The Great Big Treasury Of Beatrix Potter By Beatrix Potter

The Great Big Treasury of Beatrix Potter BY BEATRIX POTTER CONTENTS THE TALE OF PETER RABBITTHE TAILOR OF GLOUCESTERTHE TALE OF SQUIRREL NUTKINTHE TALE OF BENJAMIN BUNNYTHE TALE OF TWO BAD MICETHE TALE OF MRS. TIGGY-WINKLETHE PIE AND THE PATTY-PANTHE TALE OF MR. JEREMY FISHERTHE STORY OF A FIERCE BAD RABBITTHE STORY OF MISS MOPPETTHE TALE OF TOM KITTENTHE TALE OF JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCKTHE ROLY-POLY PUDDINGTHE TALE OF THE FLOPSY BUNNIESTHE TALE OF MRS. TITTLEMOUSETHE TALE OF TIMMY TIPTOESTHE TALE OF MR. TODTHE TALE OF PIGLING BLANDGINGER AND PICKLES THE TALE OFPETER RABBIT Once upon a time there werefour little Rabbits, and their names were– Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter. They lived with their Mother in asand-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’tgo into Mr. McGregor’s garden: your Father had an accident there; he wasput in a pie by Mrs. McGregor.” “Now run along, and don’t get intomischief. I am going out.” Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basketand her umbrella, and went throughthe wood to the baker’s. She bought a loaf of brown bread and five currantbuns. Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail, whowere 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 someFrench beans; and then he ate someradishes; And then, feeling rather sick, hewent to look for some parsley. But round the end of a cucumberframe, whom should he meet but Mr.McGregor! Mr. McGregor was on his handsand knees planting out youngcabbages, but he jumped up and ranafter Peter, waving a rake and calling out, “Stop thief.” Peter was most dreadfullyfrightened; he rushed all over thegarden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate. He lost one of his shoes among thecabbages, and the other shoeamongst the potatoes. After losing them, he ran on fourlegs and went faster, so that I think he might have got away altogether if hehad not unfortunately run into agooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his jacket. It was ablue jacket with brass buttons, quite new. Peter gave himself up for lost, andshed big tears; but his sobs wereoverheard 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 thetop of Peter; but Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving his jacket behind him. And rushed into the toolshed, andjumped into a can. It would have been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it hadnot had so much water in it. Mr. McGregor was quite sure thatPeter was somewhere in the toolshed, perhaps hidden underneath a flower-pot. He began to turn them overcarefully, looking under each. Presently Peter sneezed–“Kertyschoo!” Mr. McGregor was after him in no time, And tried to put his foot uponPeter, who jumped out of a window,upsetting three plants. The windowwas too small for Mr. McGregor, and he was tired of running after Peter. Hewent back to his work. Peter sat down to rest; he was outof breath and trembling with fright, and he had not the least idea whichway to go. Also he was very dampwith sitting in that can. After a time he began to wanderabout, going lippity–lippity–notvery fast, and looking all around. He found a door in a wall; but itwas locked, and there was no roomfor a fat little rabbit to squeezeunderneath. An old mouse was running in andout over the stone doorstep, carrying peas and beans to her family in thewood. Peter asked her the way to the gate, but she had such a large pea inher mouth that she could not answer. She only shook her head at him. Peterbegan to cry. Then he tried to find his waystraight across the garden, but hebecame more and more puzzled.Presently, he came to a pond whereMr. McGregor filled his water-cans. A white cat was staring at somegoldfish; she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her tailtwitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away withoutspeaking to her; he has heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny. He went back towards the toolshed,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 awheelbarrow, and peeped over. Thefirst thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was turnedtowards Peter, and beyond him wasthe gate! Peter got down very quietly off thewheelbarrow, and started running as fast as he could go, along a straightwalk behind some black-currant bushes. Mr. McGregor caught sight of himat the corner, but Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate, andwas safe at last in the wood outside the garden. Mr. McGregor hung up the littlejacket and the shoes for a scare-crow to frighten the blackbirds. Peter never stopped running orlooked behind him till he got home to the big fir-tree. He was so tired that he floppeddown upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit-hole, and shut hiseyes. His mother was busy cooking;she wondered what he had done withhis clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peterhad lost in a fortnight! I am sorry to say that Peter was notvery well during the evening. His mother put him to bed, andmade some camomile tea; and shegave a dose of it to Peter! “One table-spoonful to be taken atbed-time.” But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tailhad bread and milk and blackberries for supper. THE TAILOR OFGLOUCESTER “I’ll be at charges for a looking-glass; And entertain a score or two of tailors.” [Richard III] My Dear Freda: Because you are fond of fairytales, and have been ill, I have made you a story all for yourself–a new