The Great Big Treasury of Beatrix Potter
by
Beatrix Potter
Part 3 out of 4
He sat and smiled, and the
water dripped off his coat
tails. Mrs. Tittlemouse went
round with a mop.
He sat such a while that he had
to be asked if he would take some
dinner?
First she offered him cherry-
stones. "Thank you, thank you,
Mrs. Tittlemouse! No teeth, no
teeth, no teeth!" said Mr. Jackson.
He opened his mouth most
unnecessarily wide; he certainly had
not a tooth in his head.
Then she offered him thistle-
down seed--"Tiddly, widdly,
widdly! Pouff, pouff, puff." said
Mr. Jackson. He blew the thistle-
down all over the room.
"Thank you, thank you, thank
you, Mrs. Tittlemouse! Now what
I really--REALLY should like--
would be a little dish of honey!"
"I am afraid I have not got
any, Mr. Jackson!" said Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
"Tiddly, widdly, widdly,
Mrs. Tittlemouse!" said the
smiling Mr. Jackson, "I can SMELL it;
that is why I came to call."
Mr. Jackson rose ponderously
from the table, and began
to look into the cupboards.
Mrs. Tittlemouse followed him with
a dishcloth, to wipe his large
wet footmarks off the parlor floor.
When he had convinced himself
that there was no honey in the
cupboards, he began to walk
down the passage.
"Indeed, indeed, you will stick
fast, Mr. Jackson!"
"Tiddly, widdly, widdly, Mrs.
Tittlemouse!"
First he squeezed into the pantry.
"Tiddly, widdly, widdly? No
honey? No honey, Mrs. Tittlemouse?"
There were three creepy-crawly
people hiding in the plate rack.
Two of them got away; but the
littlest one he caught.
Then he squeezed into the larder.
Miss Butterfly was tasting the
sugar; but she flew away out of
the window.
"Tiddly, widdly, widdly, Mrs.
Tittlemouse; you seem to have
plenty of visitors!"
"And without any invitation!"
said Mrs. Thomasina Tittlemouse.
They went along the sandy
passage--"Tiddly, widdly--" "Buzz!
Wizz! Wizz!"
He met Babbitty round a corner,
and snapped her up, and put
her down again.
"I do not like bumble bees. They
are all over bristles," said Mr.
Jackson, wiping his mouth with
his coat sleeve.
"Get out, you nasty old toad!" shrieked Babbitty Bumble.
"I shall go distracted!" scolded Mrs. Tittlemouse.
She shut herself up in the nut
cellar while Mr. Jackson pulled out
the bees-nest. He seemed to have
no objection to stings.
When Mrs. Tittlemouse ventured
to come out--everybody
had gone away.
But the untidiness was something
dreadful--"Never did I see
such a mess--smears of honey;
and moss, and thistledown--and
marks of big and little dirty feet--
all over my nice clean house!"
She gathered up the moss
and the remains of the bees-
wax.
Then she went out and
fetched some twigs, to partly
close up the front door.
"I will make it too small for
Mr. Jackson!"
She fetched soft soap, and
flannel, and a new scrubbing
brush from the storeroom.
But she was too tired to do any
more. First she fell asleep in
her chair, and then she went
to bed.
"Will it ever be tidy again?"
said poor Mrs. Tittlemouse.
Next morning she got up
very early and began a spring
cleaning which lasted a fort-
night.
She swept, and scrubbed,
and dusted; and she rubbed
up the furniture with bees-
wax, and polished her little tin
spoons.
When it was all beautifully
neat and clean, she gave a
party to five other little mice,
without Mr. Jackson.
He smelt the party and
came up the bank, but he
could not squeeze in at the
door.
So they handed him out acorn cupfuls of honeydew through the window,
and he was not at all offended.
He sat outside in the sun, and said--"Tiddly, widdly, widdly! Your very
good health, Mrs. Tittlemouse!"
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 woodpecker; 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
springtime, 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 Tip-
toes! 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
downstairs; 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 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 nutcrackers, 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 durn 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 fort-
night; 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 dig-
ging-up MY-nuts?" But nobody
ever answers!
THE TALE OF
MR. TOD
[For William Francis of Ulva--Someday!]
I have made many books about
well-behaved people. Now, for a
change, I am going to make a story
about two disagreeable people,
called Tommy Brock and Mr. Tod.
Nobody could call Mr. Tod
"nice." The rabbits could not bear
him; they could smell him half a
mile off. He was of a wandering
habit and he had foxy whiskers;
they never knew where he would be
next.
One day he was living in a stick-
house in the coppice [grove], causing
terror to the family of old Mr.
Benjamin Bouncer. Next day he
moved into a pollard willow near
the lake, frightening the wild ducks
and the water rats.
In winter and early spring he
might generally be found in an
earth amongst the rocks at the top
of Bull Banks, under Oatmeal Crag.
He had half a dozen houses, but
he was seldom at home.
The houses were not always
empty when Mr. Tod moved OUT;
because sometimes Tommy Brock
moved IN; (without asking leave).
