upon
    the top of the basket.

    SHE sat there for FIVE HOURS.

    * * * * *

    I cannot draw you a picture
    of Peter and Benjamin underneath
    the basket, because it
    was quite dark, and because
    the smell of onions was fearful;
    it made Peter Rabbit and little
    Benjamin cry.

    The sun got round behind
    the wood, and it was quite late
    in the afternoon; but still the
    cat sat upon the basket.

    AT length there was a pitter-
    patter, pitter-patter, and
    some bits of mortar fell from
    the wall above.

    The cat looked up and saw
    old Mr. Benjamin Bunny
    prancing along the top of the
    wall of the upper terrace.

    He was smoking a pipe of
    rabbit-tobacco, and had a little
    switch in his hand.

    He was looking for his son.

    OLD Mr. Bunny had no
    opinion whatever of cats.

    He took a tremendous jump
    off the top of the wall on to
    the top of the cat, and cuffed
    it off the basket, and kicked it
    into the garden-house, scratching
    off a handful of fur.

    The cat was too much surprised
    to scratch back.

    WHEN old Mr. Bunny had
    driven the cat into the
    green-house, he locked the
    door.

    Then he came back to the
    basket and took out his son
    Benjamin by the ears, and
    whipped him with the little
    switch.

    Then he took out his nephew
    Peter.

    THEN he took out the handkerchief
    of onions, and
    marched out of the garden.

    When Mr. McGregor
    returned about half an
    hour later, he observed several
    things which perplexed him.

    It looked as though some
    person had been walking all
    over the garden in a pair of
    clogs--only the foot-marks
    were too ridiculously little!

    Also he could not understand
    how the cat could have
    managed to shut herself up
    INSIDE the green-house, locking
    the door upon the OUTSIDE.

    WHEN Peter got home,
    his mother forgave him,
    because she was so glad to see
    that he had found his shoes
    and coat. Cotton-tail and
    Peter folded up the pocket-
    handkerchief, and old Mrs.
    Rabbit strung up the onions
    and hung them from the
    kitchen ceiling, with the
    rabbit-tobacco.

    THE END






    THE TALE OF THE FLOPSY BUNNIES




    FOR ALL LITTLE FRIENDS
    OF
    MR. McGREGOR PETER BENJAMIN


    IT is said that the effect of
    eating too much lettuce
    is "soporific."

    _I_ have never felt sleepy after
    eating lettuces; but then _I_ am
    not a rabbit.

    They certainly had a very
    soporific effect upon the Flopsy
    Bunnies!

    WHEN Benjamin Bunny
    grew up, he married
    his Cousin Flopsy. They had
    a large family, and they were
    very improvident and cheerful.

    I do not remember the separate
    names of their children;
    they were generally called the
    "Flopsy Bunnies."

    AS there was not always
    quite enough to eat,--
    Benjamin used to borrow
    cabbages from Flopsy's
    brother, Peter Rabbit, who
    kept a nursery garden.

    SOMETIMES Peter Rabbit
    had no cabbages to spare.

    WHEN this happened, the
    Flopsy Bunnies went
    across the field to a rubbish
    heap, in the ditch outside
    Mr. McGregor's garden.

    MR. McGREGOR'S rubbish
    heap was a mixture.
    There were jam pots and paper
    bags, and mountains of chopped
    grass from the mowing machine
    (which always tasted oily), and
    some rotten vegetable marrows
    and an old boot or two. One
    day--oh joy!--there were a
    quantity of overgrown lettuces,
    which had "shot" into flower.

    THE Flopsy Bunnies simply
    stuffed lettuces. By
    degrees, one after another,
    they were overcome with
    slumber, and lay down in the
    mown grass.

    Benjamin was not so much
    overcome as his children.
    Before going to sleep he was
    sufficiently wide awake to put
    a paper bag over his head to
    keep off the flies.

    THE little Flopsy Bunnies
    slept delightfully in the
    warm sun. From the lawn
    beyond the garden came the
    distant clacketty sound of the
    mowing machine. The blue-
    bottles buzzed about the wall,
    and a little old mouse picked
    over the rubbish among the
    jam pots.

    (I can tell you her name, she
    was called Thomasina Tittlemouse,
    a woodmouse with a
    long tail.)

    SHE rustled across the paper
    bag, and awakened Benjamin
    Bunny.

    The mouse apologized
    profusely, and said that she knew
    Peter Rabbit.

    WHILE she and Benjamin
    were talking, close under
    the wall, they heard a heavy
    tread above their heads; and
    suddenly Mr. McGregor
    emptied out a sackful of lawn
    mowings right upon the top
    of the sleeping Flopsy Bunnies!
    Benjamin shrank down
    under his paper bag. The
    mouse hid in a jam pot.

    THE little rabbits smiled
    sweetly in their sleep
    under the shower of grass;
    they did not awake because
    the lettuces had been so
    soporific.

    They dreamt that their
    mother Flopsy was tucking
    them up in a hay bed.

    Mr. McGregor looked down
    after emptying his sack. He
    saw some funny little brown
    tips of ears sticking up through
    the lawn mowings. He stared
    at them for some time.

    PRESENTLY a fly settled
    on one of them and it
    moved.

    Mr. McGregor climbed
    down on to the rubbish heap--

    "One, two, three, four! five!
    six leetle rabbits!" said he as
    he dropped them into his sack.
    The Flopsy Bunnies dreamt
    that their mother was turning
    them over in bed. They stirred
    a little in their sleep, but still
    they did not wake up.

    MR. McGREGOR tied up
    the sack and left it on
    the wall.

    He went to put away the
    mowing machine.

    WHILE he was gone, Mrs.
    Flopsy Bunny (who
    had remained at home) came
    across the field.

    She looked suspiciously at
    the sack and wondered where
    everybody was?

    THEN the mouse came out
    of her jam pot, and Benjamin
    took the paper bag off
    his head, and they told the
    doleful tale.

    Benjamin and Flopsy were
    in despair, they could not
    undo the string.

    But Mrs. Tittlemouse was
    a resourceful person. She
    nibbled a hole in the bottom
    corner of the sack.

    THE little rabbits were
    pulled out and pinched
    to wake them.

    Their parents stuffed the
    empty sack with three rotten
    vegetable marrows, an old
    blacking-brush and two
    decayed turnips.

    THEN they all hid under
    a bush and watched for
    Mr. McGregor.

    MR. McGREGOR came
    back and picked up the
    sack, and carried it off.

    He carried it hanging down,
    as if it were rather heavy.

    The Flopsy Bunnies
    followed at a safe distance.

    THEY watched him go into
    his house.

    And then they crept up to
    the window to listen.

    MR. McGREGOR threw
    down the sack on the
    stone floor in a way that
    would have been extremely
    painful to the Flopsy Bunnies,
    if they had happened to have
    been inside it.

    They could hear him drag
    his chair on the flags, and
    chuckle--

    "One, two, three, four, five,
    six leetle rabbits!" said Mr.
    McGregor.

    "EH? What's that? What
    have they been spoiling
    now?" enquired Mrs.
    McGregor.

    "One, two, three, four, five,
    six leetle fat rabbits!" repeated
    Mr. McGregor, counting on
    his fingers--"one, two, three--"

    "Don't you be silly; what
    do you mean, you silly old
    man?"

    "In the sack! one, two, three,
    four, five, six!" replied Mr.
    McGregor.

    (The youngest Flopsy Bunny
    got upon the window-sill.)

    MRS. McGREGOR took
    hold of the sack and felt
    it. She said she could feel
    six, but they must be OLD
    rabbits, because they were so
    hard and all different shapes.

    "Not fit to eat; but the
    skins will do fine to line my
    old cloak."

    "Line your old cloak?"
    shouted Mr. McGregor--"I
    shall sell them and buy myself
    baccy!"

    "Rabbit tobacco! I shall
    skin them and cut off their
    heads."

    MRS. McGREGOR untied
    the sack and put her
    hand inside.

    When she felt the vegetables
    she became very very angry.
    She said that Mr. McGregor
    had "done it a purpose."

    AND Mr. McGregor was
    very angry too. One of
    the rotten marrows came flying
    through the kitchen window,
    and hit the youngest Flopsy
    Bunny.

    It was rather hurt.

    THEN Benjamin and Flopsy
    thought that it was time
    to go home.

    SO Mr. McGregor did not
    get his tobacco, and Mrs.
    McGregor did not get her
    rabbit skins.

    But next Christmas
    Thomasina Tittlemouse got a
    present of enough rabbit-wool
    to make herself a cloak and a
    hood, and a handsome muff
    and a pair of warm mittens.


    THE END





    IN REMEMBRANCE OF
    "SAMMY,"
    THE INTELLIGENT PINK-EYED REPRESENTATIVE
    OF
    A PERSECUTED (BUT IRREPRESSIBLE) RACE.
    AN AFFECTIONATE LITTLE FRIEND.
    AND MOST ACCOMPLISHED
    THIEF!

    THE ROLY-POLY PUDDING





    ONCE upon a time there was an old
    cat, called Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit,
    who was an anxious parent. She used to
    lose her kittens continually, and whenever
    they were lost they were always in mischief!

    On baking day she determined to shut
    them up in a cupboard.

    She caught Moppet and Mittens, but she
    could not find Tom.


    Mrs. Tabitha went up and down all over
    the house, mewing for Tom Kitten. She
    looked in the pantry under the staircase,
    and she searched the best spare bedroom
    that was all covered up with dust sheets.
    She went right upstairs and looked into the
    attics, but she could not find him anywhere.

    It was an old, old house, full of
    cupboards and passages. Some of the walls
    were four feet thick, and there used to be
    queer noises inside them, as if there might
    be a little secret staircase. Certainly there
    were odd little jagged doorways in the
    wainscot, and things disappeared at night--
    especially cheese and bacon.

    Mrs. Tabitha became more and more
    distracted, and mewed dreadfully.


    While their mother was searching the
    house, Moppet and Mittens had got into
    mischief.

    The cupboard door was not locked, so
    they pushed it open and came out.


    They went straight to the dough which
    was set to rise in a pan before the fire.

    They patted it with their little soft paws
    --"Shall we make dear little muffins?" said
    Mittens to Moppet.


    But just at that moment somebody
    knocked at the front door, and Moppet
    jumped into the flour barrel in a fright.


    Mittens ran away to the dairy, and hid
    in an empty jar on the stone shelf where
    the milk pans stand.


    The visitor was a neighbor, Mrs. Ribby;
    she had called to borrow some yeast.

    Mrs. Tabitha came downstairs mewing
    dreadfully--"Come in, Cousin Ribby, come
    in, and sit ye down! I'm in sad trouble,
    Cousin Ribby," said Tabitha, shedding
    tears. "I've lost my dear son Thomas; I'm
    afraid the rats have got him." She wiped
    her eyes with an apron.

    "He's a bad kitten, Cousin Tabitha; he
    made a cat's cradle of my best bonnet last
    time I came to tea. Where have you looked
    for him?"

    "All over the house! The rats are too
    many for me. What a thing it is to have an
    unruly family!" said Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit.


    "I'm not afraid of rats; I will help you
    to find him; and whip him too! What is
    all that soot in the fender?"

    "The chimney wants sweeping--Oh, dear
    me, Cousin Ribby--now Moppet and Mittens
    are gone!"

    "They have both got out of the cup-
    board!"


    Ribby and Tabitha set to work to search
    the house thoroughly again. They poked
    under the beds with Ribby's umbrella, and
    they rummaged in cupboards. They even
    fetched a candle, and looked inside a clothes
    chest in one of the attics. They could not
    find anything, but once they heard a door
    bang and somebody scuttered downstairs.

    "Yes, it is infested with rats," said
    Tabitha tearfully, "I caught seven young
    ones out of one hole in the back kitchen,
    and we had them for dinner last Saturday.
    And once I saw the old father rat--an
    enormous old rat, Cousin Ribby. I was
    just going to jump upon him, when he
    showed his yellow teeth at me and whisked
    down the hole."

    "The rats get upon my nerves, Cousin
    Ribby," said Tabitha.


    Ribby and Tabitha searched and searched.
    They both heard a curious roly-poly noise
    under the attic floor. But there was nothing
    to be seen.


    They returned to the kitchen. "Here's
    one of your kittens at least," said Ribby,
    dragging Moppet out of the flour barrel.


    They shook the flour off her and set her
    down on the kitchen floor. She seemed to
    be in a terrible fright.

    "Oh! Mother, Mother," said Moppet,
    "there's been an old woman rat in the
    kitchen, and she's stolen some of the
    dough!"

    The two cats ran to look at the dough
    pan. Sure enough there were marks of
    little scratching fingers, and a lump of
    dough was gone!

    "Which way did she go, Moppet?"

    But Moppet had been too much frightened
    to peep out of the barrel again.

    Ribby and Tabitha took her with them
    to keep her safely in sight, while they went
    on with their search.


    They went into the dairy.

    The first thing they found was Mittens,
    hiding in an empty jar.


    They tipped up the jar, and she scrambled
    out.

    "Oh, Mother, Mother!" said Mittens--


    "Oh! Mother, Mother, there has been an
    old man rat in the dairy--a dreadful 'normous
    big rat, Mother; and he's stolen a pat
    of butter and the rolling-pin."

    Ribby and Tabitha looked at one another.

    "A rolling-pin and butter! Oh, my poor
    son Thomas!" exclaimed Tabitha, wringing
    her paws.

    "A rolling-pin?" said Ribby. "Did we
    not hear a roly-poly noise in the attic when
    we were looking into that chest?"

    Ribby and Tabitha rushed upstairs again.
    Sure enough the roly-poly noise was still
    going on quite distinctly under the attic
    floor.


    "This is serious, Cousin Tabitha," said
    Ribby. "We must send for John Joiner at
    once, with a saw."


    Now this is what had been happening to
    Tom Kitten, and it shows how very unwise
    it is to go up a chimney in a very old house,
    where a person does not know his way, and
    where there are enormous rats.


    Tom Kitten did not want to be shut up
    in a cupboard. When he saw that his
    mother was going to bake, he determined
    to hide.

    He looked about for a nice convenient
    place, and he fixed upon the chimney.

    The fire had only just been lighted, and
    it was not hot; but there was a white choky
    smoke from the green sticks. Tom Kitten
    got upon the fender and looked up. It was
    a big old-fashioned fireplace.

    The chimney itself was wide enough inside
    for a man to stand up and walk about.
    So there was plenty of room for a little
    Tom Cat.


    He jumped right up into the fireplace,
    balancing himself upon the iron bar where
    the kettle hangs.


    Tom Kitten took another big jump off
    the bar, and landed on a ledge high up
    inside the chimney, knocking down some
    soot into the fender.


    Tom Kitten coughed and choked with the
    smoke; he could hear the sticks beginning
    to crackle and burn in the fireplace down
    below. He made up his mind to climb right
    to the top, and get out on the slates, and
    try to catch sparrows.

    "I cannot go back. If I slipped I might
    fall in the fire and singe my beautiful tail
    and my little blue jacket."

    The chimney was a very big old-fashioned
    one. It was built in the days when
    people burnt logs of wood upon the hearth.

    The chimney stack stood up above the
    roof like a little stone tower, and the daylight
    shone down from the top, under the
    slanting slates that kept out the rain.


    Tom Kitten was getting very frightened!
    He climbed up, and up, and up.


    Then he waded sideways through inches
    of soot. He was like a little sweep himself.


    It was most confusing in the dark. One
    flue seemed to lead into another.

    There was less smoke, but Tom Kitten
    felt quite lost.

    He scrambled up and up; but before he
    reached the chimney top he came to a place
    where somebody had loosened a stone in
    the wall. There were some mutton bones
    lying about--

    "This seems funny," said Tom Kitten.
    "Who has been gnawing bones up here in
    the chimney? I wish I had never come!
    And what a funny smell! It is something
    like mouse; only dreadfully strong. It
    makes me sneeze," said Tom Kitten.


    He squeezed through the hole in the wall,
    and dragged himself along a most uncomfortably
    tight passage where there was
    scarcely any light.


    He groped his way carefully for several
    yards; he was at the back of the skirting-
    board in the attic, where there is a little
    mark * in the picture.