one that nobody has read before. And the queerest thing about it is–that I heard it in Gloucestershire, and that it is true–at least about the tailor, the waistcoat, and the “No more twist!”Christmas In the time of swords and peri wigsand full-skirted coats with flowered lappets–when gentlemen woreruffles, and gold-laced waistcoats of paduasoy and taffeta–there lived atailor in Gloucester. He sat in the window of a littleshop in Westgate Street, cross-legged on a table from morning till dark. All day long while the light lastedhe sewed and snippetted, piecing out his satin, and pompadour, andlutestring; stuffs had strange names, and were very expensive in the days ofthe Tailor of Gloucester. But although he sewed fine silk forhis neighbours, he himself was very, very poor. He cut his coats withoutwaste; according to his embroidered cloth, they were very small ends andsnippets that lay about upon thetable–“Too narrow breadths fornought–except waistcoats for mice,” said the tailor. One bitter cold day nearChristmastime the tailor began tomake a coat (a coat of cherry-coloured corded silk embroideredwith pansies and roses) and a cream- coloured satin waistcoat for theMayor of Gloucester. The tailor worked and worked, andhe talked to himself: “No breadth at all, and cut on the cross; it is nobreadth at all; tippets for mice and ribbons for mobs! for mice!” said theTailor of Gloucester. When the snow-flakes came downagainst the small leaded window-panes and shut out the light, the tailor had done his day’s work; all the silkand satin lay cut out upon the table. There were twelve pieces for thecoat and four pieces for the waistcoat; and there were pocket-flaps and cuffsand buttons, all in order. For thelining of the coat there was fineyellow taffeta, and for the button- holes of the waistcoat there wascherry-coloured twist. And everything was ready to sew together in themorning, all measured andsufficient–except that there waswanting just one single skein ofcherry-coloured twisted silk. The tailor came out of his shop atdark. No one lived there at nights but little brown mice, and THEY ran in andout without any keys! For behind the wooden wainscotsof all the old houses in Gloucester, there are little mouse staircases andsecret trap-doors; and the mice run from house to house through thoselong, narrow passages. But the tailor came out of his shopand shuffled home through the snow. And although it was not a big house,the tailor was so poor he only rented the kitchen. He lived alone with his cat; it wascalled Simpkin. “Miaw?” said the cat when thetailor opened the door, “miaw?” The tailor replied: “Simpkin, weshall make our fortune, but I amworn to a ravelling. Take this groat (which is our last fourpence), and,Simpkin, take a china pipkin, but a penn’orth of bread, a penn’orth ofmilk, and a penn’orth of sausages.And oh, Simpkin, with the last penny of our fourpence but me onepenn’orth of cherry-coloured silk. But do not lose the last penny of thefourpence, Simpkin, or I am undoneand worn to a thread-paper, for Ihave NO MORE TWIST.” Then Simpkin again said “Miaw!”and took the groat and the pipkin,and went out into the dark. The tailor was very tired andbeginning to be ill. He sat down by the hearth and talked to himself aboutthat wonderful coat. “I shall make my fortune–to becut bias–the Mayor of Gloucester is to be married on Christmas Day in themorning, and he hath ordered a coat and an embroidered waistcoat–“ Then the tailor started; forsuddenly, interrupting him, from the dresser at the other side of the kitchen came a number of little noises– Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap tip! “Now what can that be?” said theTailor of Gloucester, jumping up from his chair. The tailor crossed thekitchen, and stood quite still beside the dresser, listening, and peeringthrough his spectacles. “This is very peculiar,” said theTailor of Gloucester, and he lifted up the tea-cup which was upside down. Out stepped a little live lady mouse, and made a courtesy to the tailor!Then she hopped away down off thedresser, and under the wainscot. The tailor sat down again by thefire, warming his poor cold hands.But all at once, from the dresser, there came other little noises– Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap tip! “This is passing extraordinary!”said the Tailor of Gloucester, andturned over another tea-cup, whichwas upside down. Out stepped a little gentlemanmouse, and made a bow to the tailor! And out from under tea-cups andfrom under bowls and basins, stepped other and more little mice, whohopped away down off the dresserand under the wainscot. The tailor sat down, close over thefire, lamenting: “One-and-twentybuttonholes of cherry-coloured silk! To be finished by noon of Saturday:and this is Tuesday evening. Was it right to let loose those mice,undoubtedly the property of Simpkin? Alack, I am undone, for I have nomore twist!” The little mice came out again andlistened to the tailor; they took notice of the pattern of that wonderful coat.They whispered to one another about the taffeta lining and about littlemouse tippets. And then suddenly they all ranaway together down the passagebehind the wainscot, squeaking andcalling to one another as they ranfrom house to house. Not one mouse was left in thetailor’s kitchen when Simpkin cameback. He set down the pipkin of milk upon the dresser, and lookedsuspiciously at the tea-cups. Hewanted his supper of little fat mouse! “Simpkin,” said the tailor, “where is my TWIST?” But Simpkin hid a little parcelprivately in the