Tommy Brock was a short bristly
fat waddling person with a grin; he
grinned all over his face. He was
not nice in his habits. He ate wasp
nests and frogs and worms; and he
waddled about by moonlight, digging
things up.
His clothes were very dirty; and
as he slept in the daytime, he
always went to bed in his boots.
And the bed which he went to bed
in was generally Mr. Tod's.
Now Tommy Brock did occasionally
eat rabbit pie; but it was only
very little young ones occasionally,
when other food was really scarce.
He was friendly with old Mr.
Bouncer; they agreed in disliking
the wicked otters and Mr. Tod; they
often talked over that painful subject.
Old Mr. Bouncer was stricken in
years. He sat in the spring sunshine
outside the burrow, in a muffler;
smoking a pipe of rabbit tobacco.
He lived with his son Benjamin
Bunny and his daughter-in-law
Flopsy, who had a young family.
Old Mr. Bouncer was in charge of
the family that afternoon, because
Benjamin and Flopsy had gone out.
The little rabbit babies were just
old enough to open their blue eyes
and kick. They lay in a fluffy bed of
rabbit wool and hay, in a shallow
burrow, separate from the main
rabbit hole. To tell the truth--old
Mr. Bouncer had forgotten them.
He sat in the sun, and conversed
cordially with Tommy Brock, who
was passing through the wood with
a sack and a little spud which he
used for digging, and some mole
traps. He complained bitterly
about the scarcity of pheasants'
eggs, and accused Mr. Tod of
poaching them. And the otters had
cleared off all the frogs while he
was asleep in winter--"I have not
had a good square meal for a fort-
night, I am living on pig-nuts. I
shall have to turn vegetarian and
eat my own tail!" said Tommy
Brock.
It was not much of a joke, but it
tickled old Mr. Bouncer; because
Tommy Brock was so fat and
stumpy and grinning.
So old Mr. Bouncer laughed; and
pressed Tommy Brock to come inside,
to taste a slice of seed cake
and "a glass of my daughter Flopsy's
cowslip wine." Tommy Brock
squeezed himself into the rabbit
hole with alacrity.
Then old Mr. Bouncer smoked
another pipe, and gave Tommy
Brock a cabbage leaf cigar which
was so very strong that it made
Tommy Brock grin more than ever;
and the smoke filled the burrow.
Old Mr. Bouncer coughed and
laughed; and Tommy Brock puffed
and grinned.
And Mr. Bouncer laughed and
coughed, and shut his eyes because
of the cabbage smoke ..........
When Flopsy and Benjamin came
back old Mr. Bouncer woke up.
Tommy Brock and all the young
rabbit babies had disappeared!
Mr. Bouncer would not confess
that he had admitted anybody into
the rabbit hole. But the smell of
badger was undeniable; and there
were round heavy footmarks in the
sand. He was in disgrace; Flopsy
wrung her ears, and slapped him.
Benjamin Bunny set off at once
after Tommy Brock.
There was not much difficulty in
tracking him; he had left his foot-
mark and gone slowly up the winding
footpath through the wood. Here he
had rooted up the moss and wood
sorrel. There he had dug quite a
deep hole for dog darnel; and had
set a mole trap. A little stream
crossed the way. Benjamin skipped
lightly over dry-foot; the badger's
heavy steps showed plainly in the mud.
The path led to a part of the
thicket where the trees had been
cleared; there were leafy oak
stumps, and a sea of blue hyacinths
--but the smell that made Benjamin
stop was NOT the smell of flowers!
Mr. Tod's stick house was before
him; and, for once, Mr. Tod was at
home. There was not only a foxy
flavor in proof of it--there was
smoke coming out of the broken
pail that served as a chimney.
Benjamin Bunny sat up, staring,
his whiskers twitched. Inside the
stick house somebody dropped a
plate, and said something. Benjamin
stamped his foot, and bolted.
He never stopped till he came to
the other side of the wood. Apparently
Tommy Brock had turned the
same way. Upon the top of the wall
there were again the marks of
badger; and some ravellings of a
sack had caught on a briar.
Benjamin climbed over the wall,
into a meadow. He found another
mole trap newly set; he was still
upon the track of Tommy Brock. It
was getting late in the afternoon.
Other rabbits were coming out to
enjoy the evening air. One of them
in a blue coat, by himself, was busily
hunting for dandelions.--
"Cousin Peter! Peter Rabbit, Peter
Rabbit!" shouted Benjamin Bunny.
The blue coated rabbit sat up
with pricked ears--"Whatever is
the matter, Cousin Benjamin? Is it
a cat? or John Stoat Ferret?"
"No, no, no! He's bagged my
family--Tommy Brock--in a sack
--have you seen him?"
"Tommy Brock? how many,
Cousin Benjamin?"
"Seven, Cousin Peter, and all of
them twins! Did he come this way?
Please tell me quick!"
"Yes, yes; not ten minutes since
... he said they were CATERPILLARS;
I did think they were kicking rather
hard, for caterpillars."
