The Great Big Treasury of Beatrix Potter

               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 the next day.

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

               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 savory omelet? Sage and thyme, and
               mint and two onions, and some
               parsley. I will provide lard for the
               stuff—lard for the omelet," 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 foxhound 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 omelet. 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. Someone with a black nose
               sniffed at the bottom of the door, and
               them locked it.

               Jemima became much alarmed.

               A moment afterward 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.

               [In Remembrance of "Sammy,"
               the Intelligent Pink-Eyed Representative of
               a Persecuted (But Irrepressible) Race.
               An Affectionate Little Friend,
               and Most Accomplished Thief!]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               "They have both got out of the
               cupboard!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               "Which way did she go, Moppet?"

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

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

               They went into the dairy.

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

               They tipped over the jar, and she
               scrambled out.

               "Oh, Mother, Mother!" said
               Mittens—

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

               Ribby and Tabitha looked at one
               another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               When Tom Kitten picked himself up
               and looked about him, he found
               himself in a place that he had never
               seen before, although he had lived all
               his life in the house. It was a very
               small stuffy fusty room, with boards,
               and rafters, and cobwebs, and lath
               and plaster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               They did not see him.

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

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

               She did not observe Moppet.

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

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

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

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

               Tom Kitten wriggled and squirmed
               until he was quite exhausted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               The rats dropped the rolling pin
               and listened attentively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               I am sure I never gave her leave to
               borrow my wheelbarrow!

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

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

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

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

               There is no end to them!

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

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

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

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

               A Mouse.

               [For All Little Friends of
               Mr. McGregor and Peter and Benjamin]

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

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

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

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

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

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

               Sometimes Peter Rabbit had no
               cabbages to spare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               Mr. McGregor climbed down on
               to the rubbish heap—

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

               Mr. McGregor tied up the sack
               and left it on the wall.

               He went to put away the mowing
               machine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               Mr. McGregor came back and
               picked up the sack, and carried it
               off.

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

               The Flopsy Bunnies followed at
               a safe distance.

               They watched him go into
               his house.

               And then they crept up to
               the window to listen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               (The youngest Flopsy Bunny got
               upon the windowsill.)

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

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

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

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