tea-pot, and spit and growled at the tailor; and if Simpkinhad been able to talk, he would have asked: “Where is my MOUSE?” “Alack, I am undone!” said theTailor of Gloucester, and went sadly to bed. All that night long Simpkin huntedand searched through the kitchen,peeping into cupboards and under the wainscot, and into the tea-pot wherehe had hidden that twist; but still he found never a mouse! The poor old tailor was very ill with a fever, tossing and turning in hisfour-post bed; and still in his dreams he mumbled: “No more twist! nomore twist!” What should become of the cherry-coloured coat? Who should come tosew it, when the window was barred, and the door was fast locked? Out-of-doors the market folks wenttrudging through the snow to buytheir geese and turkeys, and to bake their Christmas pies; but there wouldbe no dinner for Simpkin and the poor old tailor of Gloucester. The tailor lay ill for three days and nights; and then it was Christmas Eve,and very late at night. And stillSimpkin wanted his mice, and mewedas he stood beside the four-post bed. But it is in the old story that all the beasts can talk in the night betweenChristmas Eve and Christmas Day inthe morning (though there are veryfew folk that can hear them, or know what it is that they say). When the Cathedral clock strucktwelve there was an answer–like an echo of the chimes–and Simpkinheard it, and came out of the tailor’s door, and wandered about in thesnow. From all the roofs and gables andold wooden houses in Gloucestercame a thousand merry voices singing the old Christmas rhymes–all the oldsongs that ever I heard of, and some that I don’t know, like Whittington’sbells. Under the wooden eaves thestarlings and sparrows sang ofChristmas pies; the jackdaws woke up in the Cathedral tower; and althoughit was the middle of the night thethrostles and robins sang; and air was quite full of little twittering tunes. But it was all rather provoking topoor hungry Simpkin. From the tailor’s ship in Westgatecame a glow of light; and whenSimpkin crept up to peep in at thewindow it was full of candles. There was a snippeting of scissors, andsnappeting of thread; and little mouse voices sang loudly and gaily: “Four-and-twenty tailors Went to catch a snail, The best man amongst them Durst not touch her tail; She put out her horns Like a little kyloe cow. Run, tailors, run! Or she’ll have you all e’en now!” Then without a pause the littlemouse voices went on again: “Sieve my lady’s oatmeal, Grind my lady’s flour, Put it in a chestnut, Let it stand an hour–“ “Mew! Mew!” interrupted Simpkin,and he scratched at the door. But the key was under the tailor’s pillow; hecould not get in. The little mice only laughed, andtried another tune– “Three little mice sat down to spin, Pussy passed by and she peeped in. What are you at, my fine little men? Making coats for gentlemen. Shall I come in and cut off yours threads? Oh, no, Miss Pussy, You’d bite off our heads!” “Mew! scratch! scratch!” scuffledSimpkin on the window-sill; while the little mice inside sprang to their feet, and all began to shout all at once inlittle twittering voices: “No moretwist! No more twist!” And theybarred up the window-shutters andshut out Simpkin. Simpkin came away from the shopand went home considering in hismind. He found the poor old tailorwithout fever, sleeping peacefully. Then Simpkin went on tip-toe andtook a little parcel of silk out of the tea-pot; and looked at it in themoonlight; and he felt quite ashamed of his badness compared with thosegood little mice! When the tailor awoke in themorning, the first thing which he saw, upon the patchwork quilt, was a skeinof cherry-coloured twisted silk, and beside his bed stood the repentantSimpkin! The sun was shining on the snowwhen the tailor got up and dressed, and came out into the street withSimpkin running before him. “Alack,” said the tailor, “I have mytwist; but no more strength–nortime–than will serve to make me one single buttonhole; for this isChristmas Day in the Morning! TheMayor of Gloucester shall be married by noon–and where is his cherry-coloured coat?” He unlocked the door of the littleshop in Westgate Street, and Simpkin ran in, like a cat that expectssomething. But there was no one there! Noteven one little brown mouse! But upon the table–oh joy! thetailor gave a shout–there, where he had left plain cuttings of silk–therelay the most beautiful coat andembroidered satin waistcoat that ever were worn by a Mayor of Gloucester! Everything was finished except justone single cherry-coloured buttonhole, and where that buttonhole waswanting there was pinned a scrap of paper with these words–in littleteeny weeny writing– NO MORE TWIST. And from then began the luck ofthe Tailor of Gloucester; he grew quite stout, and he grew quite rich. He made the most wonderfulwaistcoats for all the rich merchants of Gloucester, and for all the finegentlemen of the country round. Never were seen such ruffles, orsuch embroidered cuffs and lappets! But his buttonholes were the greatesttriumph of it all. The stitches of those buttonholeswere so neat–SO neat–I wonderhow they could be stitched by an old man in spectacles, with crooked oldfingers, and a tailor’s thimble. The stitches of those buttonholeswere so small–SO small–they looked as if they had been made by littlemice! THE TALE OFSQUIRREL NUTKIN [A Story for Norah] This is a Tale about a tail–a tailthat belonged to a little red squirrel, and his name was Nutkin. He had a brother calledTwinkleberry, and a great manycousins: they lived in a wood at the edge of a lake. In