A Collection of Beatrix Potter Stories

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"I would not trouble you for
worlds; I feel wonderfully better.
One pill of Dr. Maggotty----"

"Indeed it is most admirable, if
it has cured you of a patty-pan! I
will call directly after breakfast to
ask how you have slept."

Ribby and Duchess said good-
bye affectionately, and Duchess
started home. Half-way up the
lane she stopped and looked back;
Ribby had gone in and shut her
door. Duchess slipped through the
fence, and ran round to the back
of Ribby's house, and peeped into
the yard.

Upon the roof of the pig-stye sat
Dr. Maggotty and three jackdaws.
The jackdaws were eating pie-
crust, and the magpie was drinking
gravy out of a patty-pan.

"Gammon, ha, HA!" he shouted
when he saw Duchess's little black
nose peeping round the corner.

Duchess ran home feeling uncommonly
silly!

When Ribby came out for a pailful
of water to wash up the tea-
things, she found a pink and white
pie-dish lying smashed in the middle
of the yard. The patty-pan
was under the pump, where Dr
Maggotty had considerately left it.

Ribby stared with amazement--
"Did you ever see the like! so there
really WAS a patty-pan? . . . . But
my patty-pans are all in the kitchen
cupboard. Well I never did! . . . .
Next time I want to give a party
--I will invite Cousin Tabitha
Twitchit!"

THE END

THE TALE OF
JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
A FARMYARD TALE
FOR
RALPH AND BETSY

WHAT a funny sight it is
to see a brood of
ducklings with a hen!
--Listen to the story of
Jemima Puddle-duck, who was
annoyed because the farmer's
wife would not let her hatch
her own eggs.

HER sister-in-law, Mrs.
Rebeccah Puddle-duck,
was perfectly willing to leave
the hatching to some one else
--"I have not the patience to
sit on a nest for twenty-eight
days; and no more have you,
Jemima. You would let them
go cold; you know you would!"

"I wish to hatch my own
eggs; I will hatch them all
by myself," quacked Jemima
Puddle-duck.

SHE tried to hide her eggs;
but they were always found
and carried off.

Jemima Puddle-duck
became quite desperate. She
determined to make a nest
right away from the farm.

SHE set off on a fine spring
afternoon along the cart-
road that leads over the hill.

She was wearing a shawl
and a poke bonnet.

WHEN she reached the top
of the hill, she saw a
wood in the distance.

She thought that it looked
a safe quiet spot.

JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
was not much in the habit
of flying. She ran downhill a
few yards flapping her shawl,
and then she jumped off into
the air.

SHE flew beautifully when
she had got a good start.

She skimmed along over the
tree-tops until she saw an open
place in the middle of the wood,
where the trees and brushwood
had been cleared.

JEMIMA alighted rather
heavily, and began to
waddle about in search of a
convenient dry nesting-place.
She rather fancied a tree-stump
amongst some tall fox-gloves.

But--seated upon the stump,
she was startled to find an
elegantly dressed gentleman
reading a newspaper.

He had black prick ears and
sandy coloured whiskers.

"Quack?" said Jemima
Puddle-duck, with her head
and her bonnet on one side--
"Quack?"

THE gentleman raised his
eyes above his newspaper
and looked curiously at
Jemima--

"Madam, have you lost your
way?" said he. He had a long
bushy tail which he was sitting
upon, as the stump was somewhat
damp.

Jemima thought him mighty
civil and handsome. She
explained that she had not
lost her way, but that she was
trying to find a convenient
dry nesting-place.

"AH! is that so? indeed!" said
the gentleman with sandy
whiskers, looking curiously at
Jemima. He folded up the
newspaper, and put it in his
coat-tail pocket.

Jemima complained of the
superfluous hen.

"Indeed! how interesting!
I wish I could meet with that
fowl. I would teach it to mind
its own business!"