"Which way? which way has he
gone, Cousin Peter?"
"He had a sack with something
live in it; I watched him set a mole
trap. Let me use my mind, Cousin
Benjamin; tell me from the beginning,"
Benjamin did so.
"My Uncle Bouncer has displayed
a lamentable want of discretion for
his years;" said Peter reflectively,
"but there are two hopeful
circumstances. Your family is alive and
kicking; and Tommy Brock has had
refreshments. He will probably go
to sleep, and keep them for breakfast."
"Which way?" "Cousin Benjamin,
compose yourself. I know
very well which way. Because Mr.
Tod was at home in the stick house
he has gone to Mr. Tod's other
house, at the top of Bull Banks. I
partly know, because he offered to
leave any message at Sister Cottontail's;
he said he would be passing."
(Cottontail had married a black
rabbit, and gone to live on the hill.)
Peter hid his dandelions, and
accompanied the afflicted parent,
who was all of atwitter. They
crossed several fields and began to
climb the hill; the tracks of Tommy
Brock were plainly to be seen. He
seemed to have put down the sack
every dozen yards, to rest.
"He must be very puffed; we are
close behind him, by the scent.
What a nasty person!" said Peter.
The sunshine was still warm and
slanting on the hill pastures. Half
way up, Cottontail was sitting in
her doorway, with four or five half-
grown little rabbits playing about
her; one black and the others
brown.
Cottontail had seen Tommy
Brock passing in the distance.
Asked whether her husband was at
home she replied that Tommy
Brock had rested twice while she
watched him.
He had nodded, and pointed to
the sack, and seemed doubled up
with laughing.--"Come away,
Peter; he will be cooking them;
come quicker!" said Benjamin
Bunny.
They climbed up and up;--"He
was at home; I saw his black ears
peeping out of the hole." "They live
too near the rocks to quarrel with
their neighbors. Come on, Cousin
Benjamin!"
When they came near the wood
at the top of Bull Banks, they went
cautiously. The trees grew amongst
heaped up rocks; and there,
beneath a crag, Mr. Tod had made
one of his homes. It was at the top
of a steep bank; the rocks and
bushes overhung it. The rabbits
crept up carefully, listening and
peeping.
This house was something between
a cave, a prison, and a tumbledown
pigsty. There was a strong
door, which was shut and locked.
The setting sun made the window
panes glow like red flame; but
the kitchen fire was not alight. It
was neatly laid with dry sticks, as
the rabbits could see, when they
peeped through the window.
Benjamin sighed with relief.
But there were preparations
upon the kitchen table which made
him shudder. There was an immense
empty pie dish of blue willow
pattern, and a large carving
knife and fork, and a chopper.
At the other end of the table was
a partly unfolded tablecloth, a
plate, a tumbler, a knife and fork,
salt cellar, mustard and a chair--
in short, preparations for one
person's supper.
No person was to be seen, and
no young rabbits. The kitchen was
empty and silent; the clock had run
down. Peter and Benjamin flattened
their noses against the window,
and stared into the dusk.
Then they scrambled round the
rocks to the other side of the house.
It was damp and smelly, and over-
grown with thorns and briars.
The rabbits shivered in their
shoes.
"Oh my poor rabbit babies!
What a dreadful place; I shall never
see them again!" sighed Benjamin.
They crept up to the bedroom
window. It was closed and bolted
like the kitchen. But there were
signs that this window had been
recently open; the cobwebs were
disturbed, and there were fresh dirty
footmarks upon the windowsill.
The room inside was so dark that
at first they could make out nothing;
but they could hear a noise--a
slow deep regular snoring grunt.
And as their eyes became accustomed
to the darkness, they perceived
that somebody was asleep
on Mr. Tod's bed, curled up under
the blanket.--"He has gone to bed
in his boots," whispered Peter.
Benjamin, who was all of atwitter,
pulled Peter off the windowsill.
Tommy Brock's snores continued,
grunty and regular from Mr.
Tod's bed. Nothing could be seen of
the young family.
The sun had set; an owl began to
hoot in the wood. There were many
unpleasant things lying about that
had much better have been buried;
rabbit bones and skulls, and chickens'
legs and other horrors. It was
a shocking place, and very dark.
They went back to the front of
the house, and tried in every way to
move the bolt of the kitchen window.
They tried to push up a rusty
nail between the window sashes;
but it was of no use, especially
without a light.
They sat side by side outside the
window, whispering and listening.
In half an hour the moon rose
over the wood. It shone full and
clear and cold, upon the house,
amongst the rocks, and in at the
kitchen window. But alas, no little
rabbit babies were to be seen! The
moonbeams twinkled on the carving
knife and the pie dish, and
made a path of brightness across
the dirty floor.
The light showed a little door in
a wall beside the kitchen fireplace
--a little iron door belonging to a
brick oven of that old-fashioned
sort that used to be heated with
faggots of wood.
And presently at the same moment
Peter and Benjamin noticed
that whenever they shook the window
the little door opposite shook
in answer. The young family were
alive; shut up in the oven!