the middle of the lake there is an island covered with trees and nutbushes; and amongst those treesstands a hollow oak-tree, which is the house of an owl who is called OldBrown. One autumn when the nuts wereripe, and the leaves on the hazelbushes were golden and green–Nutkin and Twinkleberry and all the other little squirrels came out of thewood, and down to the edge of thelake. They made little rafts out of twigs,and they paddled away over thewater to Owl Island to gather nuts. Each squirrel had a little sack and a large oar, and spread out his tail for a sail. They also took with them anoffering of three fat mice as a present for Old Brown, and put them downupon his door-step. Then Twinkleberry and the otherlittle squirrels each made a low bow, and said politely– “Old Mr. Brown, will youfavour us with permission togather nuts upon your island?” But Nutkin was excessivelyimpertinent in his manners. Hebobbed up and down like a littlered CHERRY, singing– “Riddle me, riddle me, rot-tot-tote! A little wee man, in a red red coat! A staff in his hand, and a stone in his throat; If you’ll tell me this riddle, I’ll give you a groat.” Now this riddle is as old as the hills; Mr. Brown paid no attention whateverto Nutkin. He shut his eyes obstinately andwent to sleep. The squirrels filled their little sacks with nuts, and sailed away home inthe evening. But next morning they all cameback again to Owl Island; andTwinkleberry and the others brought a fine fat mole, and laid it on thestone in front of Old Brown’sdoorway, and said– “Mr. Brown, will you favour us withyour gracious permission to gathersome more nuts?” But Nutkin, who had no respect,began to dance up and down, tickling old Mr. Brown with a NETTLE andsinging– “Old Mr. B! Riddle-me-ree! Hitty Pitty within the wall, Hitty Pitty without the wall; If you touch Hitty Pitty, Hitty Pitty will bite you!” Mr. Brown woke up suddenly andcarried the mole into his house. He shut the door in Nutkin’s face.Presently a little thread of blue SMOKE from a wood fire came up from thetop of the tree, and Nutkin peepedthrough the key-hole and sang– “A house full, a hole full! And you cannot gather a bowl-full!” The squirrels searched for nuts allover the island and filled their little sacks. But Nutkin gathered oak-apples–yellow and scarlet–and sat upon abeech-stump playing marbles, andwatching the door of old Mr. Brown. On the third day the squirrels gotup very early and went fishing; they caught seven fat minnows as apresent for Old Brown. They paddled over the lake andlanded under a crooked chestnut tree on Owl Island. Twinkleberry and six other littlesquirrels each carried a fat minnow; but Nutkin, who had no nicemanners, brought no present at all. He ran in front, singing– “The man in the wilderness said to me, How may strawberries grow in the sea?’ I answered him as I thought good– As many red herrings as grow in the wood.”‘ But old Mr. Brown took no interestin riddles–not even when the answer was provided for him. On the fourth day the squirrelsbrought a present of six fat beetles, which were as good as plums inPLUM-PUDDING for Old Brown. Eachbeetle was wrapped up carefully in a dockleaf, fastened with a pine-needle-pin. But Nutkin sang as rudely as ever– “Old Mr. B! riddle-me-ree! Flour of England, fruit of Spain, Met together in a shower of rain; Put in a bag tied round with a string, If you’ll tell me this riddle, I’ll give you a ring!” Which was ridiculous of Nutkin,because he had not got any ring togive to Old Brown. The other squirrels hunted up anddown the nut bushes; but Nutkingathered robin’s pin-cushions off a briar bush, and stuck them full ofpine-needle-pins. On the fifth day the squirrelsbrought a present of wild honey; it was so sweet and sticky that theylicked their fingers as they put it down upon the stone. They had stolen it outof a bumble BEES’ nest on the tippity top of the hill. But Nutkin skipped up and down,singing– “Hum-a-bum! buzz! buzz! Hum-a-bum buzz! As I went over Tipple-tine I met a flock of bonny swine; Some yellow-nacked, some yellow backed! They were the very bonniest swine That e’er went over the Tipple-tine.” Old Mr. Brown turned up his eyesin disgust at the impertinence ofNutkin. But he ate up the honey! The squirrels filled their little sacks with nuts. But Nutkin sat upon a big flat rock,and played ninepins with a crab apple and green fir-cones. On the sixth day, which wasSaturday, the squirrels came again for the last time; they brought a new-laidEGG in a little rush basket as a last parting present for Old Brown. But Nutkin ran in front laughing,and shouting– “Humpty Dumpty lies in the beck, With a white counterpane round his neck, Forty doctors and forty wrights, Cannot put Humpty Dumpty to rights!” Now old Mr. Brown took an interestin eggs; he opened one eye and shut it again. But still he did not speak. Nutkin became more and moreimpertinent– “Old Mr. B! Old Mr. B! Hickamore, Hackamore, on the King’s kitchen door; All the King’s horses, and all the King’s men, Couldn’t drive Hickamore, Hackamore, Off the King’s kitchen door!” Nutkin danced up and down like aSUNBEAM; but still Old Brown saidnothing at all. Nutkin began again– “Authur O’Bower has broken his band, He comes roaring up the land! The King of Scots with all his power, Cannot turn Arthur of the Bower!” Nutkin made a whirring noise tosound like the WIND, and he took arunning jump right onto the head of Old Brown! . . . Then all at once there was aflutterment and a scufflement and a loud “Squeak!” The other squirrels scuttered awayinto the bushes. When they came back verycautiously, peeping round the tree– there was Old Brown sitting on hisdoor-step, quite still, with his eyes closed, as if nothing had happened.