    All at once he fell head over heels in the
    dark, down a hole, and landed on a heap of
    very dirty rags.

    When Tom Kitten picked himself up and
    looked about him--he found himself in a
    place that he had never seen before, although
    he had lived all his life in the house.

    It was a very small stuffy fusty room,
    with boards, and rafters, and cobwebs, and
    lath and plaster.

    Opposite to him--as far away as he could
    sit--was an enormous rat.

    "What do you mean by tumbling into
    my bed all covered with smuts?" said the
    rat, chattering his teeth.


    "Please sir, the chimney wants sweeping,"
    said poor Tom Kitten.


    "Anna Maria! Anna Maria!" squeaked
    the rat. There was a pattering noise and
    an old woman rat poked her head round a
    rafter.


    All in a minute she rushed upon Tom
    Kitten, and before he knew what was happening--

    His coat was pulled off, and he was rolled
    up in a bundle, and tied with string in very
    hard knots.

    Anna Maria did the tying. The old rat
    watched her and took snuff. When she had
    finished, they both sat staring at him with
    their mouths open.

    "Anna Maria," said the old man rat
    (whose name was Samuel Whiskers),--
    "Anna Maria, make me a kitten dumpling
    roly-poly pudding for my dinner."

    "It requires dough and a pat of butter,
    and a rolling-pin," said Anna Maria,
    considering Tom Kitten with her head on one
    side.


    "No," said Samuel Whiskers, "make it
    properly, Anna Maria, with breadcrumbs."


    "Nonsense! Butter and dough," replied
    Anna Maria.


    The two rats consulted together for a
    few minutes and then went away.

    Samuel Whiskers got through a hole in
    the wainscot, and went boldly down the
    front staircase to the dairy to get the
    butter. He did not meet anybody.

    He made a second journey for the rolling-
    pin. He pushed it in front of him with
    his paws, like a brewer's man trundling a
    barrel.

    He could hear Ribby and Tabitha talking,
    but they were busy lighting the candle to
    look into the chest.

    They did not see him.


    Anna Maria went down by way of the
    skirting-board and a window shutter to the
    kitchen to steal the dough.


    She borrowed a small saucer, and scooped
    up the dough with her paws.

    She did not observe Moppet.


    While Tom Kitten was left alone under
    the floor of the attic, he wriggled about and
    tried to mew for help.

    But his mouth was full of soot and cob-
    webs, and he was tied up in such very tight
    knots, he could not make anybody hear him.

    Except a spider, which came out of a
    crack in the ceiling and examined the knots
    critically, from a safe distance.

    It was a judge of knots because it had a
    habit of tying up unfortunate blue-bottles.
    It did not offer to assist him.

    Tom Kitten wriggled and squirmed until
    he was quite exhausted.


    Presently the rats came back and set to
    work to make him into a dumpling. First
    they smeared him with butter, and then they
    rolled him in the dough.

    "Will not the string be very indigestible,
    Anna Maria?" inquired Samuel Whiskers.


    Anna Maria said she thought that it was
    of no consequence; but she wished that Tom
    Kitten would hold his head still, as it
    disarranged the pastry. She laid hold of his
    ears.


    Tom Kitten bit and spat, and mewed and
    wriggled; and the rolling-pin went roly-
    poly, roly; roly, poly, roly. The rats each
    held an end.

    "His tail is sticking out! You did not
    fetch enough dough, Anna Maria."

    "I fetched as much as I could carry,"
    replied Anna Maria.

    "I do not think"--said Samuel Whiskers,
    pausing to take a look at Tom Kitten--"I
    do NOT think it will be a good pudding. It
    smells sooty."

    Anna Maria was about to argue the point,
    when all at once there began to be other
    sounds up above--the rasping noise of a
    saw; and the noise of a little dog, scratching
    and yelping!


    The rats dropped the rolling-pin, and
    listened attentively.

    "We are discovered and interrupted,
    Anna Maria; let us collect our property,--
    and other people's,--and depart at once."

    "I fear that we shall be obliged to leave
    this pudding."


    "But I am persuaded that the knots would
    have proved indigestible, whatever you may
    urge to the contrary."

    "Come away at once and help me to tie up
    some mutton bones in a counterpane," said
    Anna Maria. "I have got half a smoked
    ham hidden in the chimney."


    So it happened that by the time John
    Joiner had got the plank up--there was nobody
    under the floor except the rolling-pin
    and Tom Kitten in a very dirty dumpling!


    But there was a strong smell of rats; and
    John Joiner spent the rest of the morning
    sniffing and whining, and wagging his tail,
    and going round and round with his head in
    the hole like a gimlet.


    Then he nailed the plank down again, and
    put his tools in his bag, and came downstairs.

    The cat family had quite recovered. They
    invited him to stay to dinner.

    The dumpling had been peeled off Tom
    Kitten, and made separately into a bag pudding,
    with currants in it to hide the smuts.

    They had been obliged to put Tom Kitten
    into a hot bath to get the butter off.

    John Joiner smelt the pudding; but he
    regretted that he had not time to stay to
    dinner, because he had just finished making
    a wheel-barrow for Miss Potter, and she
    had ordered two hen-coops.


    And when I was going to the post late in
    the afternoon--I looked up the lane from
    the corner, and I saw Mr. Samuel Whiskers
    and his wife on the run, with big bundles
    on a little wheel-barrow, which looked very
    like mine.

    They were just turning in at the gate to
    the barn of Farmer Potatoes.

    Samuel Whiskers was puffing and out of
    breath. Anna Maria was still arguing in
    shrill tones.

    She seemed to know her way, and she
    seemed to have a quantity of luggage.

    I am sure _I_ never gave her leave to borrow
    my wheel-barrow!


    They went into the barn, and hauled
    their parcels with a bit of string to the top
    of the haymow.


    After that, there were no more rats for
    a long time at Tabitha Twitchit's.


    As for Farmer Potatoes, he has been
    driven nearly distracted. There are rats,
    and rats, and rats in his barn! They eat
    up the chicken food, and steal the oats and
    bran, and make holes in the meal bags.

    And they are all descended from Mr.
    and Mrs. Samuel Whiskers--children and
    grand-children and great great grand-children.

    There is no end to them!


    Moppet and Mittens have grown up into
    very good rat-catchers.

    They go out rat-catching in the village,
    and they find plenty of employment. They
    charge so much a dozen, and earn their
    living very comfortably.


    They hang up the rats' tails in a row or
    the barn door, to show how many they have
    caught--dozens and dozens of them.


    But Tom Kitten has always been afraid
    of a rat; he never durst face anything that
    is bigger than--

              A Mouse.



    THE END





    THE TALE OF MR. TOD



    I HAVE made many books about
    well-behaved people. Now, for
    a change, I am going to make a
    story about two disagreeable people,
    called Tommy Brock and Mr. Tod.
    Nobody could call Mr. Tod "nice."
    The rabbits could not bear him;
    they could smell him half a mile off.
    He was of a wandering habit and
    he had foxey whiskers; they never
    knew where he would be next.


    One day he was living in a stick-
    house in the coppice, causing terror
    to the family of old Mr. Benjamin
    Bouncer. Next day he moved into
    a pollard willow near the lake,
    frightening the wild ducks and the
    water rats.

    In winter and early spring he
    might generally be found in an earth
    amongst the rocks at the top of Bull
    Banks, under Oatmeal Crag.

    He had half a dozen houses, but
    he was seldom at home.


    The houses were not always empty
    when Mr. Tod moved OUT; because
    sometimes Tommy Brock moved
    IN; (without asking leave).

    Tommy Brock was a short bristly
    fat waddling person with a grin; he
    grinned all over his face. He was
    not nice in his habits. He ate wasp
    nests and frogs and worms; and he
    waddled about by moonlight, digging
    things up.


    His clothes were very dirty; and
    as he slept in the day-time, he always
    went to bed in his boots. And the
    bed which he went to bed in, was
    generally Mr. Tod's.

    Now Tommy Brock did occasionally
    eat rabbit-pie; but it was only
    very little young ones occasionally,
    when other food was really scarce.
    He was friendly with old Mr.
    Bouncer; they agreed in disliking
    the wicked otters and Mr. Tod; they
    often talked over that painful subject.

    Old Mr. Bouncer was stricken in
    years. He sat in the spring sunshine
    outside the burrow, in a muffler;
    smoking a pipe of rabbit tobacco.

    He lived with his son Benjamin
    Bunny and his daughter-in-law
    Flopsy, who had a young family.
    Old Mr. Bouncer was in charge of
    the family that afternoon, because
    Benjamin and Flopsy had gone out.

    The little rabbit-babies were just old
    enough to open their blue eyes and
    kick. They lay in a fluffy bed of
    rabbit wool and hay, in a shallow
    burrow, separate from the main
    rabbit hole. To tell the truth--old
    Mr. Bouncer had forgotten them.

    He sat in the sun, and conversed
    cordially with Tommy Brock, who
    was passing through the wood with
    a sack and a little spud which he used
    for digging, and some mole traps.
    He complained bitterly about the
    scarcity of pheasants' eggs, and
    accused Mr. Tod of poaching
    them. And the otters had cleared
    off all the frogs while he was asleep
    in winter--"I have not had a good
    square meal for a fortnight, I am
    living on pig-nuts. I shall have to
    turn vegetarian and eat my own
    tail!" said Tommy Brock.

    It was not much of a joke, but it
    tickled old Mr. Bouncer; because
    Tommy Brock was so fat and
    stumpy and grinning.

    So old Mr. Bouncer laughed; and
    pressed Tommy Brock to come inside,
    to taste a slice of seed-cake and
    "a glass of my daughter Flopsy's
    cowslip wine." Tommy Brock
    squeezed himself into the rabbit
    hole with alacrity.


    Then old Mr. Bouncer smoked
    another pipe, and gave Tommy
    Brock a cabbage leaf cigar which was
    so very strong that it made Tommy
    Brock grin more than ever; and the
    smoke filled the burrow. Old Mr.
    Bouncer coughed and laughed; and
    Tommy Brock puffed and grinned.

    And Mr. Bouncer laughed and
    coughed, and shut his eyes because
    of the cabbage smoke . . . . . . . . . .


    When Flopsy and Benjamin came
    back--old Mr. Bouncer woke up.
    Tommy Brock and all the young
    rabbit-babies had disappeared!

    Mr. Bouncer would not confess
    that he had admitted anybody into
    the rabbit hole. But the smell of
    badger was undeniable; and there
    were round heavy footmarks in the
    sand. He was in disgrace; Flopsy
    wrung her ears, and slapped him.


    Benjamin Bunny set off at once
    after Tommy Brock.

    There was not much difficulty in
    tracking him; he had left his foot-
    mark and gone slowly up the winding
    footpath through the wood.
    Here he had rooted up the moss
    and wood sorrel. There he had dug
    quite a deep hole for dog darnel;
    and had set a mole trap. A little
    stream crossed the way. Benjamin
    skipped lightly over dry-foot; the
    badger's heavy steps showed plainly
    in the mud.

    The path led to a part of the thicket
    where the trees had been cleared;
    there were leafy oak stumps, and
    a sea of blue hyacinths--but the
    smell that made Benjamin stop, was
    not the smell of flowers!


    Mr. Tod's stick house was before
    him and, for once, Mr. Tod was at
    home. There was not only a foxey
    flavour in proof of it--there was
    smoke coming out of the broken
    pail that served as a chimney.

    Benjamin Bunny sat up, staring;
    his whiskers twitched. Inside the
    stick house somebody dropped a
    plate, and said something. Benjamin
    stamped his foot, and bolted.


    He never stopped till he came to
    the other side of the wood. Apparently
    Tommy Brock had turned
    the same way. Upon the top of the
    wall, there were again the marks of
    badger; and some ravellings of a
    sack had caught on a briar.

    Benjamin climbed over the wall,
    into a meadow. He found another
    mole trap newly set; he was still
    upon the track of Tommy Brock.
    It was getting late in the afternoon.
    Other rabbits were coming out to
    enjoy the evening air. One of them
    in a blue coat by himself, was busily
    hunting for dandelions.--"Cousin
    Peter! Peter Rabbit, Peter Rabbit!"
    shouted Benjamin Bunny.

    The blue coated rabbit sat up
    with pricked ears--


    "Whatever is the matter, Cousin
    Benjamin? Is it a cat? or John
    Stoat Ferret?"

    "No, no, no! He's bagged my
    family--Tommy Brock--in a sack
    --have you seen him?"

    "Tommy Brock? how many,
    Cousin Benjamin?"

    "Seven, Cousin Peter, and all of
    them twins! Did he come this
    way? Please tell me quick!"


    "Yes, yes; not ten minutes since
    . . . . he said they were caterpillars;
    I did think they were kicking rather
    hard, for caterpillars."

    "Which way? which way has he
    gone, Cousin Peter?"

    "He had a sack with something
    'live in it; I watched him set a
    mole trap. Let me use my mind,
    Cousin Benjamin; tell me from the
    beginning." Benjamin did so.


    "My Uncle Bouncer has displayed
    a lamentable want of discretion for
    his years;" said Peter reflectively,
    "but there are two hopeful
    circumstances. Your family is alive and
    kicking; and Tommy Brock has
    had refreshment. He will probably
    go to sleep, and keep them
    for breakfast." "Which way?"
    "Cousin Benjamin, compose
    yourself. I know very well which way.
    Because Mr. Tod was at home in
    the stick-house he has gone to
    Mr. Tod's other house, at the top
    of Bull Banks. I partly know,
    because he offered to leave any
    message at Sister Cottontail's; he
    said he would be passing." (Cottontail
    had married a black rabbit, and
    gone to live on the hill).


    Peter hid his dandelions, and
    accompanied the afflicted parent, who
    was all of a twitter. They crossed
    several fields and began to climb the
    hill; the tracks of Tommy Brock
    were plainly to be seen. He seemed
    to have put down the sack every
    dozen yards, to rest.

    "He must be very puffed; we
    are close behind him, by the scent.
    What a nasty person!" said Peter.


    The sunshine was still warm and
    slanting on the hill pastures. Half
    way up, Cottontail was sitting in
    her doorway, with four or five half-
    grown little rabbits playing about
    her; one black and the others brown.

    Cottontail had seen Tommy Brock
    passing in the distance. Asked
    whether her husband was at home
    she replied that Tommy Brock had
    rested twice while she watched him.


    He had nodded, and pointed to the
    sack, and seemed doubled up with
    laughing.--"Come away, Peter;
    he will be cooking them; come
    quicker!" said Benjamin Bunny.

    They climbed up and up;--"He
    was at home; I saw his black ears
    peeping out of the hole." "They
    live too near the rocks to quarrel
    with their neighbours. Come on
    Cousin Benjamin!"

    When they came near the wood
    at the top of Bull Banks, they went
    cautiously. The trees grew amongst
    heaped up rocks; and there, beneath
    a crag--Mr. Tod had made one of
    his homes. It was at the top of a
    steep bank; the rocks and bushes
    overhung it. The rabbits crept up
    carefully, listening and peeping.


    This house was something
    between a cave, a prison, and a tumble-
    down pig-stye. There was a strong
    door, which was shut and locked.

    The setting sun made the window
    panes glow like red flame; but the
    kitchen fire was not alight. It was
    neatly laid with dry sticks, as the
    rabbits could see, when they peeped
    through the window.

    Benjamin sighed with relief.


    But there were preparations upon
    the kitchen table which made him
    shudder. There was an immense
    empty pie-dish of blue willow pattern,
    and a large carving knife and
    fork, and a chopper.

    At the other end of the table was
    a partly unfolded tablecloth, a plate,
    a tumbler, a knife and fork, salt-
    cellar, mustard and a chair--in short,
    preparations for one person's supper.


    No person was to be seen, and
    no young rabbits. The kitchen was
    empty and silent; the clock had run
    down. Peter and Benjamin flattened
    their noses against the window, and
    stared into the dusk.

    Then they scrambled round the
    rocks to the other side of the house.
    It was damp and smelly, and over-
    grown with thorns and briars.

    The rabbits shivered in their shoes.


    "Oh my poor rabbit babies! What
    a dreadful place; I shall never see
    them again!" sighed Benjamin.