Benjamin was so excited that it
was a mercy he did not awake
Tommy Brock, whose snores continued
solemnly in Mr. Tod's bed.
But there really was not very
much comfort in the discovery.
They could not open the window;
and although the young family was
alive the little rabbits were quite
incapable of letting themselves out;
they were not old enough to crawl.
After much whispering, Peter
and Benjamin decided to dig a tunnel.
They began to burrow a yard
or two lower down the bank. They
hoped that they might be able to
work between the large stones
under the house; the kitchen floor
was so dirty that it was impossible
to say whether it was made of earth
or flags.
They dug and dug for hours.
They could not tunnel straight on
account of stones; but by the end of
the night they were under the
kitchen floor. Benjamin was on his
back scratching upwards. Peter's
claws were worn down; he was
outside the tunnel, shuffling sand
away. He called out that it was
morning--sunrise; and that the
jays were making a noise down
below in the woods.
Benjamin Bunny came out of the
dark tunnel shaking the sand from
his ears; he cleaned his face with
his paws. Every minute the sun
shone warmer on the top of the
hill. In the valley there was a sea of
white mist, with golden tops of
trees showing through.
Again from the fields down
below in the mist there came the
angry cry of a jay, followed by the
sharp yelping bark of a fox!
Then those two rabbits lost their
heads completely. They did the
most foolish thing that they could
have done. They rushed into their
short new tunnel, and hid themselves
at the top end of it, under
Mr. Tod's kitchen floor.
Mr. Tod was coming up Bull
Banks, and he was in the very worst
of tempers. First he had been upset
by breaking the plate. It was his
own fault; but it was a china plate,
the last of the dinner service that
had belonged to his grandmother,
old Vixen Tod. Then the midges
had been very bad. And he had
failed to catch a hen pheasant on
her nest; and it had contained only
five eggs, two of them addled. Mr.
Tod had had an unsatisfactory
night.
As usual, when out of humor, he
determined to move house. First he
tried the pollard willow, but it was
damp; and the otters had left a
dead fish near it. Mr. Tod likes
nobody's leavings but his own.
He made his way up the hill; his
temper was not improved by noticing
unmistakable marks of badger.
No one else grubs up the moss so
wantonly as Tommy Brock.
Mr. Tod slapped his stick upon
the earth and fumed; he guessed
where Tommy Brock had gone to.
He was further annoyed by the jay
bird which followed him persistently.
It flew from tree to tree and
scolded, warning every rabbit
within hearing that either a cat or
a fox was coming up the plantation.
Once when it flew screaming
over his head Mr. Tod snapped at
it, and barked.
He approached his house very
carefully, with a large rusty key. He
sniffed and his whiskers bristled.
The house was locked up, but Mr.
Tod had his doubts whether it was
empty. He turned the rusty key in
the lock; the rabbits below could
hear it. Mr. Tod opened the door
cautiously and went in.
The sight that met Mr. Tod's eyes
in Mr. Tod's kitchen made Mr. Tod
furious. There was Mr. Tod's chair,
and Mr. Tod's pie dish, and his
knife and fork and mustard and
salt cellar, and his tablecloth, that
he had left folded up in the dresser
--all set out for supper (or breakfast)
--without doubt for that
odious Tommy Brock.
There was a smell of fresh earth
and dirty badger, which fortunately
overpowered all smell of
rabbit.
But what absorbed Mr. Tod's
attention was a noise, a deep slow
regular snoring grunting noise,
coming from his own bed.
He peeped through the hinges of
the half-open bedroom door. Then
he turned and came out of the
house in a hurry. His whiskers bristled
and his coat collar stood on
end with rage.
For the next twenty minutes Mr.
Tod kept creeping cautiously into
the house, and retreating hurriedly
out again. By degrees he ventured
further in--right into the bed-
room. When he was outside the
house, he scratched up the earth
with fury. But when he was inside
--he did not like the look of
Tommy Brock's teeth.
He was lying on his back with his
mouth open, grinning from ear to
ear. He snored peacefully and
regularly; but one eye was not
perfectly shut.
Mr. Tod came in and out of the
bedroom. Twice he brought in his
walking stick, and once he brought
in the coal scuttle. But he thought
better of it, and took them away.
When he came back after removing
the coal scuttle, Tommy Brock
was lying a little more sideways;
but he seemed even sounder asleep.
He was an incurably indolent person;
he was not in the least afraid
of Mr. Tod; he was simply too lazy
and comfortable to move.
Mr. Tod came back yet again
into the bedroom with a clothes
line. He stood a minute watching
Tommy Brock and listening attentively
to the snores. They were very
loud indeed, but seemed quite natural.
Mr. Tod turned his back towards
the bed, and undid the window. It
creaked; he turned round with a
jump. Tommy Brock, who had
opened one eye--shut it hastily.
The snores continued.
Mr. Tod's proceedings were
peculiar, and rather difficult (because
the bed was between the window
and the door of the bedroom). He
opened the window a little way,
and pushed out the greater part of
the clothes line on to the window-
sill. The rest of the line, with a hook
at the end, remained in his hand.