BUT NUTKIN WAS IN HIS WAISTCOAT POCKET! This looks like the end of the story; but it isn’t. Old Brown carried Nutkin into hishouse, and held him up by the tail, intending to skin him; but Nutkinpulled so very hard that his tail broke in two, and he dashed up thestaircase, and escaped out of the attic window. And to this day, if you meet Nutkinup a tree and ask him a riddle, he will throw sticks at you, and stamp hisfeet and scold, and shout– “Cuck-cuck-cuck-cur-r-r-cuck-k!” THE TALE OFBENJAMIN BUNNY [For the Children of Sawreyfrom Old Mr. Bunny] One morning a little rabbit sat on abank. He pricked his ears and listened tothe trit-trot, trit-trot of a pony. A gig was coming along the road; itwas driven by Mr. McGregor, andbeside him sat Mrs. McGregor in her best bonnet. As soon as they had passed, littleBenjamin Bunny slid down into theroad, and set off–with a hop, skip, and a jump–to call upon hisrelations, 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 lived Benjamin’s aunt and hiscousins–Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter. Old Mrs. Rabbit was a widow; sheearned her living by knittingrabbit-wool mittens and muffatees (I once bought a pair at a bazaar). Shealso sold herbs, and rosemary tea,and rabbit-tobacco (which is whatwe call lavender). Little Benjamin did not very muchwant 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. Helooked poorly, and was dressed in a red cotton pocket-handkerchief. “Peter,” said little Benjamin, in awhisper, “who has got your clothes?” Peter replied, “The scarecrow in Mr.McGregor’s garden,” and describedhow he had been chased about thegarden, and had dropped his shoesand coat. Little Benjamin sat down beside hiscousin and assured him that Mr.McGregor had gone out in a gig, and Mrs. McGregor also; and certainly forthe day, because she was wearing her best bonnet. Peter said he hoped that it wouldrain. 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 feelbetter if he went for a walk. They went away hand in hand, andgot upon the flat top of the wall at the bottom of the wood. From here theylooked down into Mr. McGregor’sgarden. 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 spoilspeople’s clothes to squeeze under a gate; the proper way to get in is toclimb down a pear-tree.” Peter fell down head first; but itwas of no consequence, as the bedbelow was newly raked and quitesoft. It had been sown with lettuces. They left a great many odd littlefootmarks all over the bed, especially little Benjamin, who was wearingclogs. Little Benjamin said that the firstthing to be done was to get backPeter’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 thecoat was somewhat shrunk. Benjamin tried on the tam-o’-shanter, but it was too big for him. Then he suggested that they shouldfill the pocket-handkerchief withonions, as a little present for his Aunt. Peter did not seem to be enjoyinghimself; he kept hearing noises. Benjamin, on the contrary, wasperfectly at home, and ate a lettuce leaf. He said that he was in the habitof coming to the garden with hisfather to get lettuces for their Sunday dinner. (The name of little Benjamin’s papawas old Mr. Benjamin Bunny.) The lettuces certainly were veryfine. Peter did not eat anything; he saidhe should like to go home. Presently he dropped half the onions. Little Benjamin said that it was notpossible to get back up the pear-tree with a load of vegetables. He led theway boldly towards the other end of the garden. They went along a littlewalk on planks, under a sunny, redbrick wall. The mice sat on their doorstepscracking cherry-stones; they winked at Peter Rabbit and little BenjaminBunny. Presently Peter let the pocket-handkerchief go again. They got amongst flower-pots, andframes, and tubs. Peter heard noises worse than ever; his eyes were as bigas lolly-pops! He was a step or two in front of hiscousin when he suddenly stopped. This is what those little rabbits saw round that corner! Little Benjamin took one look, andthen, in half a minute less than no time, he hid himself and Peter and theonions underneath a large basket. . . . The cat got up and stretchedherself, and came and sniffed at the basket. Perhaps she liked the smell of onions! Anyway, she sat down upon the topof the basket. She sat there for FIVE HOURS. I cannot draw you a picture ofPeter and Benjamin underneath thebasket, because it was quite dark, and because the smell of onions wasfearful; it made Peter Rabbit and little Benjamin cry. The sun got round behind thewood, and it was quite late in theafternoon; 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 thetop 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 opinionwhatever of cats. He took atremendous jump off the top of thewall on to the top of the cat, andcuffed it off the basket, and kicked it into the greenhouse, scratching off ahandful of fur. The cat was too much surprised toscratch back. When old Mr. Bunny had driven thecat into the greenhouse, he locked the door. Then he came back to the basketand took out his son Benjamin by the ears, and whipped him with the littleswitch. Then he took out his nephew Peter. Then he took out the handkerchiefof onions, and marched out of thegarden. When Mr. McGregor returnedabout half an hour later he observed several things which perplexed him. It looked as though some personhad been walking all over the garden in a pair of clogs–only