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.