Tommy Brock snored conscientiously.
Mr. Tod stood and looked
at him for a minute; then he left
the room again.
Tommy Brock opened both eyes,
and looked at the rope and grinned.
There was a noise outside the window.
Tommy Brock shut his eyes in
a hurry.
Mr. Tod had gone out at the
front door, and round to the back
of the house. On the way, he stumbled
over the rabbit burrow. If he
had had any idea who was inside it
he would have pulled them out
quickly.
His foot went through the tunnel
nearly upon the top of Peter Rabbit
and Benjamin; but, fortunately, he
thought that it was some more of
Tommy Brock's work.
He took up the coil of line from
the sill, listened for a moment, and
then tied the rope to a tree.
Tommy Brock watched him with
one eye, through the window. He
was puzzled.
Mr. Tod fetched a large heavy
pailful of water from the spring,
and staggered with it through the
kitchen into his bedroom.
Tommy Brock snored industriously,
with rather a snort.
Mr. Tod put down the pail beside
the bed, took up the end of rope
with the hook--hesitated, and
looked at Tommy Brock. The
snores were almost apoplectic; but
the grin was not quite so big.
Mr. Tod gingerly mounted a
chair by the head of the bedstead.
His legs were dangerously near to
Tommy Brock's teeth.
He reached up and put the end
of rope, with the hook, over the
head of the tester bed, where the
curtains ought to hang.
(Mr. Tod's curtains were folded
up, and put away, owing to the
house being unoccupied. So was
the counterpane. Tommy Brock
was covered with a blanket only.)
Mr. Tod standing on the unsteady
chair looked down upon him attentively;
he really was a first prize
sound sleeper!
It seemed as though nothing
would waken him--not even the
flapping rope across the bed.
Mr. Tod descended safely from
the chair, and endeavored to get up
again with the pail of water. He
intended to hang it from the hook,
dangling over the head of Tommy
Brock, in order to make a sort of
shower-bath, worked by a string,
through the window.
But, naturally, being a thin-
legged person (though vindictive
and sandy whiskered)--he was
quite unable to lift the heavy
weight to the level of the hook and
rope. He very nearly overbalanced
himself.
The snores became more and
more apoplectic. One of Tommy
Brock's hind legs twitched under
the blanket, but still he slept on
peacefully.
Mr. Tod and the pail descended
from the chair without accident.
After considerable thought, he
emptied the water into a wash
basin and jug. The empty pail was
not too heavy for him; he slung it
up wobbling over the head of
Tommy Brock.
Surely there never was such a
sleeper! Mr. Tod got up and down,
down and up on the chair.
As he could not lift the whole
pailful of water at once he fetched
a milk jug and ladled quarts of
water into the pail by degrees. The
pail got fuller and fuller, and
swung like a pendulum. Occasionally
a drop splashed over; but still
Tommy Brock snored regularly and
never moved,--except in one eye.
At last Mr. Tod's preparations
were complete. The pail was full of
water; the rope was tightly strained
over the top of the bed, and across
the windowsill to the tree outside.
"It will make a great mess in my
bedroom; but I could never sleep in
that bed again without a spring
cleaning of some sort," said Mr.
Tod.
Mr. Tod took a last look at the
badger and softly left the room. He
went out of the house, shutting the
front door. The rabbits heard his
footsteps over the tunnel.
He ran round behind the house,
intending to undo the rope in order
to let fall the pailful of water upon
Tommy Brock--
"I will wake him up with an
unpleasant surprise," said Mr. Tod.
The moment he had gone,
Tommy Brock got up in a hurry; he
rolled Mr. Tod's dressing-gown into
a bundle, put it into the bed beneath
the pail of water instead of
himself, and left the room also--
grinning immensely.
He went into the kitchen, lighted
the fire and boiled the kettle; for
the moment he did not trouble
himself to cook the baby rabbits.
When Mr. Tod got to the tree, he
found that the weight and strain
had dragged the knot so tight that
it was past untying. He was obliged
to gnaw it with his teeth. He
chewed and gnawed for more than
twenty minutes. At last the rope
gave way with such a sudden jerk
that it nearly pulled his teeth out,
and quite knocked him over backwards.
Inside the house there was a
great crash and splash, and the
noise of a pail rolling over and over.
But no screams. Mr. Tod was
mystified; he sat quite still, and
listened attentively. Then he peeped
in at the window. The water was
dripping from the bed, the pail had
rolled into a corner.
In the middle of the bed, under
the blanket, was a wet SOMETHING
--much flattened in the middle,
where the pail had caught it (as it
were across the tummy). Its head
was covered by the wet blanket,
and it was NOT SNORING ANY LONGER.
There was nothing stirring, and
no sound except the drip, drop,
drop, drip, of water trickling from
the mattress.
Mr. Tod watched it for half an
hour; his eyes glistened.
Then he cut a caper, and became
so bold that he even tapped at the
window; but the bundle never
moved.