    They crept up to the bedroom
    window. It was closed and bolted
    like the kitchen. But there were
    signs that this window had been
    recently open; the cobwebs were
    disturbed, and there were fresh dirty
    footmarks upon the window-sill.

    The room inside was so dark,
    that at first they could make out
    nothing; but they could hear a noise
    --a slow deep regular snoring grunt.
    And as their eyes became accustomed
    to the darkness, they perceived
    that somebody was asleep
    on Mr. Tod's bed, curled up under
    the blanket.--"He has gone to bed
    in his boots," whispered Peter.


    Benjamin, who was all of a twitter,
    pulled Peter off the window-sill.

    Tommy Brock's snores continued,
    grunty and regular from Mr. Tod's
    bed. Nothing could be seen of the
    young family.

    The sun had set; an owl began
    to hoot in the wood. There were
    many unpleasant things lying about,
    that had much better have been
    buried; rabbit bones and skulls, and
    chickens' legs and other horrors. It
    was a shocking place, and very dark.

    They went back to the front of
    the house, and tried in every way
    to move the bolt of the kitchen
    window. They tried to push up a
    rusty nail between the window
    sashes; but it was of no use,
    especially without a light.


    They sat side by side outside the
    window, whispering and listening.

    In half an hour the moon rose
    over the wood. It shone full and
    clear and cold, upon the house
    amongst the rocks, and in at the
    kitchen window. But alas, no little
    rabbit babies were to be seen!

    The moonbeams twinkled on the
    carving knife and the pie dish, and
    made a path of brightness across
    the dirty floor.

    The light showed a little door in
    a wall beside the kitchen fireplace--
    a little iron door belonging to a
    brick oven, of that old-fashioned
    sort that used to be heated with
    faggots of wood.

    And presently at the same moment
    Peter and Benjamin noticed that
    whenever they shook the window--
    the little door opposite shook in
    answer. The young family were
    alive; shut up in the oven!


    Benjamin was so excited that it
    was a mercy he did not awake
    Tommy Brock, whose snores
    continued solemnly in Mr. Tod's bed.

    But there really was not very much
    comfort in the discovery. They could
    not open the window; and although
    the young family was alive--the little
    rabbits were quite incapable of letting
    themselves out; they were not
    old enough to crawl.

    After much whispering, Peter and
    Benjamin decided to dig a tunnel.
    They began to burrow a yard or two
    lower down the bank. They hoped
    that they might be able to work
    between the large stones under the
    house; the kitchen floor was so dirty
    that it was impossible to say whether
    it was made of earth or flags.


    They dug and dug for hours.
    They could not tunnel straight on
    account of stones; but by the end
    of the night they were under the
    kitchen floor. Benjamin was on his
    back, scratching upwards. Peter's
    claws were worn down; he was
    outside the tunnel, shuffling sand
    away. He called out that it was
    morning--sunrise; and that the
    jays were making a noise down
    below in the woods.

    Benjamin Bunny came out of the
    dark tunnel, shaking the sand from
    his ears; he cleaned his face with
    his paws. Every minute the sun
    shone warmer on the top of the hill.
    In the valley there was a sea of
    white mist, with golden tops of
    trees showing through.


    Again from the fields down below
    in the mist there came the angry
    cry of a jay--followed by the sharp
    yelping bark of a fox!

    Then those two rabbits lost their
    heads completely. They did the
    most foolish thing that they could
    have done. They rushed into their
    short new tunnel, and hid themselves
    at the top end of it, under
    Mr. Tod's kitchen floor.


    Mr. Tod was coming up Bull
    Banks, and he was in the very worst
    of tempers. First he had been upset
    by breaking the plate. It was
    his own fault; but it was a china
    plate, the last of the dinner service
    that had belonged to his grandmother,
    old Vixen Tod. Then the
    midges had been very bad. And he
    had failed to catch a hen pheasant on
    her nest; and it had contained only
    five eggs, two of them addled. Mr.
    Tod had had an unsatisfactory night.


    As usual, when out of humour,
    he determined to move house. First
    he tried the pollard willow, but it
    was damp; and the otters had left
    a dead fish near it. Mr. Tod likes
    nobody's leavings but his own.

    He made his way up the hill; his
    temper was not improved by noticing
    unmistakable marks of badger.
    No one else grubs up the moss so
    wantonly as Tommy Brock.


    Mr. Tod slapped his stick upon
    the earth and fumed; he guessed
    where Tommy Brock had gone to.
    He was further annoyed by the jay
    bird which followed him persistently.
    It flew from tree to tree and scolded,
    warning every rabbit within hearing
    that either a cat or a fox was coming
    up the plantation. Once when it
    flew screaming over his head--
    Mr. Tod snapped at it, and barked.

    He approached his house very
    carefully, with a large rusty key.
    He sniffed and his whiskers bristled.
    The house was locked up, but Mr.
    Tod had his doubts whether it was
    empty. He turned the rusty key in
    the lock; the rabbits below could
    hear it. Mr. Tod opened the door
    cautiously and went in.


    The sight that met Mr. Tod's eyes
    in Mr. Tod's kitchen made Mr. Tod
    furious. There was Mr. Tod's chair,
    and Mr. Tod's pie dish, and his knife
    and fork and mustard and salt cellar
    and his table-cloth that he had left
    folded up in the dresser--all set out
    for supper (or breakfast)--without
    doubt for that odious Tommy Brock.

    There was a smell of fresh earth
    and dirty badger, which fortunately
    overpowered all smell of rabbit.

    But what absorbed Mr. Tod's
    attention was a noise--a deep slow
    regular snoring grunting noise,
    coming from his own bed.

    He peeped through the hinges of
    the half-open bedroom door. Then
    he turned and came out of the
    house in a hurry. His whiskers
    bristled and his coat-collar stood on
    end with rage.


    For the next twenty minutes
    Mr. Tod kept creeping cautiously
    into the house, and retreating
    hurriedly out again. By degrees he
    ventured further in--right into the
    bedroom. When he was outside the
    house, he scratched up the earth with
    fury. But when he was inside--he
    did not like the look of Tommy
    Brock's teeth.

    He was lying on his back with
    his mouth open, grinning from ear
    to ear. He snored peacefully and
    regularly; but one eye was not
    perfectly shut.

    Mr. Tod came in and out of the
    bedroom. Twice he brought in his
    walking-stick, and once he brought
    in the coal-scuttle. But he thought
    better of it, and took them away.


    When he came back after removing
    the coal-scuttle, Tommy Brock
    was lying a little more sideways;
    but he seemed even sounder asleep.
    He was an incurably indolent person;
    he was not in the least afraid
    of Mr. Tod; he was simply too lazy
    and comfortable to move.

    Mr. Tod came back yet again into
    the bedroom with a clothes line. He
    stood a minute watching Tommy
    Brock and listening attentively to
    the snores. They were very loud
    indeed, but seemed quite natural.

    Mr. Tod turned his back towards
    the bed, and undid the window.
    It creaked; he turned round with
    a jump. Tommy Brock, who had
    opened one eye--shut it hastily.
    The snores continued.


    Mr. Tod's proceedings were peculiar,
    and rather uneasy, (because the
    bed was between the window and
    the door of the bedroom). He opened
    the window a little way, and pushed
    out the greater part of the clothes
    line on to the window sill. The rest
    of the line, with a hook at the end,
    remained in his hand.

    Tommy Brock snored conscientiously.
    Mr. Tod stood and looked
    at him for a minute; then he left
    the room again.


    Tommy Brock opened both eyes,
    and looked at the rope and grinned.
    There was a noise outside the
    window. Tommy Brock shut his
    eyes in a hurry.

    Mr. Tod had gone out at the front
    door, and round to the back of the
    house. On the way, he stumbled
    over the rabbit burrow. If he had
    had any idea who was inside it, he
    would have pulled them out quickly.


    His foot went through the tunnel
    nearly upon the top of Peter Rabbit
    and Benjamin, but fortunately he
    thought that it was some more of
    Tommy Brock's work.

    He took up the coil of line from
    the sill, listened for a moment, and
    then tied the rope to a tree.

    Tommy Brock watched him with
    one eye, through the window. He
    was puzzled.


    Mr. Tod fetched a large heavy
    pailful of water from the spring,
    and staggered with it through the
    kitchen into his bedroom.

    Tommy Brock snored industriously,
    with rather a snort.

    Mr. Tod put down the pail beside
    the bed, took up the end of rope
    with the hook--hesitated, and
    looked at Tommy Brock. The
    snores were almost apoplectic; but
    the grin was not quite so big.

    Mr. Tod gingerly mounted a chair
    by the head of the bedstead. His
    legs were dangerously near to
    Tommy Brock's teeth.

    He reached up and put the end
    of rope, with the hook, over the
    head of the tester bed, where the
    curtains ought to hang.


    (Mr. Tod's curtains were folded
    up, and put away, owing to the
    house being unoccupied. So was
    the counterpane. Tommy Brock
    was covered with a blanket only.)
    Mr. Tod standing on the unsteady
    chair looked down upon him
    attentively; he really was a first prize
    sound sleeper!

    It seemed as though nothing
    would waken him--not even the
    flapping rope across the bed.

    Mr. Tod descended safely from
    the chair, and endeavoured to get
    up again with the pail of water.
    He intended to hang it from the
    hook, dangling over the head of
    Tommy Brock, in order to make
    a sort of shower-bath, worked by a
    string, through the window.


    But naturally being a thin-legged
    person (though vindictive and sandy
    whiskered)--he was quite unable to
    lift the heavy weight to the level of
    the hook and rope. He very nearly
    overbalanced himself.

    The snores became more and
    more apoplectic. One of Tommy
    Brock's hind legs twitched under
    the blanket, but still he slept on
    peacefully.


    Mr. Tod and the pail descended
    from the chair without accident.
    After considerable thought, he
    emptied the water into a wash-basin
    and jug. The empty pail was not
    too heavy for him; he slung it up
    wobbling over the head of Tommy
    Brock.

    Surely there never was such a
    sleeper! Mr. Tod got up and down,
    down and up on the chair.

    As he could not lift the whole
    pailful of water at once, he fetched
    a milk jug, and ladled quarts of
    water into the pail by degrees. The
    pail got fuller and fuller, and swung
    like a pendulum. Occasionally a
    drop splashed over; but still Tommy
    Brock snored regularly and never
    moved,--except one eye.


    At last Mr. Tod's preparations
    were complete. The pail was full
    of water; the rope was tightly
    strained over the top of the bed,
    and across the window sill to the
    tree outside.

    "It will make a great mess in
    my bedroom; but I could never
    sleep in that bed again without a
    spring cleaning of some sort," said
    Mr. Tod.


    Mr. Tod took a last look at the
    badger and softly left the room. He
    went out of the house, shutting the
    front door. The rabbits heard his
    footsteps over the tunnel.

    He ran round behind the house,
    intending to undo the rope in order
    to let fall the pailful of water upon
    Tommy Brock--

    "I will wake him up with an
    unpleasant surprise," said Mr. Tod.


    The moment he had gone, Tommy
    Brock got up in a hurry; he rolled
    Mr. Tod's dressing-gown into a
    bundle, put it into the bed beneath
    the pail of water instead of himself,
    and left the room also--grinning
    immensely.

    He went into the kitchen, lighted
    the fire and boiled the kettle; for
    the moment he did not trouble himself
    to cook the baby rabbits.


    When Mr. Tod got to the tree,
    he found that the weight and strain
    had dragged the knot so tight that
    it was past untying. He was
    obliged to gnaw it with his teeth.
    He chewed and gnawed for more
    than twenty minutes. At last the
    rope gave way with such a sudden
    jerk that it nearly pulled his teeth
    out, and quite knocked him over
    backwards.


    Inside the house there was a great
    crash and splash, and the noise of
    a pail rolling over and over.

    But no screams. Mr. Tod was
    mystified; he sat quite still, and
    listened attentively. Then he
    peeped in at the window. The
    water was dripping from the bed,
    the pail had rolled into a corner.

    In the middle of the bed under
    the blanket, was a wet flattened
    SOMETHING--much dinged in, in the
    middle where the pail had caught it
    (as it were across the tummy). Its
    head was covered by the wet blanket
    and it was NOT SNORING ANY LONGER.

    There was nothing stirring, and
    no sound except the drip, drop,
    drop drip of water trickling from
    the mattress.


    Mr. Tod watched it for half an
    hour; his eyes glistened.

    Then he cut a caper, and became
    so bold that he even tapped at
    the window; but the bundle never
    moved.

    Yes--there was no doubt about
    it--it had turned out even better
    than he had planned; the pail had
    hit poor old Tommy Brock, and
    killed him dead!


    "I will bury that nasty person in
    the hole which he has dug. I will
    bring my bedding out, and dry it in
    the sun," said Mr. Tod.

    "I will wash the tablecloth and
    spread it on the grass in the sun to
    bleach. And the blanket must be
    hung up in the wind; and the bed
    must be thoroughly disinfected, and
    aired with a warming-pan; and
    warmed with a hot-water bottle."


    "I will get soft soap, and monkey
    soap, and all sorts of soap; and
    soda and scrubbing brushes; and
    persian powder; and carbolic to
    remove the smell. I must have a
    disinfecting. Perhaps I may have
    to burn sulphur."

    He hurried round the house to
    get a shovel from the kitchen--
    "First I will arrange the hole--
    then I will drag out that person in
    the blanket . . ."

    He opened the door. . . .

    Tommy Brock was sitting at Mr.
    Tod's kitchen table, pouring out
    tea from Mr. Tod's tea-pot into
    Mr. Tod's tea-cup. He was quite
    dry himself and grinning; and he
    threw the cup of scalding tea all
    over Mr. Tod.


    Then Mr. Tod rushed upon
    Tommy Brock, and Tommy Brock
    grappled with Mr. Tod amongst
    the broken crockery, and there was
    a terrific battle all over the kitchen.
    To the rabbits underneath it sounded
    as if the floor would give way at
    each crash of falling furniture.

    They crept out of their tunnel,
    and hung about amongst the rocks
    and bushes, listening anxiously.


    Inside the house the racket was
    fearful. The rabbit babies in the
    oven woke up trembling; perhaps
    it was fortunate they were shut up
    inside.

    Everything was upset except the
    kitchen table.

    And everything was broken,
    except the mantelpiece and the
    kitchen fender. The crockery was
    smashed to atoms.


    The chairs were broken, and the
    window, and the clock fell with a
    crash, and there were handfuls of
    Mr. Tod's sandy whiskers.

    The vases fell off the mantelpiece,
    the canisters fell off the
    shelf; the kettle fell off the hob.
    Tommy Brock put his foot in a jar
    of raspberry Jam.

    And the boiling water out of the
    kettle fell upon the tail of Mr. Tod.


    When the kettle fell, Tommy
    Brock, who was still grinning,
    happened to be uppermost; and he
    rolled Mr. Tod over and over like
    a log, out at the door.

    Then the snarling and worrying
    went on outside; and they rolled
    over the bank, and down hill,
    bumping over the rocks. There
    will never be any love lost between
    Tommy Brock and Mr. Tod.


    As soon as the coast was clear
    Peter Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny
    came out of the bushes--

    "Now for it! Run in, Cousin
    Benjamin! Run in and get them
    while I watch at the door."

    But Benjamin was frightened--

    "Oh; oh! they are coming back!"

    "No they are not."

    "Yes they are!"

    "What dreadful bad language!
    I think they have fallen down the
    stone quarry."

    Still Benjamin hesitated, and
    Peter kept pushing him--

    "Be quick, it's all right. Shut
    the oven door, Cousin Benjamin,
    so that he won't miss them."

    Decidedly there were lively
    doings in Mr. Tod's kitchen!


    At home in the rabbit hole, things
    had not been quite comfortable.

    After quarrelling at supper,
    Flopsy and old Mr. Bouncer had
    passed a sleepless night, and
    quarrelled again at breakfast. Old Mr.
    Bouncer could no longer deny that
    he had invited company into the
    rabbit hole; but he refused to reply
    to the questions and reproaches of
    Flopsy. The day passed heavily.