"BUT as to a nest--there is
no difficulty: I have a
sackful of feathers in my wood-
shed. No, my dear madam,
you will be in nobody's way.
You may sit there as long as
you like," said the bushy long-
tailed gentleman.

He led the way to a very
retired, dismal-looking house
amongst the fox-gloves.

It was built of faggots and
turf, and there were two broken
pails, one on top of another,
by way of a chimney.

"THIS is my summer
residence; you would not
find my earth--my winter
house--so convenient," said
the hospitable gentleman.

There was a tumble-down
shed at the back of the house,
made of old soap-boxes. The
gentleman opened the door,
and showed Jemima in.

THE shed was almost quite
full of feathers--it was
almost suffocating; but it was
comfortable and very soft.

Jemima Puddle-duck was
rather surprised to find such a
vast quantity of feathers. But
it was very comfortable; and
she made a nest without any
trouble at all.

WHEN she came out, the
sandy whiskered gentleman
was sitting on a log
reading the newspaper--at
least he had it spread out, but
he was looking over the top
of it.

He was so polite, that he
seemed almost sorry to let
Jemima go home for the night.
He promised to take great care
of her nest until she came back
again next day.

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

JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
came every afternoon; she
laid nine eggs in the nest.
They were greeny white and
very large. The foxy gentleman
admired them immensely.
He used to turn them over
and count them when Jemima
was not there.

At last Jemima told him
that she intended to begin to
sit next day--"and I will bring
a bag of corn with me, so that
I need never leave my nest
until the eggs are hatched.
They might catch cold," said
the conscientious Jemima.

"MADAM, I beg you not
to trouble yourself with
a bag; I will provide oats.
But before you commence your
tedious sitting, I intend to give
you a treat. Let us have a
dinner-party all to ourselves!

"May I ask you to bring up
some herbs from the farm-
garden to make a savoury
omelette? Sage and thyme,
and mint and two onions, and
some parsley. I will provide
lard for the stuff-lard for the
omelette," said the hospitable
gentleman with sandy whiskers.

JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
was a simpleton: not even
the mention of sage and onions
made her suspicious.

She went round the farm-
garden, nibbling off snippets
of all the different sorts of
herbs that are used for stuffing
roast duck.

AND she waddled into the
kitchen, and got two
onions out of a basket.

The collie-dog Kep met her
coming out, "What are you
doing with those onions?
Where do you go every afternoon
by yourself, Jemima
Puddle-duck?"

Jemima was rather in awe
of the collie; she told him the
whole story.

The collie listened, with his
wise head on one side; he
grinned when she described
the polite gentleman with
sandy whiskers.

HE asked several questions
about the wood, and
about the exact position of the
house and shed.

Then he went out, and
trotted down the village. He
went to look for two fox-hound
puppies who were out at walk
with the butcher.

JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
went up the cart-road for
the last time, on a sunny afternoon.
She was rather burdened
with bunches of herbs
and two onions in a bag.

She flew over the wood, and
alighted opposite the house of
the bushy long-tailed gentleman.

HE was sitting on a log;
he sniffed the air, and
kept glancing uneasily round
the wood. When Jemima
alighted he quite jumped.

"Come into the house as
soon as you have looked at
your eggs. Give me the herbs
for the omelette. Be sharp!"

He was rather abrupt.
Jemima Puddle-duck had
never heard him speak like
that.

She felt surprised, and
uncomfortable.

WHILE she was inside she
heard pattering feet
round the back of the shed.
Some one with a black nose
sniffed at the bottom of the
door, and then locked it.

Jemima became much
alarmed.

A MOMENT afterwards
there were most awful
noises--barking, baying,
growls and howls, squealing
and groans.

And nothing more was ever
seen of that foxy-whiskered
gentleman.

PRESENTLY Kep opened
the door of the shed, and
let out Jemima Puddle-duck.

Unfortunately the puppies
rushed in and gobbled up all
the eggs before he could stop
them.