the footmarkswere too ridiculously little! Also he could not understand howthe cat could have managed to shutherself up INSIDE the greenhouse,locking the door upon the OUTSIDE. When Peter got home his motherforgave him, because she was so glad to see that he had found his shoes andcoat. Cotton-tail and Peter folded up the pocket-handkerchief, and old Mrs.Rabbit strung up the onions and hung them from the kitchen ceiling, withthe bunches of herbs and the rabbit- tobacco. THE TALE OFTWO BAD MICE [For W.M.L.W., the Little GirlWho Had the Doll’s House] Once upon a time there was a verybeautiful doll’s-house; it was redbrick with white windows, and it had real muslin curtains and a front doorand a chimney. It belonged to two Dolls calledLucinda and Jane; at least it belonged to Lucinda, but she never orderedmeals. Jane was the Cook; but she neverdid any cooking, because the dinner had been bought ready-made, in abox full of shavings. There were two red lobsters and aham, a fish, a pudding, and somepears and oranges. They would not come off the plates,but they were extremely beautiful. One morning Lucinda and Jane hadgone out for a drive in the doll’sperambulator. There was no one inthe nursery, and it was very quiet. Presently there was a little scuffling,scratching noise in a corner near the fireplace, where there was a holeunder the skirting-board. Tom Thumb put out his head for amoment, and then popped it in again. Tom Thumb was a mouse. A minute afterwards, HuncaMunca, his wife, put her head out,too; and when she saw that there was no one in the nursery, she venturedout on the oilcloth under the coal-box. The doll’s-house stood at the otherside of the fire-place. Tom Thumband Hunca Munca went cautiouslyacross the hearthrug. They pushedthe front door–it was not fast. Tom Thumb and Hunca Muncawent upstairs and peeped into thedining-room. Then they squeakedwith joy! Such a lovely dinner was laid outupon the table! There were tinspoons, and lead knives and forks,and two dolly-chairs–all SOconvenient! Tom Thumb set to work at once tocarve the ham. It was a beautifulshiny yellow, streaked with red. The knife crumpled up and hurthim; 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 herchair, and chopped at the ham withanother lead knife. “It’s as hard as the hams at thecheesemonger’s,” said Hunca Munca. The ham broke off the plate with ajerk, and rolled under the table. “Let it alone,” said Tom Thumb;“give me some fish, Hunca Munca!” Hunca Munca tried every tin spoonin 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 andwith the shovel–bang, bang, smash, smash! The ham flew all into pieces, forunderneath the shiny paint it wasmade of nothing but plaster! Then there was no end to the rageand disappointment of Tom Thumband Hunca Munca. They broke up thepudding, the lobsters, the pears and the oranges. As the fish would not come off theplate, they put it into the red-hot crinkly paper fire in the kitchen; but it would not burn either. Tom Thumb went up the kitchenchimney and looked out at the top– there was no soot. While Tom Thumb was up thechimney, Hunca Munca had anotherdisappointment. She found some tiny canisters upon the dresser, labelled–Rice–Coffee–Sago–but when sheturned them upside down, there wasnothing inside except red and bluebeads. Then those mice set to work to doall the mischief they could–especially Tom Thumb! He took Jane’s clothesout of the chest of drawers in herbedroom, and he threw them out ofthe top floor window. But Hunca Munca had a frugalmind. After pulling half the feathers out of Lucinda’s bolster, sheremembered that she herself was inwant of a feather bed. With Tom Thumbs’s assistance shecarried the bolster downstairs, and across the hearth-rug. It was difficultto squeeze the bolster into the mouse- hole; but they managed it somehow. Then Hunca Munca went back andfetched a chair, a book-case, a bird- cage, and several small odds andends. The book-case and the bird-cage refused to go into the mousehole. Hunca Munca left them behind thecoal-box, and went to fetch a cradle. Hunca Munca was just returningwith another chair, when suddenlythere was a noise of talking outside upon the landing. The mice rushedback to their hole, and the dolls came into the nursery. What a sight met the eyes of Janeand Lucinda! Lucinda sat upon theupset kitchen stove and stared; and Jane leant against the kitchen dresserand smiled–but neither of themmade any remark. The book-case and the bird-cagewere rescued from under the coal-box–but Hunca Munca has got thecradle, and some of Lucinda’sclothes. She also has some useful pots andpans, and several other things. The little girl that the doll’s-house belonged to, said,–“I will get a dolldressed like a policeman!” But the nurse said,–“I will set amouse-trap!” So that is the story of the two BadMice,–but they were not so very very naughty after all, because TomThumb paid for everything he broke. He found a crooked sixpence underthe hearth-rug; and upon ChristmasEve, he and Hunca Munca stuffed itinto one of the stockings of Lucinda and Jane. And very early every morning–before anybody is awake–HuncaMunca comes with her dust-pan andher broom to sweep the Dollies’ house! THE TALE OFMRS. TIGGY-WINKLE [For the RealLittle Lucie of Newlands] Once upon a time there was a littlegirl called Lucie, who lived at a farm called Little-town. She was a goodlittle girl–only she was always losing her pocket-handkerchiefs! One day little Lucie came into thefarm-yard crying–oh, she did cry so! “I’ve lost my pocket-handkin! Threehandkins 