    Old Mr. Bouncer, very sulky,
    was huddled up in a corner, barricaded
    with a chair. Flopsy had
    taken away his pipe and hidden
    the tobacco. She had been having
    a complete turn out and spring-
    cleaning, to relieve her feelings.
    She had just finished. Old Mr.
    Bouncer, behind his chair, was
    wondering anxiously what she
    would do next.


    In Mr. Tod's kitchen, amongst the
    wreckage, Benjamin Bunny picked
    his way to the oven nervously,
    through a thick cloud of dust. He
    opened the oven door, felt inside,
    and found something warm and
    wriggling. He lifted it out carefully,
    and rejoined Peter Rabbit.

    "I've got them! Can we get away?
    Shall we hide, Cousin Peter?"

    Peter pricked his ears; distant
    sounds of fighting still echoed in
    the wood.

    Five minutes afterwards two
    breathless rabbits came scuttering
    away down Bull Banks, half carrying
    half dragging a sack between
    them, bumpetty bump over the
    grass. They reached home safely
    and burst into the rabbit hole.


    Great was old Mr. Bouncer's
    relief and Flopsy's joy when Peter
    and Benjamin arrived in triumph
    with the young family. The rabbit-
    babies were rather tumbled and
    very hungry; they were fed and
    put to bed. They soon recovered.

    A long new pipe and a fresh supply
    of rabbit tobacco was presented to
    Mr. Bouncer. He was rather upon
    his dignity; but he accepted.


    Old Mr. Bouncer was forgiven,
    and they all had dinner. Then Peter
    and Benjamin told their story--but
    they had not waited long enough
    to be able to tell the end of the
    battle between Tommy Brock and
    Mr. Tod.

    THE END





    THE TALE OF MRS. TIGGY-WINKLE




    for
    THE REAL LITTLE LUCIE
    OF NEWLANDS


    ONCE upon a time there
    was a little girl called
    Lucie, who lived at a farm
    called Little-town. She was
    a good little girl--only she
    was always losing her pocket-
    handkerchiefs!

    One day little Lucie came
    into the farm-yard crying--
    oh, she did cry so! "I've lost
    my pocket-handkin! Three
    handkins and a pinny! Have
    YOU seen them, Tabby Kitten?"

    THE Kitten went on washing
    her white paws; so
    Lucie asked a speckled hen--

    "Sally Henny-penny, has
    YOU found three pocket-handkins?"

    But the speckled hen ran
    into a barn, clucking--

    "I go barefoot, barefoot,
    barefoot!"

    AND then Lucie asked Cock
    Robin sitting on a twig.

    Cock Robin looked sideways
    at Lucie with his bright black
    eye, and he flew over a stile
    and away.

    Lucie climbed upon the stile
    and looked up at the hill behind
    Little-town--a hill that goes
    up--up--into the clouds as
    though it had no top!

    And a great way up the hillside
    she thought she saw some
    white things spread upon the
    grass.

    LUCIE scrambled up the
    hill as fast as her stout
    legs would carry her; she ran
    along a steep path-way--up
    and up--until Little-town was
    right away down below--she
    could have dropped a pebble
    down the chimney!

    PRESENTLY she came to
    a spring, bubbling out
    from the hill-side.

    Some one had stood a tin
    can upon a stone to catch the
    water--but the water was
    already running over, for the
    can was no bigger than an
    egg-cup! And where the sand
    upon the path was wet--there
    were foot-marks of a VERY
    small person.

    Lucie ran on, and on.

    THE path ended under a
    big rock. The grass was
    short and green, and there
    were clothes-props cut from
    bracken stems, with lines of
    plaited rushes, and a heap of
    tiny clothes pins--but no
    pocket-handkerchiefs!

    But there was something
    else--a door! straight into the
    hill; and inside it some one
    was singing--

         "Lily-white and clean, oh!
         With little frills between, oh!
         Smooth and hot--red rusty spot
         Never here be seen, oh!"


    LUCIE, knocked--once--
    twice, and interrupted
    the song. A little frightened
    voice called out "Who's that?"

    Lucie opened the door: and
    what do you think there was
    inside the hill?--a nice clean
    kitchen with a flagged floor
    and wooden beams--just like
    any other farm kitchen. Only
    the ceiling was so low that
    Lucie's head nearly touched it;
    and the pots and pans were
    small, and so was everything
    there.

    THERE was a nice hot
    singey smell; and at the
    table, with an iron in her hand
    stood a very stout short person
    staring anxiously at Lucie.

    Her print gown was tucked
    up, and she was wearing a
    large apron over her striped
    petticoat. Her little black
    nose went sniffle, sniffle, snuffle,
    and her eyes went twinkle,
    twinkle; and underneath her
    cap--where Lucie had yellow
    curls--that little person had
    PRICKLES!

    "WHO are you?" said
    Lucie. "Have you
    seen my pocket-handkins?"

    The little person made a
    bob-curtsey--"Oh, yes, if you
    please'm; my name is Mrs.
    Tiggy-winkle; oh, yes if you
    please'm, I'm an excellent clear-
    starcher!" And she took
    something out of a clothes-
    basket, and spread it on the
    ironing-blanket.


    "WHAT'S that thing?"
    said Lucie--"that's
    not my pocket-handkin?"

    "Oh no, if you please'm;
    that's a little scarlet waist-coat
    belonging to Cock Robin!"

    And she ironed it and folded
    it, and put it on one side.

    THEN she took something
    else off a clothes-horse--
    "That isn't my pinny?" said
    Lucie.

    "Oh no, if you please'm;
    that's a damask table-cloth
    belonging to Jenny Wren;
    look how it's stained with
    currant wine! It's very bad
    to wash!" said Mrs. Tiggy-
    winkle.

    MRS. TIGGY-WINKLE'S
    nose went sniffle, sniffle,
    snuffle, and her eyes went
    twinkle, twinkle; and she
    fetched another hot iron from
    the fire.

    "THERE'S one of my
    pocket-handkins!" cried
    Lucie--"and there's my pinny!"

    Mrs. Tiggy-winkle ironed it,
    and goffered it, and shook out
    the frills.

    "Oh that IS lovely!" said
    Lucie.

    "AND what are those long
    yellow things with fingers
    like gloves?"

    "Oh, that's a pair of stockings
    belonging to Sally Henny-
    penny--look how she's worn
    the heels out with scratching
    in the yard! She'll very soon
    go barefoot!" said Mrs. Tiggy-
    winkle.

    "WHY, there's another
    handkersniff--but it
    isn't mine; it's red?"

    "Oh no, if you please'm;
    that one belongs to old Mrs.
    Rabbit; and it DID so smell
    of onions! I've had to wash
    it separately, I can't get out
    the smell."

    "There's another one of
    mine," said Lucie.

    "WHAT are those funny
    little white things?"

    "That's a pair of mittens
    belonging to Tabby Kitten; I
    only have to iron them; she
    washes them herself."

    "There's my last pocket-
    handkin!" said Lucie.

    "AND what are you dipping
    into the basin of starch?"

    "They're little dicky shirt-
    fronts belonging to Tom Titmouse
    --most terrible particular!"
    said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle.
    "Now I've finished my ironing;
    I'm going to air some clothes."

    "WHAT are these dear soft
    fluffy things?" said
    Lucie.

    "Oh those are wooly coats
    belonging to the little lambs
    at Skelghyl."

    "Will their jackets take off?"
    asked Lucy.

    "Oh yes, if you please'm;
    look at the sheep-mark on the
    shoulder. And here's one
    marked for Gatesgarth, and
    three that come from Little-town.
    They're ALWAYS marked
    at washing!" said Mrs. Tiggy-
    winkle.

    AND she hung up all sorts
    and sizes of clothes--
    small brown coats of mice;
    and one velvety black mole-
    skin waist-coat; and a red tail-
    coat with no tail belonging to
    Squirrel Nutkin; and a very
    much shrunk blue jacket
    belonging to Peter Rabbit; and
    a petticoat, not marked, that
    had gone lost in the washing
    --and at last the basket was
    empty!

    THEN Mrs. Tiggy-winkle
    made tea--a cup for herself
    and a cup for Lucie. They
    sat before the fire on a bench
    and looked sideways at one
    another. Mrs. Tiggy-winkle's
    hand, holding the tea-cup, was
    very very brown, and very very
    wrinkly with the soap-suds;
    and all through her gown and
    her cap, there were HAIR-PINS
    sticking wrong end out; so
    that Lucie didn't like to sit
    too near her.

    WHEN they had finished
    tea, they tied up the
    clothes in bundles; and Lucie's
    pocket-handkerchiefs were
    folded up inside her clean
    pinny, and fastened with a
    silver safety-pin.

    And then they made up the
    fire with turf, and came out
    and locked the door, and hid
    the key under the door-sill.

    THEN away down the hill
    trotted Lucie and Mrs.
    Tiggy-winkle with the bundles
    of clothes!

    All the way down the path
    little animals came out of the
    fern to meet them; the very
    first that they met were Peter
    Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny!

    AND she gave them their
    nice clean clothes; and
    all the little animals and birds
    were so very much obliged to
    dear Mrs. Tiggy-winkle.

    SO that at the bottom of the
    hill when they came to
    the stile, there was nothing
    left to carry except Lucie's
    one little bundle.

    LUCIE scrambled up the
    stile with the bundle in
    her hand; and then she turned
    to say "Good-night," and to
    thank the washer-woman--
    But what a VERY odd thing!
    Mrs. Tiggy-winkle had not
    waited either for thanks or for
    the washing bill!

    She was running running
    running up the hill--and
    where was her white frilled
    cap? and her shawl? and her
    gown--and her petticoat?

    AND how small she had
    grown--and how brown
    --and covered with PRICKLES!

    Why! Mrs. Tiggy-winkle
    was nothing but a HEDGEHOG.

         * * * *

    (Now some people say that little
    Lucie had been asleep upon the stile--
    but then how could she have found
    three clean pocket-handkins and a pinny,
    pinned with a silver safety-pin?

    And besides--_I_ have seen that door
    into the back of the hill called Cat
    Bells--and besides _I_ am very well
    acquainted with dear Mrs. Tiggy-winkle!)



    THE TALE OF GINGER PICKLES




    ONCE upon a time there was a
    village shop. The name over
    the window was "Ginger and
    Pickles."

    It was a little small shop just the
    right size for Dolls--Lucinda and
    Jane Doll-cook always bought their
    groceries at Ginger and Pickles.

    The counter inside was a
    convenient height for rabbits. Ginger
    and Pickles sold red spotty pocket-
    handkerchiefs at a penny three
    farthings.

    They also sold sugar, and snuff
    and galoshes.

    In fact, although it was such a
    small shop it sold nearly everything
    --except a few things that you
    want in a hurry--like bootlaces,
    hair-pins and mutton chops.


    Ginger and Pickles were the
    people who kept the shop. Ginger
    was a yellow tom-cat, and Pickles
    was a terrier.

    The rabbits were always a little
    bit afraid of Pickles.


    The shop was also patronized by
    mice--only the mice were rather
    afraid of Ginger.

    Ginger usually requested Pickles
    to serve them, because he said it
    made his mouth water.

    "I cannot bear," said he, "to see
    them going out at the door carrying
    their little parcels."


    "I have the same feeling about
    rats," replied Pickles, "but it
    would never do to eat our own
    customers; they would leave us and
    go to Tabitha Twitchit's."

    "On the contrary, they would go
    nowhere," replied Ginger gloomily.


    (Tabitha Twitchit kept the only
    other shop in the village. She did
    not give credit.)


    Ginger and Pickles gave unlimited
    credit.

    Now the meaning of "credit" is
    this--when a customer buys a bar
    of soap, instead of the customer
    pulling out a purse and paying for
    it--she says she will pay another
    time.

    And Pickles makes a low bow and
    says, "With pleasure, madam,"
    and it is written down in a book.


    The customers come again and
    again, and buy quantities, in spite
    of being afraid of Ginger and
    Pickles.


    But there is no money in what
    is called the "till."


    The customers came in crowds
    every day and bought quantities,
    especially the toffee customers.
    But there was always no money;
    they never paid for as much as a
    pennyworth of peppermints.


    But the sales were enormous, ten
    times as large as Tabitha Twitchit's.


    As there was always no money,
    Ginger and Pickles were obliged to
    eat their own goods.

    Pickles ate biscuits and Ginger
    ate a dried haddock.

    They ate them by candle-light
    after the shop was closed.


    When it came to Jan. 1st there
    was still no money, and Pickles
    was unable to buy a dog licence.

    "It is very unpleasant, I am
    afraid of the police," said Pickles.

    "It is your own fault for being
    a terrier; _I_ do not require a licence,
    and neither does Kep, the Collie
    dog."


    "It is very uncomfortable, I am
    afraid I shall be summoned. I
    have tried in vain to get a licence
    upon credit at the Post Office;"
    said Pickles. "The place is full of
    policemen. I met one as I was
    coming home."


    "Let us send in the bill again to
    Samuel Whiskers, Ginger, he owes
    22/9 for bacon."

    "I do not believe that he intends
    to pay at all," replied Ginger.


    "And I feel sure that Anna
    Maria pockets things-- Where
    are all the cream crackers?"
    "You have eaten them yourself,"
    replied Ginger.


    Ginger and Pickles retired into
    the back parlour.

    They did accounts. They added
    up sums and sums, and sums.

    "Samuel Whiskers has run up
    a bill as long as his tail; he has
    had an ounce and three-quarters of
    snuff since October."


    "What is seven pounds of butter
    at 1/3, and a stick of sealing wax
    and four matches?"

    "Send in all the bills again to
    everybody 'with compts'" replied
    Ginger.


    After a time they heard a noise
    in the shop, as if something had
    been pushed in at the door. They
    came out of the back parlour. There
    was an envelope lying on the counter,
    and a policeman writing in a
    note-book!


    Pickles nearly had a fit, he barked
    and he barked and made little
    rushes.

    "Bite him, Pickles! bite him!"
    spluttered Ginger behind a sugar-
    barrel, "he's only a German doll!"

    The policeman went on writing
    in his notebook; twice he put his
    pencil in his mouth, and once he
    dipped it in the treacle.


    Pickles barked till he was hoarse.
    But still the policeman took no
    notice. He had bead eyes, and his
    helmet was sewed on with stitches.


    At length on his last little rush
    --Pickles found that the shop was
    empty. The policeman had disappeared.

    But the envelope remained.


    "Do you think that he has gone
    to fetch a real live policeman? I
    am afraid it is a summons," said
    Pickles.

    "No," replied Ginger, who had
    opened the envelope, "it is the
    rates and taxes, L 3 19 11 3/4 ."


    "This is the last straw," said
    Pickles, "let us close the shop."

    They put up the shutters, and
    left. But they have not removed
    from the neighbourhood. In fact
    some people wish they had gone
    further.


    Ginger is living in the warren. I
    do not know what occupation he
    pursues; he looks stout and
    comfortable.

    Pickles is at present a gamekeeper.


    The closing of the shop caused
    great inconvenience. Tabitha
    Twitchit immediately raised the
    price of everything a half-penny;
    and she continued to refuse to give
    credit.


    Of course there are the trades-
    men's carts--the butcher, the fishman
    and Timothy Baker.

    But a person cannot live on "seed
    wigs" and sponge-cake and butter-
    buns--not even when the sponge-
    cake is as good as Timothy's!


    After a time Mr. John Dormouse
    and his daughter began to sell
    peppermints and candles.


    But they did not keep "self-fitting
    sixes"; and it takes five mice to
    carry one seven inch candle.


    Besides--the candles which they
    sell behave very strangely in warm
    weather.


    And Miss Dormouse refused to
    take back the ends when they were
    brought back to her with complaints.


    And when Mr. John Dormouse
    was complained to, he stayed in
    bed, and would say nothing but
    "very snug;" which is not the way
    to carry on a retail business.


    So everybody was pleased when
    Sally Henny Penny sent out a
    printed poster to say that she was
    going to re-open the shop--
    "Henny's Opening Sale! Grand
    co-operative Jumble! Penny's
    penny prices! Come buy, come
    try, come buy!"

    The poster really was most 'ticing.

    There was a rush upon the opening
    day. The shop was crammed
    with customers, and there were
    crowds of mice upon the biscuit
    canisters.