Yes--there was no doubt about
it--it had turned out even better
than he had planned; the pail had
hit poor old Tommy Brock, and
killed him dead!
"I will bury that nasty person in
the hole which he has dug. I will
bring my bedding out, and dry it in
the sun," said Mr. Tod.
"I will wash the tablecloth and
spread it on the grass in the sun to
bleach. And the blanket must be
hung up in the wind; and the bed
must be thoroughly disinfected,
and aired with a warming-pan;
and warmed with a hot water bottle."
"I will get soft soap, and monkey
soap, and all sorts of soap; and
soda and scrubbing brushes; and
persian powder; and carbolic to
remove the smell. I must have a
disinfecting. Perhaps I may have to
burn sulphur."
He hurried round the house to
get a shovel from the kitchen--
"First I will arrange the hole--then
I will drag out that person in the
blanket. . . ."
He opened the door. . . .
Tommy Brock was sitting at Mr.
Tod's kitchen table, pouring out tea
from Mr. Tod's teapot into Mr.
Tod's teacup. He was quite dry
himself and grinning; and he threw
the cup of scalding tea all over Mr.
Tod.
Then Mr. Tod rushed upon
Tommy Brock, and Tommy Brock
grappled with Mr. Tod amongst
the broken crockery, and there
was a terrific battle all over the
kitchen. To the rabbits underneath
it sounded as if the floor would give
way at each crash of falling furniture.
They crept out of their tunnel,
and hung about amongst the rocks
and bushes, listening anxiously.
Inside the house the racket was
fearful. The rabbit babies in the
oven woke up trembling; perhaps it
was fortunate they were shut up inside.
Everything was upset except the
kitchen table.
And everything was broken,
except the mantelpiece and the
kitchen fender. The crockery was
smashed to atoms.
The chairs were broken, and the
window, and the clock fell with a
crash, and there were handfuls of
Mr. Tod's sandy whiskers.
The vases fell off the mantelpiece,
the cannisters 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 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 quarreling 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, amidst 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 new long 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 TALE OF
PIGLING BLAND
[For Cicily and Charlie,
a Tale of the Christmas Pig]
Once upon a time there was an
old pig called Aunt Pettitoes. She
had eight of a family: four little girl
pigs, called Cross-patch, Suck-suck,
Yock-yock and Spot; and four little
boy pigs, called Alexander, Pigling
Bland, Chin-Chin and Stumpy.
Stumpy had had an accident to his
tail.
The eight little pigs had very fine
appetites--"Yus, yus, yus! they eat
and indeed they DO eat!" said Aunt
Pettitoes, looking at her family
with pride. Suddenly there were
fearful squeals; Alexander had
squeezed inside the hoops of the
pig trough and stuck.
Aunt Pettitoes and I dragged him
out by the hind legs.
Chin-chin was already in disgrace;
it was washing day, and he
had eaten a piece of soap. And
presently in a basket of clean
clothes, we found another dirty
little pig--"Tchut, tut, tut! whichever
is this?" grunted Aunt Pettitoes.
Now all the pig family are pink, or
pink with black spots, but this pig
child was smutty black all over;
when it had been popped into a
tub, it proved to be Yock-yock.
I went into the garden; there I
found Cross-patch and Suck-suck
rooting up carrots. I whipped them
myself and led them out by the
ears. Cross-patch tried to bite me.
"Aunt Pettitoes, Aunt Pettitoes!
you are a worthy person, but your
family is not well brought up.
Every one of them has been in
mischief except Spot and Pigling
Bland."
"Yus, yus!" sighed Aunt Pettitoes.
"And they drink bucketfuls of milk;
I shall have to get another cow!
Good little Spot shall stay at home
to do the housework; but the others
must go. Four little boy pigs and
four little girl pigs are too many
altogether." "Yus, yus, yus," said
Aunt Pettitoes, "there will be more
to eat without them."
So Chin-chin and Suck-suck went
away in a wheel-barrow, and
Stumpy, Yock-yock and Cross-
patch rode away in a cart.
And the other two little boy pigs,
Pigling Bland and Alexander went
to market. We brushed their coats,
we curled their tails and washed
their little faces, and wished them
good bye in the yard.
Aunt Pettitoes wiped her eyes
with a large pocket handkerchief,
then she wiped Pigling Bland's nose
and shed tears; then she wiped
Alexander's nose and shed tears;
then she passed the handkerchief to
Spot. Aunt Pettitoes sighed and
grunted, and addressed those little
pigs as follows--
"Now Pigling Bland, son Pigling
Bland, you must go to market. Take
your brother Alexander by the
hand. Mind your Sunday clothes,
and remember to blow your nose"
--(Aunt Pettitoes passed round the
handkerchief again)--"beware of
traps, hen roosts, bacon and eggs;
always walk upon your hind legs."
Pigling Bland who was a sedate
little pig, looked solemnly at his
mother, a tear trickled down his
cheek.