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, have YOUfound three pocket-handkins?” But the speckled hen ran into abarn, clucking– “I go barefoot, barefoot, barefoot!” And then Lucie asked Cock Robinsitting on a twig. Cock Robin looked sideways at Lucie with his brightblack eye, and he flew over a stile and away. Lucie climbed upon the stile andlooked up at the hill behind Little- town–a hill that goes up–up–intothe clouds as though it had no top! And a great way up the hillside shethought she saw some white thingsspread upon the grass. Lucie scrambled up the hill as fastas her short legs would carry her; she ran along a steep path-way–up andup–until Little-town was right away down below–she could havedropped a pebble down the chimney! Presently she came to a spring,bubbling out from the hillside. Some one had stood a tin can upona stone to catch the water–but the water was already running over, forthe can was no bigger than an egg-cup! And where the sand upon thepath was wet–there were footmarksof a VERY small person. Lucie ran on, and on. The path ended under a big rock.The grass was short and green, andthere were clothes-props cut frombracken stems, with lines of plaited rushes, and a heap of tiny clothespins–but no pocket-handkerchiefs! But there was something else–adoor! 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, andinterrupted the song. A littlefrightened voice called out “Who’sthat?” Lucie opened the door: and whatdo you think there was inside thehill?–a nice clean kitchen with aflagged floor and wooden beams–just like any other farm kitchen. Only the ceiling was so low that Lucie’shead nearly touched it; and the pots and pans were small, and so waseverything there. There was a nice hot singey smell;and at the table, with an iron in her hand, stood a very stout short personstaring anxiously at Lucie. Her print gown was tucked up, andshe was wearing a large apron overher striped petticoat. Her little black nose went sniffle, sniffle, snuffle, and her eyes went twinkle, twinkle; andunderneath her cap-where Luciehad yellow curls-that little person had PRICKLES! “Who are you?” said Lucie. “Haveyou 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 ifyou please’m, I’m an excellent clear- starcher!” And she took somethingout of the clothesbasket, 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 alittle scarlet waist-coat belonging to Cock Robin!” And she ironed it and folded it, andput it on one side. Then she took something else off aclothes-horse–“That isn’t my pinny?” said Lucie. “Oh no, if you please’m; that’s adamask table-cloth belonging toJenny Wren; look how it’s stained with currant wine! It’s very bad to wash!”said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle. Mrs. Tiggy-winkle’s nose wentsniffle sniffle snuffle, and her eyes went twinkle twinkle; and she fetchedanother hot iron from the fire. “There’s one of my pocket-handkins!” cried Lucie–“and there’s my pinny!” Mrs. Tiggy-winkle ironed it, andgoffered it, and shook out the frills. “Oh that IS lovely!” said Lucie. “And what are those long yellowthings with fingers like gloves?” “Oh that’s a pair of stockingsbelonging to Sally Henny-penny–look how she’s worn the heels out withscratching in the yard! She’ll very soon go barefoot!” said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle. “Why, there’s another hankersniff–but it isn’t mine; it’s red?” “Oh no, if you please’m; that onebelongs to old Mrs. Rabbit; and it DID so smell of onions! I’ve had to wash itseparately, I can’t get out that smell.” “There’s another one of mine,” said Lucie. “What are those funny little white things?” “That’s a pair of mittens belongingto 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 thebasin of starch?” “They’re little dicky shirt-frontsbelonging to Tom Titmouse–mostterrible particular!” said Mrs. Tiggy- winkle. “Now I’ve finished my ironing;I’m going to air some clothes.” “What are these dear soft fluffythings?” said Lucie. “Oh those are woolly coatsbelonging to the little lambs atSkelghyl.” “Will their jackets take off?” askedLucie. “Oh yes, if you please’m; look at the sheep-mark on the shoulder. Andhere’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 sizesof clothes–small brown coats ofmice; and one velvety black moleskin waist-coat; and a red tail-coat withno tail belonging to Squirrel Nutkin; and a very much shrunk blue jacketbelonging to Peter Rabbit; and apetticoat, not marked, that had gone lost in the washing–and at last thebasket was empty! Then Mrs. Tiggy-winkle madetea–a cup for herself and a cup for Lucie. They sat before the fire on abench and looked sideways at oneanother. Mrs. Tiggy-winkle’s hand,holding the tea-cup, was very verybrown, and very very wrinkly with the soap-suds; and all through her gownand her cap, there were HAIRPINSsticking wrong end out; so that Lucie didn’t like to sit too near her. When they had finished tea, theytied up the clothes in bundles; and Lucie’s pocket-handkerchiefs werefolded up inside her clean pinny, and fastened with a silver safety-pin. And then they made up the firewith turf, and came out and lockedthe door, and hid the key under the door-sill. Then away down the hill trottedLucie and Mrs. Tiggy-winkle with the bundles of clothes! All the way down the path littleanimals came out of the fern to meet them; the very first that they metwere Peter Rabbit and BenjaminBunny! And she gave them their nice cleanclothes; and all the little animals and birds were so very much obliged todear Mrs. Tiggy-winkle. So that at the bottom of the hillwhen they came to the stile, there was nothing left to carry except Lucie’sone little bundle. Lucie scrambled up the stile withthe bundle in her hand; and then she turned to say “Good-night,” and tothank the washer-woman.