A Collection of Beatrix Potter Stories

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"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 busy lighting the candle to
look into the chest.

They did not see him.

Anna Maria went down by way of the
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 cob-
webs, and he was tied up in such very tight
knots, he could not make anybody hear him.

Except a spider, which 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 blue-bottles.
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 spat, 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
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 wheel-barrow 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 lane from
the corner, and I saw Mr. Samuel Whiskers
and his wife on the run, with big bundles
on a little wheel-barrow, which looked very
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 wheel-barrow!

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
grand-children and great great grand-children.

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 or
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.

THE END

THE TALE OF MR. TOD

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 foxey whiskers; they never
knew where he would be next.

One day he was living in a stick-
house in the coppice, 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 day-time, 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 fortnight, 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 foxey
flavour 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 refreshment. 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 a twitter. 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 neighbours. 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 tumble-
down pig-stye. 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 window-sill.

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 a twitter,
pulled Peter off the window-sill.

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 humour,
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 table-cloth 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
bedroom. 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 uneasy, (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.

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