"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.

               "Oh what a good idea! Why
               shouldn't I rush along and put my pie
               into Ribby's oven when Ribby isn't
               there?"

               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.

               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.

               When Ribby had laid the table she
               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 down
               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.

               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.
               But there was nobody there.

               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 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."

               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, 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!"

               "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."

               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.

               "I think"—(thought 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."

               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.

               Duchess looked very much
               alarmed, and continued to scoop the
               inside of 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."

               "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."

               "Shall I run for the doctor?"

               "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.

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

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

               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 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.

               "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!"

               "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."

               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 piecrust, and
               the magpie was drinking gravy out of
               a patty-pan.

               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.

               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!"

               [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 mackintosh,
               and a pair of shiny galoshes; 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 the 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 galoshes.

               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
               mackintosh!

               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 mackintosh, that
               in less than half a minute it spat him
               out again; and the only thing it
               swallowed was Mr. Jeremy's galoshes.

               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
               mackintosh 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!

               This is a fierce bad Rabbit; look at
               his savage whiskers and his claws and
               his turned-up tail.

               This is a nice gentle Rabbit. His
               mother has given him a carrot.

               The bad Rabbit would like some
               carrot.

               He doesn't say "Please." He takes it!

               And he scratches the good Rabbit
               very badly.

               The good Rabbit creeps away and
               hides in a hole. It feels sad.

               This is a man with a gun.

               He sees something sitting on a
               bench. He thinks it is a very funny
               bird!

               He comes creeping up behind the
               trees.

               And then he shoots—BANG!

               This is what happens—

               But this is all he finds on the bench
               when he rushes up with his gun.

               The good Rabbit peeps out of its
               hole . . .

               . . . and it sees the bad Rabbit
               tearing past—without any tail or
               whiskers!

               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
               bellpull.

               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 top of the
               cupboard!

               [Dedicated to All Pickles,
               —Especially to Those That Get upon My Garden Wall]

               Once upon a time there were three
               little kittens, and their names were
               Mittens, Tom Kitten, and Moppet.

               They had dear little fur coats of
               their own; and they tumbled about
               the doorstep and played in the dust.

               But one day their mother—Mrs.
               Tabitha Twitchit—expected friends to
               tea; so she fetched the kittens indoors,
               to wash and dress them, before the
               fine company arrived.

               First she scrubbed their faces (this
               one is Moppet).

               Then she brushed their fur (this
               one is Mittens).

               Then she combed their tails and
               whiskers (this is Tom Kitten).

               Tom was very naughty, and he
               scratched.

               Mrs. Tabitha dressed Moppet and
               Mittens in clean pinafores and
               tuckers; and then she took all sorts of
               elegant uncomfortable clothes out of
               a chest of drawers, in order to dress
               up her son Thomas.

               Tom Kitten was very fat, and he
               had grown; several buttons burst off.
               His mother sewed them on again.

               When the three kittens were ready,
               Mrs. Tabitha unwisely turned them
               out into the garden, to be out of the
               way while she made hot buttered
               toast.

               "Now keep your frocks clean,
               children! You must walk on your hind
               legs. Keep away from the dirty ash-
               pit, and from Sally Henny Penny, and
               from the pigsty and the Puddle-
               ducks."

               Moppet and Mittens walked down
               the garden path unsteadily. Presently
               they trod upon their pinafores and fell
               on their noses.

               When they stood up there were
               several green smears!

               "Let us climb up the rockery and sit
               on the garden wall," said Moppet.

               They turned their pinafores back to
               front and went up with a skip and a
               jump; Moppet's white tucker fell
               down into the road.

               Tom Kitten was quite unable to
               jump when walking upon his hind
               legs in trousers. He came up the
               rockery by degrees, breaking the ferns
               and shedding buttons right and left.

               He was all in pieces when he
               reached the top of the wall.

               Moppet and Mittens tried to pull
               him together; his hat fell off, and the
               rest of his buttons burst.

               While they were in difficulties, there
               was a pit pat, paddle pat! and the
               three Puddle-ducks came along the
               hard high road, marching one behind
               the other and doing the goose step—
               pit pat, paddle pat! pit pat, waddle
               pat!

               They stopped and stood in a row
               and stared up at the kittens. They had
               very small eyes and looked surprised.
               Then the two duck-birds, Rebeccah
               and Jemima Puddle-duck, picked up
               the hat and tucker and put them on.

               Mittens laughed so that she fell off
               the wall. Moppet and Tom descended
               after her; the pinafores and all the
               rest of Tom's clothes came off on the
               way down.

               "Come! Mr. Drake Puddle-duck,"
               said Moppet. "Come and help us to
               dress him! Come and button up
               Tom!"

               Mr. Drake Puddle-duck advanced
               in a slow sideways manner and
               picked up the various articles.

               But he put them on HIMSELF! They
               fitted him even worse than Tom Kitten.

               "It's a very fine morning!" said Mr.
               Drake Puddle-duck.

               And he and Jemima and Rebeccah
               Puddle-duck set off up the road,
               keeping step—pit pat, paddle pat! pit
               pat, waddle pat!

               Then Tabitha Twitchit came down
               the garden and found her kittens on
               the wall with no clothes on.

               She pulled them off the wall,
               smacked them, and took them back
               to the house.

               "My friends will arrive in a minute,
               and you are not fit to be seen; I am
               affronted," said Mrs. Tabitha
               Twitchit.

               She sent them upstairs; and I am
               sorry to say she told her friends that
               they were in bed with the measles—
               which was not true.

               Quite the contrary; they were not in bed:
               NOT in the least.

               Somehow there were very extra—
               ordinary noises overhead, which
               disturbed the dignity and repose of
               the tea party.

               And I think that some day I shall
               have to make another, larger book, to
               tell you more about Tom Kitten!

               As for the Puddle-ducks—they
               went into a pond.

               The clothes all came off directly,
               because there were no buttons.

               And Mr. Drake Puddle-duck, and
               Jemima and Rebeccah, have been
               looking for them ever since.

               [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 someone 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
               treetops 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 foxgloves.

               But—seated upon the stump, she
               was startled to find an elegantly
               dressed gentleman reading a
               newspaper. He had black prick ears
               and sandy colored whiskers.

               "Quack?" said Jemima Puddle-
               duck, with her head and her bonnet
               on the 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 coattail 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 woodshed. 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
               foxgloves.

               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 tumbledown shed at
               the back of the house, made of old
               soap boxes. The gentleman opened
               the door and showed Jemima in.