Aunt Pettitoes turned to the
other--"Now son Alexander take
the hand"--"Wee, wee, wee!"
giggled Alexander--"take the hand of
your brother Pigling Bland, you
must go to market. Mind--" "Wee,
wee, wee!" interrupted Alexander
again. "You put me out," said Aunt
Pettitoes--"Observe signposts and
milestones; do not gobble herring
bones--" "And remember," said I
impressively, "if you once cross the
county boundary you cannot come
back. Alexander, you are not
attending. Here are two licenses
permitting two pigs to go to market in
Lancashire. Attend Alexander. I
have had no end of trouble in getting
these papers from the policeman."
Pigling Bland listened
gravely; Alexander was hopelessly
volatile.
I pinned the papers, for safety,
inside their waistcoat pockets;
Aunt Pettitoes gave to each a little
bundle, and eight conversation
peppermints with appropriate
moral sentiments in screws of
paper. Then they started.
Pigling Bland and Alexander
trotted along steadily for a mile; at
least Pigling Bland did. Alexander
made the road half as long again
by skipping from side to side. He
danced about and pinched his
brother, singing--
"This pig went to market, this pig stayed
at home,
"This pig had a bit of meat--
let's see what they have given US for
dinner, Pigling?"
Pigling Bland and Alexander sat
down and untied their bundles.
Alexander gobbled up his dinner in
no time; he had already eaten all
his own peppermints--"Give me
one of yours, please, Pigling?" "But
I wish to preserve them for
emergencies," said Pigling Bland
doubtfully. Alexander went into squeals
of laughter. Then he pricked Pigling
with the pin that had fastened
his pig paper; and when Pigling
slapped him he dropped the pin,
and tried to take Pigling's pin, and
the papers got mixed up. Pigling
Bland reproved Alexander.
But presently they made it up
again, and trotted away together,
singing--
"Tom, Tom the piper's son, stole a pig
and away he ran!
"But all the tune that he could play, was
`Over the hills and far away!'"
"What's that, young Sirs? Stole a
pig? Where are your licenses?" said
the policeman. They had nearly run
against him round a corner. Pigling
Bland pulled out his paper; Alexander,
after fumbling, handed over
something scrumply--
"To 2 1/2 oz. conversation sweeties
at three farthings"--"What's this?
this ain't a license?" Alexander's
nose lengthened visibly, he had lost
it. "I had one, indeed I had, Mr.
Policeman!"
"It's not likely they let you start
without. I am passing the farm.
You may walk with me." "Can I
come back too?" inquired Pigling
Bland. "I see no reason, young Sir;
your paper is all right." Pigling
Bland did not like going on alone,
and it was beginning to rain. But it
is unwise to argue with the police;
he gave his brother a peppermint,
and watched him out of sight.
To conclude the adventures of
Alexander--the policeman sauntered
up to the house about tea
time, followed by a damp subdued
little pig. I disposed of Alexander in
the neighborhood; he did fairly
well when he had settled down.
Pigling Bland went on alone
dejectedly; he came to cross roads and
a sign-post--"To Market-town 5
miles," "Over the Hills, 4 miles,"
"To Pettitoes Farm, 3 miles."
Pigling Bland was shocked, there
was little hope of sleeping in Market
Town, and tomorrow was the
hiring fair; it was deplorable to
think how much time had been
wasted by the frivolity of Alexander.
He glanced wistfully along the
road towards the hills, and then set
off walking obediently the other
way, buttoning up his coat against
the rain. He had never wanted to
go; and the idea of standing all by
himself in a crowded market, to be
stared at, pushed, and hired by
some big strange farmer was very
disagreeable--
"I wish I could have a little garden
and grow potatoes," said Pigling
Bland.
He put his cold hand in his
pocket and felt his paper, he put his
other hand in his other pocket and
felt another paper--Alexander's!
Pigling squealed; then ran back
frantically, hoping to overtake
Alexander and the policeman.
He took a wrong turn--several
wrong turns, and was quite lost.
It grew dark, the wind whistled,
the trees creaked and groaned.
Pigling Bland became frightened
and cried "Wee, wee, wee! I can't
find my way home!"
After an hour's wandering he got
out of the wood; the moon shone
through the clouds, and Pigling
Bland saw a country that was new
to him.
The road crossed a moor; below
was a wide valley with a river twinkling
in the moonlight, and beyond
--in misty distance--lay the hills.
He saw a small wooden hut,
made his way to it, and crept inside
--"I am afraid it IS a hen house,
but what can I do?" said Pigling
Bland, wet and cold and quite tired
out.
"Bacon and eggs, bacon and
eggs!" clucked a hen on a perch.
"Trap, trap, trap! cackle, cackle,
cackle!" scolded the disturbed
cockerel. "To market, to market!
jiggettyjig!" clucked a broody white
hen roosting next to him. Pigling
Bland, much alarmed, determined
to leave at daybreak. In the meantime,
he and the hens fell asleep.
In less than an hour they were all
awakened. The owner, Mr. Peter
Thomas Piperson, came with a lantern
and a hamper to catch six
fowls to take to market in the
morning.