–But whata VERY odd thing! Mrs. Tiggy-winkle had not waited either for thanks orfor the washing bill! She was running running runningup the hill–and where was her white frilled cap? and her shawl? and hergown-and her petticoat? And HOW small she had grown–and HOW brown–and covered withPRICKLES! Why! Mrs. Tiggy-winkle wasnothing but a HEDGEHOG! * * * * * * (Now some people say that little Lucie had been asleep upon the stile–but then how could she have found three cleanpocket-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 PIE ANDTHE 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 aPussy-cat called Ribby, who invited a little dog called Duchess to tea. “Come in good time, my dearDuchess,” said Ribby’s letter, “and we will have something so very nice. I ambaking it in a pie-dish–a pie-dish with a pink rim. You never tastedanything so good! And YOU shall eat it all! I will eat muffins, my dearDuchess!” wrote Ribby. “I will come very punctually, mydear Ribby,” wrote Duchess; and then at the end she added–“I hope it isn’tmouse?” And then she thought that did notlook quite polite; so she scratched out “isn’t mouse” and changed it to “Ihope it will be fine,” and she gave her letter to the postman. But she thought a great deal aboutRibby’s pie, and she read Ribby’s letter over and over again. “I am dreadfully afraid it WILL bemouse!” said Duchess to herself–“I really couldn’t, COULDN’T eat mousepie. And I shall have to eat it, because it is a party. And MY pie was going tobe veal and ham. A pink and whitepie-dish! and so is mine; just like Ribby’s dishes; they were both boughtat Tabitha Twitchit’s.” Duchess went into her larder and took the pie off a shelf and looked at it. “Oh what a good idea! Whyshouldn’t I rush along and put my pie into Ribby’s oven when Ribby isn’tthere?” Ribby in the meantime had receivedDuchess’s answer, and as soon as she was sure that the little dog wouldcome–she popped HER pie into theoven. There were two ovens, oneabove the other; some other knobsand handles were only ornamentaland not intended to open. Ribby put the pie into the lower oven; the doorwas very stiff. “The top oven bakes too quickly,”said Ribby to herself. Ribby put on some coal and sweptup the hearth. Then she went outwith a can to the well, for water to fill up the kettle. Then she began to set the room inorder, for it was the sitting-room as well as the kitchen. When Ribby had laid the table shewent out down the field to the farm, to fetch milk and butter. When she came back, she peepedinto the bottom oven; the pie looked very comfortable. Ribby put on her shawl and bonnetand went out again with a basket, to the village shop to buy a packet of tea, a pound of lump sugar, and a pot ofmarmalade. And just at the same time, Duchesscame out of HER house, at the other end of the village. Ribby met Duchess half-way downthe street, also carrying a basket, covered with a cloth. They onlybowed to one another; they did notspeak, because they were going tohave a party. As soon as Duchess had got roundthe corner out of sight–she simply ran! Straight away to Ribby’s house! Ribby went into the shop andbought what she required, and cameout, after a pleasant gossip withCousin Tabitha Twitchit. Ribby went on to Timothy Baker’sand bought the muffins. Then shewent home. There seemed to be a sort ofscuffling noise in the back passage, as she was coming in at the front door.But there was nobody there. Duchess in the meantime, hadslipped out at the back door. “It is a very odd thing that Ribby’spie was NOT in the oven when I putmine in! And I can’t find it anywhere; I have looked all over the house. I putMY pie into a nice hot oven at the top. I could not turn any of the otherhandles; I think that they are allshams,” said Duchess, “but I wish I could have removed the pie made ofmouse! I cannot think what she hasdone with it? I heard Ribby comingand I had to run out by the backdoor!” Duchess went home and brushedher beautiful black coat; and then she picked a bunch of flowers in hergarden as a present for Ribby; andpassed the time until the clock struck four. Ribby–having assured herself bycareful search that there was really no one hiding in the cupboard or in thelarder–went upstairs to change her dress. She came downstairs again, andmade the tea, and put the teapot on the hob. She peeped again into theBOTTOM oven, the pie had become alovely brown, and it was steaming hot. She sat down before the fire to waitfor the little dog. “I am glad I used the BOTTOM oven,” said Ribby, “the topone would certainly have been verymuch too hot.” Very punctually at four o’clock,Duchess started to go to the party. 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, mydear Duchess?” cried Ribby. “I hope I see you well?” “Quite well, I thank you, and howdo YOU do, my dear Ribby?” saidDuchess. “I’ve brought you someflowers; what a delicious smell of pie!” “Oh, what lovely flowers! Yes, it ismouse and bacon!” “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; andmay I have a lump upon my nose?” “With pleasure, my dear Duchess.” Duchess sat up with the sugar onher nose and sniffed– “How good that pie smells! I dolove veal and ham–I mean to saymouse and bacon–“ She dropped the sugar in confusion,and had to go hunting under the tea- table, so did not see which oven Ribbyopened in order to get out the pie.