    Sally Henny Penny gets rather
    flustered when she tries to count
    out change, and she insists on being
    paid cash; but she is quite harmless.


    And she has laid in a remarkable
    assortment of bargains.

    There is something to please
    everybody.


    THE END





    THE STORY OF MISS MOPPET





    THIS is a Pussy called
    Miss Moppet, she thinks
    she has heard a mouse!

    THIS is the Mouse peeping
    out behind the cupboard,
    and making fun of
    Miss Moppet. He is not
    afraid of a kitten.

    THIS is Miss Moppet
    jumping just too late;
    she misses the Mouse and
    hits her own head.

    SHE thinks it is a very
    hard cupboard!

    THE Mouse watches Miss
    Moppet from the top of
    the cupboard.

    MISS MOPPET ties up
    her head in a duster,
    and sits before the fire.

    THE Mouse thinks she is
    looking very ill. He
    comes sliding down the bell-
    pull.

    MISS MOPPET looks
    worse and worse. The
    Mouse comes a little nearer.

    MISS MOPPET holds
    her poor head in her
    paws, and looks at him
    through a hole in the duster.
    The Mouse comes VERY close.

    AND then all of a sudden
    --Miss Moppet jumps
    upon the Mouse!

    AND because the Mouse
    has teased Miss Moppet
    --Miss Moppet thinks she
    will tease the Mouse; which
    is not at all nice of Miss
    Moppet.

    SHE ties him up in the
    duster, and tosses it
    about like a ball.

    BUT she forgot about that
    hole in the duster; and
    when she untied it--there
    was no Mouse!

    HE has wriggled out and
    run away; and he is
    dancing a jig on the top of
    the cupboard!


    THE END




    THE TALE OF MR. JEREMY FISHER



    FOR
    STEPHANIE
    FROM
    COUSIN B.


    ONCE upon a time there
    was a frog called Mr.
    Jeremy Fisher; he lived in a
    little damp house amongst the
    buttercups at the edge of a
    pond.

    THE water was all slippy-
    sloppy in the larder and
    in the back passage.

    But Mr. Jeremy liked
    getting his feet wet; nobody ever
    scolded him, and he never
    caught a cold!

    HE was quite pleased when
    he looked out and saw
    large drops of rain, splashing
    in the pond--

    "I WILL get some worms
    and go fishing and catch
    a dish of minnows for my
    dinner," said Mr. Jeremy
    Fisher. "If I catch more than
    five fish, I will invite my
    friends Mr. Alderman Ptolemy
    Tortoise and Sir Isaac Newton.
    The Alderman, however, eats
    salad."

    MR. JEREMY put on a
    macintosh, and a pair
    of shiny goloshes; he took his
    rod and basket, and set off
    with enormous hops to the
    place where he kept his boat.

    THE boat was round and
    green, and very like the
    other lily-leaves. It was
    tied to a water-plant in
    the middle of the pond.

    MR. JEREMY took a reed
    pole, and pushed the
    boat out into open water. "I
    know a good place for minnows,"
    said Mr. Jeremy
    Fisher.

    MR. JEREMY stuck his
    pole into the mud and
    fastened his boat to it.

    Then he settled himself
    cross-legged and arranged his
    fishing tackle. He had the
    dearest little red float. His
    rod was a tough stalk of
    grass, his line was a fine long
    white horse-hair, and he tied
    a little wriggling worm at the
    end.

    THE rain trickled down his
    back, and for nearly an
    hour he stared at the float.

    "This is getting tiresome,
    I think I should like some
    lunch," said Mr. Jeremy
    Fisher.

    HE punted back again
    amongst the water-
    plants, and took some lunch
    out of his basket.

    "I will eat a butterfly
    sandwich, and wait till the
    shower is over," said Mr.
    Jeremy Fisher.

    A GREAT big water-beetle
    came up underneath the
    lily leaf and tweaked the toe
    of one of his goloshes.

    Mr. Jeremy crossed his legs
    up shorter, out of reach, and
    went on eating his sandwich.

    ONCE or twice something
    moved about with a
    rustle and a splash amongst
    the rushes at the side of the
    pond.

    "I trust that is not a rat,"
    said Mr. Jeremy Fisher; "I
    think I had better get away
    from here."

    MR. JEREMY shoved the
    boat out again a little
    way, and dropped in the bait.
    There was a bite almost
    directly; the float gave a
    tremendous bobbit!

    "A minnow! a minnow! I
    have him by the nose!" cried
    Mr. Jeremy Fisher, jerking
    up his rod.

    BUT what a horrible
    surprise! Instead of a
    smooth fat minnow, Mr.
    Jeremy landed little Jack
    Sharp the stickleback, covered
    with spines!

    THE stickleback floundered
    about the boat, pricking
    and snapping until he was
    quite out of breath. Then he
    jumped back into the water.

    AND a shoal of other little
    fishes put their heads
    out, and laughed at Mr.
    Jeremy Fisher.

    AND while Mr. Jeremy sat
    disconsolately on the
    edge of his boat--sucking his
    sore fingers and peering down
    into the water--a MUCH worse
    thing happened; a really
    FRIGHTFUL thing it would have
    been, if Mr. Jeremy had not
    been wearing a macintosh!

    A GREAT big enormous
    trout came up--ker-
    pflop-p-p-p! with a splash--
    and it seized Mr. Jeremy with
    a snap, "Ow! Ow! Ow!"--
    and then it turned and dived
    down to the bottom of the
    pond!

    BUT the trout was so displeased
    with the taste of
    the macintosh, that in less
    than half a minute it spat him
    out again; and the only thing
    it swallowed was Mr. Jeremy's
    goloshes.

    MR. JEREMY bounced up
    to the surface of the
    water, like a cork and the
    bubbles out of a soda water
    bottle; and he swam with
    all his might to the edge of
    the pond.

    HE scrambled out on the
    first bank he came to,
    and he hopped home across
    the meadow with his
    macintosh all in tatters.

    "WHAT a mercy that was
    not a pike!" said
    Mr. Jeremy Fisher. "I have
    lost my rod and basket; but
    it does not much matter, for I
    am sure I should never have
    dared to go fishing again!"

    HE put some sticking
    plaster on his fingers,
    and his friends both came to
    dinner. He could not offer
    them fish, but he had something
    else in his larder.

    SIR ISAAC NEWTON
    wore his black and gold
    waistcoat,

    AND Mr. Alderman Ptolemy
    Tortoise brought a salad
    with him in a string bag.

    AND instead of a nice dish
    of minnows--they had a
    roasted grasshopper with
    lady-bird sauce; which frogs
    consider a beautiful treat; but
    _I_ think it must have been
    nasty!


    THE END





    THE TALE OF TIMMY TIPTOES




    FOR
    MANY UNKNOWN LITTLE FRIENDS,
    INCLUDING MONICA



    ONCE upon a time there was
    a little fat comfortable
    grey squirrel, called Timmy
    Tiptoes. He had a nest
    thatched with leaves in the
    top of a tall tree; and he
    had a little squirrel wife called
    Goody.

    TIMMY TIPTOES sat out,
    enjoying the breeze; he
    whisked his tail and chuckled
    --"Little wife Goody, the nuts
    are ripe; we must lay up a
    store for winter and spring."
    Goody Tiptoes was busy
    pushing moss under the
    thatch--"The nest is so
    snug, we shall be sound asleep
    all winter." "Then we shall
    wake up all the thinner, when
    there is nothing to eat in
    spring-time," replied prudent
    Timothy.

    WHEN Timmy and Goody
    Tiptoes came to the
    nut thicket, they found other
    squirrels were there already.

    Timmy took off his jacket
    and hung it on a twig; they
    worked away quietly by themselves.

    EVERY day they made
    several journeys and
    picked quantities of nuts.
    They carried them away in
    bags, and stored them in
    several hollow stumps near
    the tree where they had built
    their nest.

    WHEN these stumps were
    full, they began to
    empty the bags into a hole
    high up a tree, that had belonged
    to a wood-pecker; the
    nuts rattled down--down--
    down inside.

    "How shall you ever get
    them out again? It is like a
    money-box!" said Goody.

    "I shall be much thinner
    before spring-time, my love,"
    said Timmy Tiptoes, peeping
    into the hole.

    THEY did collect quantities
    --because they did not
    lose them! Squirrels who bury
    their nuts in the ground lose
    more than half, because they
    cannot remember the place.

    The most forgetful squirrel
    in the wood was called Silvertail.
    He began to dig, and
    he could not remember. And
    then he dug again and found
    some nuts that did not belong
    to him; and there was a fight.
    And other squirrels began to
    dig,--the whole wood was in
    commotion!

    UNFORTUNATELY, just
    at this time a flock of
    little birds flew by, from
    bush to bush, searching for
    green caterpillars and spiders.
    There were several sorts of
    little birds, twittering different
    songs.

    The first one sang--
    "Who's bin digging-up MY
    nuts? Who's-been-digging-
    up MY nuts?"

    And another sang--"Little
    bita bread and-NO-cheese!
    Little bit-a-bread an'-NO-
    cheese!"

    THE squirrels followed and
    listened. The first little
    bird flew into the bush where
    Timmy and Goody Tiptoes
    were quietly tying up their
    bags, and it sang--"Who's-
    bin digging-up MY nuts?
    Who's been digging-up MY-
    nuts?"

    Timmy Tiptoes went on
    with his work without
    replying; indeed, the little bird
    did not expect an answer. It
    was only singing its natural
    song, and it meant nothing at
    all.

    BUT when the other squirrels
    heard that song, they
    rushed upon Timmy Tiptoes
    and cuffed and scratched him,
    and upset his bag of nuts.
    The innocent little bird which
    had caused all the mischief,
    flew away in a fright!

    Timmy rolled over and over,
    and then turned tail and fled
    towards his nest, followed by
    a crowd of squirrels shouting
    --"Who's-been digging-up
    MY-nuts?"

    THEY caught him and
    dragged him up the very
    same tree, where there was
    the little round hole, and they
    pushed him in. The hole
    was much too small for
    Timmy Tiptoes' figure. They
    squeezed him dreadfully, it
    was a wonder they did not
    break his ribs. "We will
    leave him here till he
    confesses," said Silvertail Squirrel,
    and he shouted into the hole--

    "Who's-been-digging-up
    MY-nuts?"

    TIMMY TIPTOES made
    no reply; he had tumbled
    down inside the tree, upon
    half a peck of nuts belonging
    to himself. He lay quite
    stunned and still.

    GOODY TIPTOES picked
    up the nut bags and went
    home. She made a cup of
    tea for Timmy; but he didn't
    come and didn't come.

    Goody Tiptoes passed a
    lonely and unhappy night.
    Next morning she ventured
    back to the nut-bushes to look
    for him; but the other unkind
    squirrels drove her away.

    She wandered all over the
    wood, calling--

    "Timmy Tiptoes! Timmy
    Tiptoes! Oh, where is Timmy
    Tiptoes?"

    IN the meantime Timmy
    Tiptoes came to his senses.
    He found himself tucked up
    in a little moss bed, very much
    in the dark, feeling sore; it
    seemed to be under ground.
    Timmy coughed and groaned,
    because his ribs hurted him.
    There was a chirpy noise, and
    a small striped Chipmunk
    appeared with a night light,
    and hoped he felt better?

    It was most kind to Timmy
    Tiptoes; it lent him its nightcap;
    and the house was full
    of provisions.

    THE Chipmunk explained
    that it had rained nuts
    through the top of the tree
    --"Besides, I found a few
    buried!" It laughed and
    chuckled when it heard
    Timmy's story. While Timmy
    was confined to bed, it 'ticed
    him to eat quantities--"But
    how shall I ever get out
    through that hole unless I
    thin myself? My wife will be
    anxious!" "Just another nut
    --or two nuts; let me crack
    them for you," said the Chipmunk.
    Timmy Tiptoes grew
    fatter and fatter!

    NOW Goody Tiptoes had
    set to work again by
    herself. She did not put any
    more nuts into the woodpecker's
    hole, because she had
    always doubted how they
    could be got out again. She
    hid them under a tree root;
    they rattled down, down,
    down. Once when Goody
    emptied an extra big bagful,
    there was a decided squeak;
    and next time Goody brought
    another bagful, a little striped
    Chipmunk scrambled out in a
    hurry.

    "IT is getting perfectly full-
    up down-stairs; the
    sitting-room is full, and they are
    rolling along the passage; and
    my husband, Chippy Hackee,
    has run away and left me.
    What is the explanation of
    these showers of nuts?"

    "I am sure I beg your
    pardon; I did not not know that
    anybody lived here," said Mrs.
    Goody Tiptoes; "but where is
    Chippy Hackee? My husband,
    Timmy Tiptoes, has run away
    too." "I know where Chippy
    is; a little bird told me," said
    Mrs. Chippy Hackee.

    SHE led the way to the woodpecker's
    tree, and they
    listened at the hole.

    Down below there was a
    noise of nut crackers, and a
    fat squirrel voice and a thin
    squirrel voice were singing
    together--

         "My little old man and I fell out,
         How shall we bring this matter about?
         Bring it about as well as you can,
         And get you gone, you little old man!"


    "You could squeeze in,
    through that little
    round hole," said Goody
    Tiptoes. "Yes, I could," said
    the Chipmunk, "but my
    husband, Chippy Hackee,
    bites!"

    Down below there was a
    noise of cracking nuts and
    nibbling; and then the fat
    squirrel voice and the thin
    squirrel voice sang--

         "For the diddlum day
         Day diddle dum di!
         Day diddle diddle dum day!"


    THEN Goody peeped in at
    the hole, and called
    down--"Timmy Tiptoes! Oh
    fie, Timmy Tiptoes!" And
    Timmy replied, "Is that you,
    Goody Tiptoes? Why, certainly!"

    He came up and kissed
    Goody through the hole; but
    he was so fat that he could
    not get out.

    Chippy Hackee was not too
    fat, but he did not want to
    come; he stayed down below
    and chuckled.

    AND so it went on for a
    fortnight; till a big wind
    blew off the top of the tree,
    and opened up the hole and let
    in the rain.

    Then Timmy Tiptoes came
    out, and went home with an
    umbrella.

    BUT Chippy Hackee
    continued to camp out for
    another week, although it was
    uncomfortable.

    AT last a large bear came
    walking through the
    wood. Perhaps he also was
    looking for nuts; he seemed
    to be sniffing around.

    CHIPPY HACKEE went
    home in a hurry!

    AND when Chippy Hackee
    got home, he found he
    had caught a cold in his head;
    and he was more uncomfortable
    still.

    And now Timmy and
    Goody Tiptoes keep their
    nut-store fastened up with a
    little padlock.

    AND whenever that little
    bird sees the Chipmunks,
    he sings--"Who's-been-
    digging-up MY-nuts? Who's
    been digging-up MY-nuts?"
    But nobody ever answers!


    THE END




    THE PIE AND THE PATTY-PAN




    Pussy-cat sits by the fire--how should she be fair?
    In walks the little dog--says "Pussy are you there?
    How do you do mistress Pussy? Mistress Pussy, how do you do?"
    "I thank you kindly, little dog, I fare as well as you!"

    Old Rhyme.





    ONCE upon a time there was a
    Pussy-cat called Ribby, who
    invited a little dog called Duchess
    to tea.

    "Come in good time, my dear
    Duchess," said Ribby's letter, "and
    we will have something so very nice.
    I am baking it in a pie-dish--a pie-
    dish with a pink rim. You never
    tasted anything so good! And YOU
    shall eat it all! _I_ will eat muffins,
    my dear Duchess!" wrote Ribby.

    Duchess read the letter and wrote
    an answer:--"I will come with
    much pleasure at a quarter past four.
    But it is very strange. _I_ was just
    going to invite you to come here,
    to supper, my dear Ribby, to eat
    something MOST DELICIOUS."

    "I will come very punctually, my
    dear Ribby," wrote Duchess; and
    then at the end she added--"I hope
    it isn't mouse?"


    And then she thought that did
    not look quite polite; so she scratched
    out "isn't mouse" and changed
    it to "I hope it will be fine," and
    she gave her letter to the postman.

    But she thought a great deal
    about Ribby's pie, and she read
    Ribby's letter over and over again.