He grabbed the white hen roosting
next to the cock; then his eye
fell upon Pigling Bland, squeezed
up in a corner. He made a singular
remark--"Hallo, here's another!"
--seized Pigling by the scruff of the
neck, and dropped him into the
hamper. Then he dropped in five
more dirty, kicking, cackling hens
upon the top of Pigling Bland.
The hamper containing six fowls
and a young pig was no light
weight; it was taken down hill,
unsteadily, with jerks. Pigling,
although nearly scratched to pieces,
contrived to hide the papers and
peppermints inside his clothes.
At last the hamper was bumped
down upon a kitchen floor, the lid
was opened, and Pigling was lifted
out. He looked up, blinking, and
saw an offensively ugly elderly
man, grinning from ear to ear.
"This one's come of himself,
whatever," said Mr. Piperson, turning
Pigling's pockets inside out. He
pushed the hamper into a corner,
threw a sack over it to keep the
hens quiet, put a pot on the fire,
and unlaced his boots.
Pigling Bland drew forward a
coppy stool, and sat on the edge of
it, shyly warming his hands. Mr.
Piperson pulled off a boot and
threw it against the wainscot at the
further end of the kitchen. There
was a smothered noise--"Shut
up!" said Mr. Piperson. Pigling
Bland warmed his hands, and eyed
him.
Mr. Piperson pulled off the other
boot and flung it after the first,
there was again a curious noise--
"Be quiet, will ye?" said Mr. Piperson.
Pigling Bland sat on the very
edge of the coppy stool.
Mr. Piperson fetched meal from
a chest and made porridge, it
seemed to Pigling that something
at the further end of the kitchen
was taking a suppressed interest in
the cooking; but he was too hungry
to be troubled by noises.
Mr. Piperson poured out three
platefuls: for himself, for Pigling,
and a third-after glaring at Pigling--
he put away with much scuffling,
and locked up. Pigling Bland
ate his supper discreetly.
After supper Mr. Piperson consulted
an almanac, and felt Pigling's
ribs; it was too late in the
season for curing bacon, and he
grudged his meal. Besides, the hens
had seen this pig.
He looked at the small remains
of a flitch [side of bacon], and then
looked undecidedly at Pigling. "You
may sleep on the rug," said Mr.
Peter Thomas Piperson.
Pigling Bland slept like a top. In
the morning Mr. Piperson made
more porridge; the weather was
warmer. He looked how much
meal was left in the chest, and
seemed dissatisfied--"You'll likely
be moving on again?" said he to
Pigling Bland.
Before Pigling could reply, a
neighbor, who was giving Mr. Piperson
and the hens a lift, whistled
from the gate. Mr. Piperson hurried
out with the hamper, enjoining
Pigling to shut the door behind him
and not meddle with nought; or
"I'll come back and skin ye!" said
Mr. Piperson.
It crossed Pigling's mind that if
HE had asked for a lift, too, he
might still have been in time for
market.
But he distrusted Peter Thomas.
After finishing breakfast at his
leisure, Pigling had a look round
the cottage; everything was locked
up. He found some potato peelings
in a bucket in the back kitchen.
Pigling ate the peel, and washed up
the porridge plates in the bucket.
He sang while he worked--
"Tom with his pipe made such a noise,
He called up all the girls and boys--
"And they all ran to hear him play,
"Over the hills and far away!--"
Suddenly a little smothered voice
chimed in--
"Over the hills and a great way off,
The wind shall blow my top knot
off."
Pigling Bland put down a plate
which he was wiping, and listened.
After a long pause, Pigling went
on tiptoe and peeped round the
door into the front kitchen; there
was nobody there.
After another pause, Pigling
approached the door of the locked
cupboard, and snuffed at the keyhole.
It was quite quiet.
After another long pause, Pigling
pushed a peppermint under the
door. It was sucked in immediately.
In the course of the day Pigling
pushed in all his remaining six
peppermints.
When Mr. Piperson returned, he
found Pigling sitting before the fire;
he had brushed up the hearth and
put on the pot to boil; the meal was
not get-at-able.
Mr. Piperson was very affable; he
slapped Pigling on the back, made
lots of porridge and forgot to lock
the meal chest. He did lock the
cupboard door; but without properly
shutting it. He went to bed early,
and told Pigling upon no account
to disturb him next day before
twelve o'clock.
Pigling Bland sat by the fire,
eating his supper.
All at once at his elbow, a little
voice spoke--"My name is Pig-wig.
Make me more porridge, please!"
Pigling Bland jumped, and looked
round.
A perfectly lovely little black
Berkshire pig stood smiling beside
him. She had twinkly little screwed
up eyes, a double chin, and a short
turned up nose.
She pointed at Pigling's plate; he
hastily gave it to her, and fled to
the meal chest--"How did you
come here?" asked Pigling Bland.
"Stolen," replied Pig-wig, with
her mouth full. Pigling helped himself
to meal without scruple. "What
for?" "Bacon, hams," replied Pig-
wig cheerfully. "Why on earth don't
you run away?" exclaimed the
horrified Pigling.
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