    "I am dreadfully afraid it WILL be
    mouse!" said Duchess to herself--
    "I really couldn't, COULDN'T eat
    mouse pie. And I shall have to
    eat it, because it is a party. And
    MY pie was going to be veal and
    ham. A pink and white pie-dish!
    and so is mine; just like Ribby's
    dishes; they were both bought at
    Tabitha Twitchit's."

    Duchess went into her larder
    and took the pie off a shelf and
    looked at it.

    "It is all ready to put into the
    oven. Such lovely pie-crust; and
    I put in a little tin patty-pan to
    hold up the crust; and I made a
    hole in the middle with a fork to
    let out the steam--Oh I do wish I
    could eat my own pie, instead of a
    pie made of mouse!"


    Duchess considered and considered
    and read Ribby' s letter again--

    "A pink and white pie-dish-and
    YOU shall eat it all. 'You' means
    me--then Ribby is not going to
    even taste the pie herself? A pink
    and white pie-dish! Ribby is sure
    to go out to buy the muffins. . . . .
    Oh what a good idea! Why
    shouldn't I rush along and put my
    pie into Ribby's oven when Ribby
    isn't there?"

    Duchess was quite delighted
    with her own cleverness!


    Ribby in the meantime had
    received Duchess's answer, and as
    soon as she was sure that the little
    dog would come--she popped HER
    pie into the oven. There were two
    ovens, one above the other; some
    other knobs and handles were only
    ornamental and not intended to
    open. Ribby put the pie into the
    lower oven; the door was very stiff.

    "The top oven bakes too quickly,"
    said Ribby to herself. "It is a
    pie of the most delicate and tender
    mouse minced up with bacon. And
    I have taken out all the bones;
    because Duchess did nearly choke
    herself with a fish-bone last time I
    gave a party. She eats a little fast
    --rather big mouthfuls. But a
    most genteel and elegant little dog
    infinitely superior company to
    Cousin Tabitha Twitchit."

    Ribby put on some coal and
    swept up the hearth. Then she
    went out with a can to the well,
    for water to fill up the kettle.


    Then she began to set the room
    in order, for it was the sitting-room
    as well as the kitchen. She shook
    the mats out at the front-door and
    put them straight; the hearth-rug
    was a rabbit-skin. She dusted the
    clock and the ornaments on the
    mantelpiece, and she polished and
    rubbed the tables and chairs.


    Then she spread a very clean
    white table-cloth, and set out her
    best china tea-set, which she took
    out of a wall-cupboard near the
    fireplace. The tea-cups were white with
    a pattern of pink roses; and the
    dinner-plates were white and blue.

    When Ribby had laid the table
    she took a jug and a blue and white
    dish, and went out down the field to
    the farm, to fetch milk and butter.


    When she came back, she peeped
    into the bottom oven; the pie looked
    very comfortable.

    Ribby put on her shawl and
    bonnet and went out again with a
    basket, to the village shop to buy a
    packet of tea, a pound of lump
    sugar, and a pot of marmalade.

    And just at the same time,
    Duchess came out of HER house, at
    the other end of the village.


    Ribby met Duchess half-way
    own the street, also carrying a
    basket, covered with a cloth. They
    only bowed to one another; they
    did not speak, because they were
    going to have a party.

    As soon as Duchess had got
    round the corner out of sight--she
    simply ran! Straight away to
    Ribby's house!


    Ribby went into the shop and
    bought what she required, and
    came out, after a pleasant gossip
    with Cousin Tabitha Twitchit.

    Cousin Tabitha was disdainful
    afterwards in conversation--

    "A little DOG indeed! Just as if
    there were no CATS in Sawrey!
    And a PIE for afternoon tea! The
    very idea!" said Cousin Tabitha
    Twitchit.

    Ribby went on to Timothy
    Baker's and bought the muffins.
    Then she went home.


    There seemed to be a sort of
    scuffling noise in the back passage,
    as she was coming in at the front
    door.

    "I trust that is not that Pie: the
    spoons are locked up, however,"
    said Ribby.

    But there was nobody there.
    Ribby opened the bottom oven door
    with some difficulty, and turned the
    pie. There began to be a pleasing
    smell of baked mouse!

    Duchess in the meantime, had
    slipped out at the back door.


    "It is a very odd thing that
    Ribby's pie was NOT in the oven
    when I put mine in! And I can t
    find it anywhere; I have looked all
    over the house. I put MY pie into
    a nice hot oven at the top. I could
    not turn any of the other handles;
    I think that they are all shams,"
    said Duchess, "but I wish I could
    have removed the pie made of
    mouse! I cannot think what she
    has done with it? I heard Ribby
    coming and I had to run out by the
    back door!"


    Duchess went home and brushed
    her beautiful black coat; and then
    she picked a bunch of flowers in
    her garden as a present for Ribby;
    and passed the time until the clock
    struck four.

    Ribby--having assured herself
    by careful search that there was
    really no one hiding in the cupboard
    or in the larder--went
    upstairs to change her dress.


    She put on a lilac silk gown, for
    the party, and an embroidered
    muslin apron and tippet.

    "It is very strange," said Ribby,
    "I did not THINK I left that drawer
    pulled out; has somebody been
    trying on my mittens?"

    She came downstairs again, and
    made the tea, and put the teapot on
    the hob. She peeped again into
    the BOTTOM oven, the pie had become
    a lovely brown, and it was
    steaming hot.


    She sat down before the fire to
    wait for the little dog. "I am glad
    I used the BOTTOM oven," said Ribby,
    "the top one would certainly
    have been very much too hot. I
    wonder why that cupboard door
    was open? Can there really have
    been some one in the house?"


    Very punctually at four o'clock,
    Duchess started to go to the party.
    She ran so fast through the village
    that she was too early, and she had
    to wait a little while in the lane
    that leads down to Ribby's house.

    "I wonder if Ribby has taken
    MY pie out of the oven yet?" said
    Duchess, "and whatever can have
    become of the other pie made of
    mouse?"


    At a quarter past four to the
    minute, there came a most genteel
    little tap-tappity. "Is Mrs. Ribston
    at home?" inquired Duchess in
    the porch.

    "Come in! and how do you do,
    my dear Duchess?" cried Ribby.
    "I hope I see you well?"

    "Quite well, I thank you, and
    how do YOU do, my dear Ribby?"
    said Duchess. "I've brought you
    some flowers; what a delicious
    smell of pie!"


    "Oh, what lovely flowers! Yes,
    it is mouse and bacon!"

    "Do not talk about food, my
    dear Ribby," said Duchess; "what
    a lovely white tea-cloth! . . . . Is it
    done to a turn? Is it still in the
    oven?"

    "I think it wants another five
    minutes," said Ribby. "Just a
    shade longer; I will pour out the
    tea, while we wait. Do you take
    sugar, my dear Duchess?"


    "Oh yes, please! my dear
    Ribby; and may I have a lump
    upon my nose?"

    "With pleasure, my dear Duchess;
    how beautifully you beg! Oh,
    how sweetly pretty!"

    Duchess sat up with the sugar
    on her nose and sniffed--

    "How good that pie smells! I
    do love veal and ham--I mean to
    say mouse and bacon----"

    She dropped the sugar in
    confusion, and had to go hunting under
    the tea-table, so did not see which
    oven Ribby opened in order to get
    out the pie.

    Ribby set the pie upon the table;
    there was a very savoury smell.

    Duchess came out from under
    the table-cloth munching sugar,
    and sat up on a chair.

    "I will first cut the pie for you;
    I am going to have muffin and
    marmalade," said Ribby.

    "Do you really prefer muffin?
    Mind the patty-pan!"

    "I beg your pardon?" said Ribby.


    "May I pass you the marmalade?"
    said Duchess hurriedly.

    The pie proved extremely toothsome,
    and the muffins light and
    hot. They disappeared rapidly,
    especially the pie!

    "I think"--(thought the Duchess
    to herself)--"I THINK it would
    be wiser if I helped myself to pie;
    though Ribby did not seem to notice
    anything when she was cutting it.
    What very small fine pieces it has
    cooked into! I did not remember that
    I had minced it up so fine; I suppose
    this is a quicker oven than my own."


    "How fast
    Duchess is
    eating!" thought
    Ribby to herself,
    as she buttered her
    fifth muffin.

    The pie-dish was emptying
    rapidly! Duchess
    had had four
    helps already, and
    was fumbling
    with the spoon.


    "A little more bacon, my dear
    Duchess?" said Ribby.

    "Thank you, my dear Ribby; I
    was only feeling for the patty-pan."

    "The patty-pan? my dear
    Duchess?"

    "The patty-pan that held up the
    pie-crust," said Duchess, blushing
    under her black coat.

    "Oh, I didn't put one in, my
    dear Duchess," said Ribby; "I
    don't think that it is necessary in
    pies made of mouse."


    Duchess fumbled with the spoon
    --"I can't find it!" she said
    anxiously.

    "There isn't a patty-pan," said
    Ribby, looking perplexed.

    "Yes, indeed, my dear Ribby;
    where can it have gone to?" said
    Duchess.

    "There most certainly is not one,
    my dear Duchess. I disapprove of
    tin articles in puddings and pies. It
    is most undesirable--(especially
    when people swallow in lumps!)"
    she added in a lower voice.


    Duchess looked very much
    alarmed, and continued to scoop
    the inside of the pie-dish.

    "My Great-aunt Squintina
    (grandmother of Cousin Tabitha
    Twitchit)--died of a thimble in a
    Christmas plum-pudding. _I_ never
    put any article of metal in MY
    puddings or pies."


    Duchess looked aghast, and
    tilted up the pie-dish.

    "I have only four patty-pans,
    and they are all in the cupboard."

    Duchess set up a howl.

    "I shall die! I shall die! I have
    swallowed a patty-pan! Oh, my
    dear Ribby, I do feel so ill!"

    "It is impossible, my dear
    Duchess; there was not a patty-pan."

    Duchess moaned and whined
    and rocked herself about.

    "Oh I feel so dreadful. I have
    swallowed a patty-pan!"


    "There was NOTHING in the pie,"
    said Ribby severely.

    "Yes there WAS, my dear Ribby,
    I am sure I have swallowed it!"

    "Let me prop you up with a
    pillow, my dear Duchess; where do
    you think you feel it?"

    "Oh I do feel so ill ALL OVER me,
    my dear Ribby; I have swallowed
    a large tin patty-pan with a sharp
    scalloped edge!"

    "Shall I run for the doctor? I
    will just lock up the spoons!"

    "Oh yes, yes! fetch Dr. Maggotty,
    my dear Ribby: he is a Pie
    himself, he will certainly understand."

    Ribby settled Duchess in an
    armchair before the fire, and went
    out and hurried to the village to
    look for the doctor.

    She found him at the smithy.

    He was occupied in putting rusty
    nails into a bottle of ink, which he
    had obtained at the post office.

    "Gammon? ha! HA!" said he,
    with his head on one side.

    Ribby explained that her guest
    had swallowed a patty-pan.

    "Spinach? ha! HA!" said he,
    and accompanied her with alacrity.

    He hopped so fast that Ribby--
    had to run. It was most conspicuous.
    All the village could see that
    Ribby was fetching the doctor.


    "I KNEW they would over-eat
    themselves!" said Cousin Tabitha
    Twitchit.

    But while Ribby had been hunting
    for the doctor--a curious thing
    had happened to Duchess, who had
    been left by herself, sitting before
    the fire, sighing and groaning and
    feeling very unhappy.

    "How COULD I have swallowed it!
    such a large thing as a patty-pan!"

    She got up and went to the table,
    and felt inside the pie-dish again
    with a spoon.


    "No; there is no patty-pan, and
    I put one in; and nobody has eaten
    pie except me, so I must have
    swallowed it!"

    She sat down again, and stared
    mournfully at the grate. The fire
    crackled and danced, and something
    sizz-z-zled!


    Duchess started! She opened the
    door of the TOP oven;--out came a
    rich steamy flavour of veal and
    ham, and there stood a fine brown
    pie,--and through a hole in the top
    of the pie-crust there was a glimpse
    of a little tin patty-pan!

    Duchess drew a long breath--

    "Then I must have been eating
    MOUSE! . . . NO wonder I feel ill.
    . . . But perhaps I should feel worse
    if I had really swallowed a patty-
    pan!" Duchess reflected--"What
    a very awkward thing to have
    to explain to Ribby! I think
    I will put my pie in the back-yard
    and say nothing about it. When
    I go home, I will run round and
    take it away." She put it outside
    the back-door, and sat down again
    by the fire, and shut her eyes; when
    Ribby arrived with the doctor, she
    seemed fast asleep.


    "Gammon, ha, HA?" said the
    doctor.

    "I am feeling very much better,"
    said Duchess, waking up with a
    jump.

    "I am truly glad to hear it!"
    He has brought you a pill, my dear
    Duchess!"

    "I think I should feel QUITE well
    if he only felt my pulse," said
    Duchess, backing away from the
    magpie, who sidled up with something
    in his beak.

    "It is only a bread pill, you had
    much better take it; drink a little
    milk, my dear Duchess!"

    "Gammon? Gammon?" said
    the doctor, while Duchess coughed
    and choked.

    "Don't say that again!" said
    Ribby, losing her temper--"Here,
    take this bread and jam, and get out
    into the yard!"

    "Gammon
    and spinach!
    ha ha HA!"
    shouted Dr.
    Maggotty
    triumphantly outside the back door.


    "I am feeling very much better,
    my dear Ribby," said Duchess.
    "Do you not think that I had better
    go home before it gets dark?"

    "Perhaps it might be wise, my
    dear Duchess. I will lend you a
    nice warm shawl, and you shall
    take my arm."

    "I would not trouble you for
    worlds; I feel wonderfully better.
    One pill of Dr. Maggotty----"

    "Indeed it is most admirable, if
    it has cured you of a patty-pan! I
    will call directly after breakfast to
    ask how you have slept."


    Ribby and Duchess said good-
    bye affectionately, and Duchess
    started home. Half-way up the
    lane she stopped and looked back;
    Ribby had gone in and shut her
    door. Duchess slipped through the
    fence, and ran round to the back
    of Ribby's house, and peeped into
    the yard.

    Upon the roof of the pig-stye sat
    Dr. Maggotty and three jackdaws.
    The jackdaws were eating pie-
    crust, and the magpie was drinking
    gravy out of a patty-pan.

    "Gammon, ha, HA!" he shouted
    when he saw Duchess's little black
    nose peeping round the corner.


    Duchess ran home feeling uncommonly
    silly!

    When Ribby came out for a pailful
    of water to wash up the tea-
    things, she found a pink and white
    pie-dish lying smashed in the middle
    of the yard. The patty-pan
    was under the pump, where Dr
    Maggotty had considerately left it.

    Ribby stared with amazement--
    "Did you ever see the like! so there
    really WAS a patty-pan? . . . . But
    my patty-pans are all in the kitchen
    cupboard. Well I never did! . . . .
    Next time I want to give a party
    --I will invite Cousin Tabitha
    Twitchit!"



    THE END





    THE TALE OF JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK


    A FARMYARD TALE
    FOR
    RALPH AND BETSY



    WHAT a funny sight it is
    to see a brood of
    ducklings with a hen!
    --Listen to the story of
    Jemima Puddle-duck, who was
    annoyed because the farmer's
    wife would not let her hatch
    her own eggs.

    HER sister-in-law, Mrs.
    Rebeccah Puddle-duck,
    was perfectly willing to leave
    the hatching to some one else
    --"I have not the patience to
    sit on a nest for twenty-eight
    days; and no more have you,
    Jemima. You would let them
    go cold; you know you would!"

    "I wish to hatch my own
    eggs; I will hatch them all
    by myself," quacked Jemima
    Puddle-duck.

    SHE tried to hide her eggs;
    but they were always found
    and carried off.

    Jemima Puddle-duck
    became quite desperate. She
    determined to make a nest
    right away from the farm.

    SHE set off on a fine spring
    afternoon along the cart-
    road that leads over the hill.

    She was wearing a shawl
    and a poke bonnet.

    WHEN she reached the top
    of the hill, she saw a
    wood in the distance.

    She thought that it looked
    a safe quiet spot.

    JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
    was not much in the habit
    of flying. She ran downhill a
    few yards flapping her shawl,
    and then she jumped off into
    the air.

    SHE flew beautifully when
    she had got a good start.

    She skimmed along over the
    tree-tops until she saw an open
    place in the middle of the wood,
    where the trees and brushwood
    had been cleared.

    JEMIMA alighted rather
    heavily, and began to
    waddle about in search of a
    convenient dry nesting-place.
    She rather fancied a tree-stump
    amongst some tall fox-gloves.

    But--seated upon the stump,
    she was startled to find an
    elegantly dressed gentleman
    reading a newspaper.

    He had black prick ears and
    sandy coloured whiskers.

    "Quack?" said Jemima
    Puddle-duck, with her head
    and her bonnet on one side--
    "Quack?"

    THE gentleman raised his
    eyes above his newspaper
    and looked curiously at
    Jemima--

    "Madam, have you lost your
    way?" said he. He had a long
    bushy tail which he was sitting
    upon, as the stump was somewhat
    damp.

    Jemima thought him mighty
    civil and handsome. She
    explained that she had not
    lost her way, but that she was
    trying to find a convenient
    dry nesting-place.

    "AH! is that so? indeed!" said
    the gentleman with sandy
    whiskers, looking curiously at
    Jemima. He folded up the
    newspaper, and put it in his
    coat-tail pocket.

    Jemima complained of the
    superfluous hen.

    "Indeed! how interesting!
    I wish I could meet with that
    fowl. I would teach it to mind
    its own business!"

    "BUT as to a nest--there is
    no difficulty: I have a
    sackful of feathers in my wood-
    shed. No, my dear madam,
    you will be in nobody's way.
    You may sit there as long as
    you like," said the bushy long-
    tailed gentleman.

    He led the way to a very
    retired, dismal-looking house
    amongst the fox-gloves.

    It was built of faggots and
    turf, and there were two broken
    pails, one on top of another,
    by way of a chimney.

    "THIS is my summer
    residence; you would not
    find my earth--my winter
    house--so convenient," said
    the hospitable gentleman.

    There was a tumble-down
    shed at the back of the house,
    made of old soap-boxes. The
    gentleman opened the door,
    and showed Jemima in.

    THE shed was almost quite
    full of feathers--it was
    almost suffocating; but it was
    comfortable and very soft.

    Jemima Puddle-duck was
    rather surprised to find such a
    vast quantity of feathers. But
    it was very comfortable; and
    she made a nest without any
    trouble at all.

    WHEN she came out, the
    sandy whiskered gentleman
    was sitting on a log
    reading the newspaper--at
    least he had it spread out, but
    he was looking over the top
    of it.

    He was so polite, that he
    seemed almost sorry to let
    Jemima go home for the night.
    He promised to take great care
    of her nest until she came back
    again next day.

    He said he loved eggs and
    ducklings; he should be proud
    to see a fine nestful in his
    wood-shed.

    JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
    came every afternoon; she
    laid nine eggs in the nest.
    They were greeny white and
    very large. The foxy gentleman
    admired them immensely.
    He used to turn them over
    and count them when Jemima
    was not there.

    At last Jemima told him
    that she intended to begin to
    sit next day--"and I will bring
    a bag of corn with me, so that
    I need never leave my nest
    until the eggs are hatched.
    They might catch cold," said
    the conscientious Jemima.

    "MADAM, I beg you not
    to trouble yourself with
    a bag; I will provide oats.
    But before you commence your
    tedious sitting, I intend to give
    you a treat. Let us have a
    dinner-party all to ourselves!

    "May I ask you to bring up
    some herbs from the farm-
    garden to make a savoury
    omelette? Sage and thyme,
    and mint and two onions, and
    some parsley. I will provide
    lard for the stuff-lard for the
    omelette," said the hospitable
    gentleman with sandy whiskers.

    JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
    was a simpleton: not even
    the mention of sage and onions
    made her suspicious.

    She went round the farm-
    garden, nibbling off snippets
    of all the different sorts of
    herbs that are used for stuffing
    roast duck.

    AND she waddled into the
    kitchen, and got two
    onions out of a basket.

    The collie-dog Kep met her
    coming out, "What are you
    doing with those onions?
    Where do you go every afternoon
    by yourself, Jemima
    Puddle-duck?"

    Jemima was rather in awe
    of the collie; she told him the
    whole story.

    The collie listened, with his
    wise head on one side; he
    grinned when she described
    the polite gentleman with
    sandy whiskers.

    HE asked several questions
    about the wood, and
    about the exact position of the
    house and shed.

    Then he went out, and
    trotted down the village. He
    went to look for two fox-hound
    puppies who were out at walk
    with the butcher.

    JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
    went up the cart-road for
    the last time, on a sunny afternoon.
    She was rather burdened
    with bunches of herbs
    and two onions in a bag.

    She flew over the wood, and
    alighted opposite the house of
    the bushy long-tailed gentleman.

    HE was sitting on a log;
    he sniffed the air, and
    kept glancing uneasily round
    the wood. When Jemima
    alighted he quite jumped.

    "Come into the house as
    soon as you have looked at
    your eggs. Give me the herbs
    for the omelette. Be sharp!"

    He was rather abrupt.
    Jemima Puddle-duck had
    never heard him speak like
    that.

    She felt surprised, and
    uncomfortable.

    WHILE she was inside she
    heard pattering feet
    round the back of the shed.
    Some one with a black nose
    sniffed at the bottom of the
    door, and then locked it.

    Jemima became much
    alarmed.

    A MOMENT afterwards
    there were most awful
    noises--barking, baying,
    growls and howls, squealing
    and groans.

    And nothing more was ever
    seen of that foxy-whiskered
    gentleman.

    PRESENTLY Kep opened
    the door of the shed, and
    let out Jemima Puddle-duck.

    Unfortunately the puppies
    rushed in and gobbled up all
    the eggs before he could stop
    them.

    He had a bite on his ear
    and both the puppies were
    limping.

    JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
    was escorted home in tears
    on account of those eggs.

    SHE laid some more in June,
    and she was permitted to
    keep them herself: but only
    four of them hatched.

    Jemima Puddle-duck said
    that it was because of her
    nerves; but she had always
    been a bad sitter.


    THE END





    THE TALE OF PIGLING BLAND




    FOR
    CECILY AND CHARLIE,
    A TALE OF
    THE CHRISTMAS PIG.


    ONCE upon a time there was an
    old pig called Aunt Pettitoes.
    She had eight of a family: four
    little girl pigs, called Cross-patch,
    Suck-suck, Yock-yock and Spot;

    and four little boy pigs, called
    Alexander, Pigling Bland, Chin-
    chin and Stumpy. Stumpy had
    had an accident to his tail.

    The eight little pigs had very fine
    appetites. "Yus, yus, yus! they
    eat and indeed they DO eat!"
    said Aunt Pettitoes, looking at her
    family with pride. Suddenly there
    were fearful squeals; Alexander
    had squeezed inside the hoops of
    the pig trough and stuck.

    Aunt Pettitoes and I dragged
    him out by the hind legs.


    Chin-chin was already in
    disgrace; it was washing day, and he
    had eaten a piece of soap. And
    presently in a basket of clean clothes,
    we found another dirty little pig.
    "Tchut, tut, tut! whichever is
    this?" grunted Aunt Pettitoes.

    Now all the pig family are pink, or
    pink with black spots, but this pig
    child was smutty black all over;
    when it had been popped into a
    tub, it proved to be Yock-yock.


    I went into the garden; there I
    found Cross-patch and Suck-suck
    rooting up carrots. I whipped them
    myself and led them out by the ears.
    Cross-patch tried to bite me.


    "Aunt Pettitoes, Aunt Pettitoes!
    you are a worthy person, but your
    family is not well brought up.
    Every one of them has been in
    mischief except Spot and Pigling
    Bland."

    "Yus, yus!" sighed Aunt
    Pettitoes. "And they drink
    bucketfuls of milk; I shall have to
    get another cow! Good little Spot
    shall stay at home to do the
    housework; but the others must go.
    Four little boy pigs and four little
    girl pigs are too many altogether."
    "Yus, yus, yus," said Aunt Pettitoes,
    "there will be more to eat without
    them."


    So Chin-chin and Suck-suck
    went away in a wheel-barrow, and
    Stumpy, Yock-yock and Cross-
    patch rode away in a cart.

    And the other two little boy pigs,
    Pigling Bland and Alexander, went
    to market. We brushed their coats,
    we curled their tails and washed
    their little faces, and wished them
    good-bye in the yard.

    Aunt Pettitoes wiped her eyes
    with a large pocket handkerchief,
    then she wiped Pigling Bland's nose
    and shed tears; then she wiped
    Alexander's nose and shed tears;
    then she passed the handkerchief
    to Spot. Aunt Pettitoes sighed
    and grunted, and addressed those
    little pigs as follows:

    "Now Pigling Bland, son Pigling
    Bland, you must go to market.
    Take your brother Alexander by the
    hand. Mind your Sunday clothes,
    and remember to blow your nose"--

    (Aunt Pettitoes passed round the
    handkerchief again)--"beware of
    traps, hen roosts, bacon and eggs;
    always walk upon your hind legs."
    Pigling Bland, who was a sedate
    little pig, looked solemnly at his
    mother, a tear trickled down his
    cheek.

    Aunt Pettitoes turned to the
    other--"Now son Alexander take
    the hand"--"Wee, wee, wee!"
    giggled Alexander--"take the
    hand of your brother Pigling
    Bland, you must go to market.
    Mind--" "Wee, wee, wee!" interrupted
    Alexander again. "You
    put me out," said Aunt Pettitoes.

    "Observe sign-posts and milestones;
    do not gobble herring bones--"
    "And remember," said I impressively,
    "if you once cross the county
    boundary you cannot come back.

    Alexander, you are not attending.
    Here are two licences permitting
    two pigs to go to market in
    Lancashire. Attend, Alexander. I have
    had no end of trouble in getting
    these papers from the policeman."

    Pigling Bland listened gravely;
    Alexander was hopelessly volatile.

    I pinned the papers, for safety,
    inside their waistcoat pockets;

    Aunt Pettitoes gave to each a
    little bundle, and eight conversation
    peppermints with appropriate
    moral sentiments in screws of
    paper. Then they started.


    Pigling Bland and Alexander
    trotted along steadily for a mile;
    at least Pigling Bland did. Alexander
    made the road half as long
    again by skipping from side to side.
    He danced about and pinched his
    brother, singing--

              "This pig went to market, this pig
                    stayed at home,
              "This pig had a bit of meat--

    let's see what they have given US
    for dinner, Pigling?"

    Pigling Bland and Alexander
    sat down and untied their bundles.
    Alexander gobbled up his dinner
    in no time; he had already eaten
    all his own peppermints. "Give
    me one of yours, please, Pigling."


    "But I wish to preserve them for
    emergencies," said Pigling Bland
    doubtfully. Alexander went into
    squeals of laughter. Then he
    pricked Pigling with the pin that
    had fastened his pig paper; and
    when Pigling slapped him he
    dropped the pin, and tried to take
    Pigling's pin, and the papers got
    mixed up. Pigling Bland reproved
    Alexander.

    But presently they made it up
    again, and trotted away together,
    singing--

              "Tom, Tom, the piper's son, stole a pig
                    and away he ran!
              "But all the tune that he could play,
                    was 'Over the hills and far away!'"



    "What's that, young sirs? Stole
    a pig? Where are your licences?"
    said the policeman. They had
    nearly run against him round a
    corner. Pigling Bland pulled out his
    paper; Alexander, after fumbling,
    handed over something scrumply--


    "To 2 1/2 oz. conversation sweeties
    at three farthings"--"What's this?
    This ain't a licence." Alexander's
    nose lengthened visibly, he had lost
    it. "I had one, indeed I had, Mr.
    Policeman!"

    "It's not likely they let you start
    without. I am passing the farm.
    You may walk with me." "Can I
    come back too?" inquired Pigling
    Bland. "I see no reason, young sir;
    your paper is all right." Pigling
    Bland did not like going on alone,
    and it was beginning to rain. But
    it is unwise to argue with the police;
    he gave his brother a peppermint,
    and watched him out of sight.


    To conclude the adventures of
    Alexander--the policeman sauntered
    up to the house about tea
    time, followed by a damp subdued
    little pig. I disposed of Alexander
    in the neighbourhood; he did fairly
    well when he had settled down.


    Pigling Bland went on alone
    dejectedly; he came to cross-roads
    and a sign-post--"To Market Town,
    5 miles," "Over the Hills, 4 miles,"
    "To Pettitoes Farm, 3 miles."

    Pigling Bland was shocked,
    there was little hope of sleeping in
    Market Town, and to-morrow was
    the hiring fair; it was deplorable to
    think how much time had been
    wasted by the frivolity of Alexander.

    He glanced wistfully along the
    road towards the hills, and then set
    off walking obediently the other
    way, buttoning up his coat against
    the rain. He had never wanted to
    go; and the idea of standing all
    by himself in a crowded market, to
    be stared at, pushed, and hired by
    some big strange farmer was very
    disagreeable--

    "I wish I could have a little
    garden and grow potatoes," said
    Pigling Bland.


    He put his cold hand in his
    pocket and felt his paper, he put his
    other hand in his other pocket and
    felt another paper--Alexander's!
    Pigling squealed; then ran back
    frantically, hoping to overtake
    Alexander and the policeman.


    He took a wrong turn--several
    wrong turns, and was quite lost.

    It grew dark, the wind whistled,
    the trees creaked and groaned.

    Pigling Bland became frightened
    and cried "Wee, wee, wee! I can't
    find my way home!"

    After an hour's wandering he
    got out of the wood; the moon
    shone through the clouds, and
    Pigling Bland saw a country that
    was new to him.

    The road crossed a moor; below
    was a wide valley with a river
    twinkling in the moonlight, and
    beyond, in misty distance, lay
    the hills.


    He saw a small wooden hut,
    made his way to it, and crept
    inside--"I am afraid it IS a hen
    house, but what can I do?" said
    Pigling Bland, wet and cold and
    quite tired out.


    "Bacon and eggs, bacon and
    eggs!" clucked a hen on a perch.

    "Trap, trap, trap! cackle, cackle,
    cackle!" scolded the disturbed
    cockerel. "To market, to market!
    jiggetty jig!" clucked a broody
    white hen roosting next to him.
    Pigling Bland, much alarmed,
    determined to leave at daybreak.
    In the meantime, he and the hens
    fell asleep.

    In less than an hour they were
    all awakened. The owner, Mr.
    Peter Thomas Piperson, came with
    a lantern and a hamper to catch
    six fowls to take to market in the
    morning.


    He grabbed the white hen
    roosting next to the cock; then
    his eye fell upon Pigling Bland,
    squeezed up in a corner. He made
    a singular remark--"Hallo, here's
    another!"--seized Pigling by the
    scruff of the neck, and dropped him
    into the hamper. Then he dropped
    in five more dirty, kicking, cackling
    hens upon the top of Pigling Bland.

    The hamper containing six fowls
    and a young pig was no light
    weight; it was taken down hill,
    unsteadily, with jerks. Pigling,
    although nearly scratched to pieces,
    contrived to hide the papers and
    peppermints inside his clothes.


    At last the hamper was bumped
    down upon a kitchen floor, the lid
    was opened, and Pigling was lifted
    out. He looked up, blinking, and
    saw an offensively ugly elderly
    man, grinning from ear to ear.


    "This one's come of himself,
    whatever," said Mr. Piperson,
    turning Pigling's pockets inside out.
    He pushed the hamper into a
    corner, threw a sack over it to
    keep the hens quiet, put a pot on
    the fire, and unlaced his boots.

    Pigling Bland drew forward a
    coppy stool, and sat on the edge of
    it, shyly warming his hands. Mr.
    Piperson pulled off a boot and
    threw it against the wainscot at
    the further end of the kitchen.
    There was a smothered noise--
    "Shut up!" said Mr. Piperson.
    Pigling Bland warmed his hands,
    and eyed him.


    Mr. Piperson pulled off the other
    boot and flung it after the first,
    there was again a curious noise--
    "Be quiet, will ye?" said Mr.
    Piperson. Pigling Bland sat on the
    very edge of the coppy stool.


    Mr. Piperson fetched meal from
    a chest and made porridge. It
    seemed to Pigling that something
    at the further end of the kitchen
    was taking a suppressed interest in
    the cooking, but he was too hungry
    to be troubled by noises.


    Mr. Piperson poured out three
    platefuls: for himself, for Pigling,
    and a third--after glaring at Pigling
    --he put away with much scuffling,
    and locked up. Pigling Bland ate
    his supper discreetly.

    After supper Mr. Piperson
    consulted an almanac, and felt Pigling's
    ribs; it was too late in the season
    for curing bacon, and he grudged
    his meal. Besides, the hens had
    seen this pig.

    He looked at the small remains
    of a flitch, and then looked
    undecidedly at Pigling. "You may
    sleep on the rug," said Mr. Peter
    Thomas Piperson.


    Pigling Bland slept like a top.
    In the morning Mr. Piperson made
    more porridge; the weather was
    warmer. He looked to see how much
    meal was left in the chest, and
    seemed dissatisfied--"You'll likely
    be moving on again?" said he to
    Pigling Bland.

    Before Pigling could reply, a
    neighbour, who was giving Mr.
    Piperson and the hens a lift,
    whistled from the gate. Mr. Piperson
    hurried out with the hamper,
    enjoining Pigling to shut the door
    behind him and not meddle with
    nought; or "I'll come back and skin
    ye!" said Mr. Piperson.


    It crossed Pigling's mind that if
    HE had asked for a lift, too, he
    might still have been in time for
    market.

    But he distrusted Peter Thomas.


    After finishing breakfast at his
    leisure, Pigling had a look round
    the cottage; everything was locked
    up. He found some potato peelings
    in a bucket in the back kitchen.
    Pigling ate the peel, and washed
    up the porridge plates in the bucket.
    He sang while he worked--

              "Tom with his pipe made such a noise,
                    He called up all the girls and boys--
              "And they all ran to hear him play
                    "'Over the hills and far away!'"


    Suddenly a little smothered voice
    chimed in--

              "Over the hills and a great way off,
                    The wind shall blow my top knot off!"


    Pigling Bland put down a plate
    which he was wiping, and listened.


    After a long pause, Pigling went
    on tip-toe and peeped round the
    door into the front kitchen. There
    was nobody there.


    After another pause, Pigling
    approached the door of the locked
    cupboard, and snuffed at the key-
    hole. It was quite quiet.

    After another long pause, Pigling
    pushed a peppermint under the door.
    It was sucked in immediately.


    In the course of the day Pigling
    pushed in all the remaining six
    peppermints.

    When Mr. Piperson returned, he
    found Pigling sitting before the
    fire; he had brushed up the hearth
    and put on the pot to boil; the meal
    was not get-at-able.

    Mr. Piperson was very affable;
    he slapped Pigling on the back,
    made lots of porridge and forgot
    to lock the meal chest. He did
    lock the cupboard door; but without
    properly shutting it. He went
    to bed early, and told Pigling upon
    no account to disturb him next day
    before twelve o'clock.

    Pigling Bland sat by the fire,
    eating his supper.

    All at once at his elbow, a little
    voice spoke--"My name is Pig-
    wig. Make me more porridge,
    please!" Pigling Bland jumped,
    and looked round.


    A perfectly lovely little black
    Berkshire pig stood smiling beside
    him. She had twinkly little
    screwed up eyes, a double chin,
    and a short turned up nose.

    She pointed at Pigling's plate;
    he hastily gave it to her, and
    fled to the meal chest. "How did
    you come here?" asked Pigling
    Bland.

    "Stolen," replied Pig-wig, with
    her mouth full. Pigling helped
    himself to meal without scruple.
    "What for?" "Bacon, hams,"
    replied Pig-wig cheerfully. "Why
    on earth don't you run away?"
    exclaimed the horrified Pigling.

    "I shall after supper," said Pig-
    wig decidedly.

    Pigling Bland made more porridge
    and watched her shyly.

    She finished a second plate, got
    up, and looked about her, as though
    she were going to start.


    "You can't go in the dark," said
    Pigling Bland.

    Pig-wig looked anxious.

    "Do you know your way by
    daylight?"

    "I know we can see this little
    white house from the hills across
    the river. Which way are YOU
    going, Mr. Pig?"

    "To market--I have two pig
    papers. I might take you to the
    bridge; if you have no objection,"
    said Pigling much confused and
    sitting on the edge of his coppy stool.
    Pig-wig's gratitude was such and she
    asked so many questions that it
    became embarrassing to Pigling Bland.


    He was obliged to shut his eyes
    and pretend to sleep. She became
    quiet, and there was a smell of
    peppermint.

    "I thought you had eaten them,"
    said Pigling, waking suddenly.

    "Only the corners," replied Pig-
    wig, studying the sentiments with
    much interest by the firelight.

    "I wish you wouldn't; he might
    smell them through the ceiling,"
    said the alarmed Pigling.

    Pig-wig put back the sticky
    peppermints into her pocket; "Sing
    something," she demanded.

    "I am sorry . . . I have tooth-
    ache," said Pigling much dismayed.

    "Then I will sing," replied Pig-wig.
    "You will not mind if I say iddy
    tidditty? I have forgotten some of
    the words."

    Pigling Bland made no objection;
    he sat with his eyes half shut, and
    watched her.


    She wagged her head and rocked
    about, clapping time and singing
    in a sweet little grunty voice--

              "A funny old mother pig lived in a
                    stye, and three little piggies had she;
              "(Ti idditty idditty) umph, umph,
                    umph! and the little pigs said, wee, wee!"



    She sang successfully through
    three or four verses, only at every
    verse her head nodded a little lower,
    and her little twinkly eyes closed
    up.

              "Those three little piggies grew peaky
                    and lean, and lean they might very
                    well be;
              "For somehow they couldn't say umph,
                    umph, umph! and they wouldn't
                    say wee, wee, wee!
              "For somehow they couldn't say--


    Pig-wig's head bobbed lower and
    lower, until she rolled over, a little
    round ball, fast asleep on the hearth-rug.

    Pigling Bland, on tip-toe, covered
    her up with an antimacassar.


    He was afraid to go to sleep
    himself; for the rest of the night he
    sat listening to the chirping of the
    crickets and to the snores of Mr.
    Piperson overhead.


    Early in the morning, between
    dark and daylight, Pigling tied up
    his little bundle and woke up Pig-
    wig. She was excited and half-
    frightened. "But it's dark! How
    can we find our way?"

    "The cock has crowed; we must
    start before the hens come out; they
    might shout to Mr. Piperson."

    Pig-wig sat down again, and
    commenced to cry.

    "Come away Pig-wig; we can see
    when we get used to it. Come!
    I can hear them clucking!"

    Pigling had never said shuh! to
    a hen in his life, being peaceable;
    also he remembered the hamper.


    He opened the house door quietly
    and shut it after them. There was
    no garden; the neighbourhood of
    Mr. Piperson's was all scratched
    up by fowls. They slipped away
    hand in hand across an untidy field
    to the road.


    The sun rose while they were
    crossing the moor, a dazzle of light
    over the tops of the hills. The
    sunshine crept down the slopes
    into the peaceful green valleys,
    where little white cottages nestled
    in gardens and orchards.


    "That's Westmorland," said
    Pig-wig. She dropped Pigling's
    hand and commenced to dance,
    singing--

              "Tom, Tom, the piper's son, stole a pig
                    and away he ran!

         "But all the tune that he could play,
                    was 'Over the hills and far away!'"


    "Come, Pig-wig, we must get to
    the bridge before folks are stirring."
    "Why do you want to go to market,
    Pigling?" inquired Pig-wig presently.
    "I don't want; I want to
    grow potatoes." "Have a peppermint?"
    said Pig-wig. Pigling
    Bland refused quite crossly. "Does
    your poor toothy hurt?" inquired
    Pig-wig. Pigling Bland grunted.


    Pig-wig ate the peppermint
    herself and followed the opposite side
    of the road. "Pig-wig! keep under
    the wall, there's a man ploughing."
    Pig-wig crossed over, they hurried
    down hill towards the county boundary.


    Suddenly Pigling stopped; he
    heard wheels.

    Slowly jogging up the road below
    them came a tradesman's cart. The
    reins flapped on the horse's back,
    the grocer was reading a newspaper.


    "Take that peppermint out of
    your mouth, Pig-wig, we may have
    to run. Don't say one word. Leave
    it to me. And in sight of the bridge!"
    said poor Pigling, nearly crying.
    He began to walk frightfully lame,
    holding Pig-wig's arm.


    The grocer, intent upon his news-
    paper, might have passed them, if
    his horse had not shied and snorted.
    He pulled the cart crossways, and
    held down his whip. "Hallo!
    Where are YOU going to?"--Pigling
    Bland stared at him vacantly.


    "Are you deaf? Are you going
    to market?" Pigling nodded slowly.

    "I thought as much. It was
    yesterday. Show me your licence?"

    Pigling stared at the off hind
    shoe of the grocer's horse which
    had picked up a stone.

    The grocer flicked his whip--
    "Papers? Pig licence?" Pigling
    fumbled in all his pockets, and
    handed up the papers. The grocer
    read them, but still seemed dissatisfied.
    "This here pig is a young
    lady; is her name Alexander?"
    Pig-wig opened her mouth and shut
    it again; Pigling coughed asthmatically.


    The grocer ran his finger down
    the advertisement column of his
    newspaper--"Lost, stolen or
    strayed, 10s. reward." He looked
    suspiciously at Pig-wig. Then he
    stood up in the trap, and whistled
    for the ploughman.


    "You wait here while I drive on
    and speak to him," said the grocer,
    gathering up the reins. He knew
    that pigs are slippery; but surely,
    such a VERY lame pig could never
    run!


    "Not yet, Pig-wig, he will look
    back." The grocer did so; he saw
    the two pigs stock-still in the
    middle of the road. Then he looked
    over at his horse's heels; it was
    lame also; the stone took some
    time to knock out, after he got to
    the ploughman.

    "Now, Pig-wig, NOW!" said
    Pigling Bland.

    Never did any pigs run as these
    pigs ran! They raced and squealed
    and pelted down the long white hill
    towards the bridge. Little fat Pig-
    wig's petticoats fluttered, and her
    feet went pitter, patter, pitter, as she
    bounded and jumped.


    They ran, and they ran, and they
    ran down the hill, and across a short
    cut on level green turf at the bottom,
    between pebble beds and rushes.

    They came to the river, they
    came to the bridge--they crossed
    it hand in hand--
    then over the hills and far away
    she danced with Pigling Bland!


    THE END





    THE TALE OF TWO BAD MICE




    FOR
    W. M. L. W.
    THE LITTLE GIRL
    WHO HAD THE DOLL HOUSE



    ONCE upon a time there
    was a very beautiful
    doll's house; it was red brick
    with white windows, and it had
    real muslin curtains and a
    front door and a chimney.

    IT belonged to two Dolls
    called Lucinda and Jane;
    at least it belonged to Lucinda,
    but she never ordered meals.

    Jane was the Cook; but she
    never did any cooking, because
    the dinner had been bought
    ready-made, in a box full of
    shavings.

    THERE were two red lobsters,
    and a ham, a fish,
    a pudding, and some pears and
    oranges.

    They would not come off the
    plates, but they were extremely
    beautiful.

    ONE morning Lucinda and
    Jane had gone out for
    a drive in the doll's perambulator.
    There was no one in the
    nursery, and it was very quiet.
    Presently there was a little
    scuffling, scratching noise in a
    corner near the fireplace, where
    there was a hole under the
    skirting-board.

    Tom Thumb put out his
    head for a moment, and then
    popped it in again.

    Tom Thumb was a mouse.

    A MINUTE afterwards
    Hunca Munca, his wife,
    put her head out, too; and
    when she saw that there was
    no one in the nursery, she
    ventured out on the oilcloth
    under the coal-box.

    THE doll's house stood at
    the other side of the
    fireplace. Tom Thumb and
    Hunca Munca went cautiously
    across the hearth-rug. They
    pushed the front door--it was
    not fast.

    TOM THUMB and Hunca
    Munca went up-stairs
    and peeped into the dining-
    room. Then they squeaked
    with joy!

    Such a lovely dinner was laid
    out upon the table! There were
    tin spoons, and lead knives
    and forks, and two dolly-chairs
    --all SO convenient!

    TOM THUMB set to work
    at once to carve the ham.
    It was a beautiful shiny yellow,
    streaked with red.

    The knife crumpled up and
    hurt him; he put his finger in
    his mouth.

    "It is not boiled enough; it
    is hard. You have a try,
    Hunca Munca."

    HUNCA MUNCA stood
    up in her chair, and
    chopped at the ham with
    another lead knife.

    "It's as hard as the hams
    at the cheesemonger's," said
    Hunca Munca.

    THE ham broke off the
    plate with a jerk, and
    rolled under the table.

    "Let it alone," said Tom
    Thumb; "give me some fish,
    Hunca Munca!"

    HUNCA MUNCA tried
    every tin spoon in turn;
    the fish was glued to the dish.

    Then Tom Thumb lost his
    temper. He put the ham in
    the middle of the floor, and hit
    it with the tongs and with
    the shovel--bang, bang, smash,
    smash!

    The ham flew all into pieces,
    for underneath the shiny paint
    it was made of nothing but
    plaster!

    THEN there was no end to
    the rage and disappointment
    of Tom Thumb and Hunca
    Munca. They broke up
    the pudding, the lobsters,
    the pears, and the oranges.

    As the fish would not come
    off the plate, they put it into
    the red-hot crinkly paper fire
    in the kitchen; but it would
    not burn either.

    TOM THUMB went up the
    kitchen chimney and
    looked out at the top--there
    was no soot.

    WHILE Tom Thumb was
    up the chimney, Hunca
    Munca had another
    disappointment. She found some
    tiny canisters upon the dresser,
    labeled "Rice," "Coffee"
    "Sago"; but when she turned
    them upside down there was
    nothing inside except red and
    blue beads.

    THEN those mice set to
    work to do all the mischief
    they could--especially
    Tom Thumb! He took Jane's
    clothes out of the chest of
    drawers in her bedroom, and
    he threw them out of the top-
    floor window.

    But Hunca Munca had a
    frugal mind. After pulling
    half the feathers out of
    Lucinda's bolster, she remembered
    that she herself was in want of
    a feather-bed.

    WITH Tom Thumb's
    assistance she carried the
    bolster down-stairs and across
    the hearth-rug. It was difficult
    to squeeze the bolster into the
    mouse-hole; but they managed
    it somehow.

    THEN Hunca Munca went
    back and fetched a chair,
    a bookcase, a bird-cage, and
    several small odds and ends.
    The bookcase and the bird-cage
    refused to go into the mouse-hole.

    HUNCA MUNCA left
    them behind the coal-
    box, and went to fetch a cradle.

    HUNCA MUNCA was
    just returning with
    another chair, when suddenly
    there was a noise of talking
    outside upon the landing. The
    mice rushed back to their hole,
    and the dolls came into the
    nursery.

    WHAT a sight met the
    eyes of Jane and
    Lucinda!

    Lucinda sat upon the upset
    kitchen stove and stared, and
    Jane leaned against the kitchen
    dresser and smiled; but neither
    of them made any remark.

    THE bookcase and the bird-
    cage were rescued from
    under the coal-box; but Hunca
    Munca has got the cradle and
    some of Lucinda's clothes.

    SHE also has some useful
    pots and pans, and several
    other things.

    THE little girl that the doll's
    house belonged to said:
    "I will get a doll dressed like a
    policeman!"

    BUT the nurse said: "I will
    set a mouse-trap!"

    SO that is the story of the
    two Bad Mice. But they
    were not so very, very naughty
    after all, because Tom Thumb
    paid for everything he broke.

    He found a crooked sixpence
    under the hearth-rug; and upon
    Christmas Eve he and Hunca
    Munca stuffed it into one of
    the stockings of Lucinda and
    Jane.

    AND very early every morning
    --before anybody is
    awake--Hunca Munca comes
    with her dust-pan and her
    broom to sweep the Dollies'
    house!


    THE END