He had a bite on his ear
and both the puppies were
limping.

JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
was escorted home in tears
on account of those eggs.

SHE laid some more in June,
and she was permitted to
keep them herself: but only
four of them hatched.

Jemima Puddle-duck said
that it was because of her
nerves; but she had always
been a bad sitter.

THE END

THE TALE OF
PIGLING BLAND

FOR
CECILY AND CHARLIE,
A TALE OF
THE CHRISTMAS PIG.

THE TALE OF PIGLING BLAND

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 sign-posts 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 licences 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 licences?"
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 licence." 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 neighbourhood; 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 to-morrow 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!
jiggetty jig!" 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, 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 to see 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
neighbour, 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 tip-toe 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 key-
hole. 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 the 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.

"I shall after supper," said Pig-
wig decidedly.

Pigling Bland made more porridge
and watched her shyly.

She finished a second plate, got
up, and looked about her, as though
she were going to start.

"You can't go in the dark," said
Pigling Bland.

Pig-wig looked anxious.

"Do you know your way by
daylight?"

"I know we can see this little
white house from the hills across
the river. Which way are YOU
going, Mr. Pig?"

"To market--I have two pig
papers. I might take you to the
bridge; if you have no objection,"
said Pigling much confused and
sitting on the edge of his coppy stool.
Pig-wig's gratitude was such and she
asked so many questions that it
became embarrassing to Pigling Bland.

He was obliged to shut his eyes
and pretend to sleep. She became
quiet, and there was a smell of
peppermint.

"I thought you had eaten them,"
said Pigling, waking suddenly.

"Only the corners," replied Pig-
wig, studying the sentiments with
much interest by the firelight.

"I wish you wouldn't; he might
smell them through the ceiling,"
said the alarmed Pigling.

Pig-wig put back the sticky
peppermints into her pocket; "Sing
something," she demanded.

"I am sorry . . . I have tooth-
ache," said Pigling much dismayed.

"Then I will sing," replied Pig-wig.
"You will not mind if I say iddy
tidditty? I have forgotten some of
the words."

Pigling Bland made no objection;
he sat with his eyes half shut, and
watched her.

She wagged her head and rocked
about, clapping time and singing
in a sweet little grunty voice--

"A funny old mother pig lived in a
stye, and three little piggies had she;
"(Ti idditty idditty) umph, umph,
umph! and the little pigs said, wee, wee!"

She sang successfully through
three or four verses, only at every
verse her head nodded a little lower,
and her little twinkly eyes closed
up.

"Those three little piggies grew peaky
and lean, and lean they might very
well be;
"For somehow they couldn't say umph,
umph, umph! and they wouldn't
say wee, wee, wee!
"For somehow they couldn't say--

Pig-wig's head bobbed lower and
lower, until she rolled over, a little
round ball, fast asleep on the hearth-rug.

Pigling Bland, on tip-toe, covered
her up with an antimacassar.

He was afraid to go to sleep
himself; for the rest of the night he
sat listening to the chirping of the
crickets and to the snores of Mr.
Piperson overhead.

Early in the morning, between
dark and daylight, Pigling tied up
his little bundle and woke up Pig-
wig. She was excited and half-
frightened. "But it's dark! How
can we find our way?"

"The cock has crowed; we must
start before the hens come out; they
might shout to Mr. Piperson."

Pig-wig sat down again, and
commenced to cry.

"Come away Pig-wig; we can see
when we get used to it. Come!
I can hear them clucking!"

Pigling had never said shuh! to
a hen in his life, being peaceable;
also he remembered the hamper.

He opened the house door quietly
and shut it after them. There was
no garden; the neighbourhood of
Mr. Piperson's was all scratched
up by fowls. They slipped away
hand in hand across an untidy field
to the road.

The sun rose while they were
crossing the moor, a dazzle of light
over the tops of the hills. The
sunshine crept down the slopes
into the peaceful green valleys,
where little white cottages nestled
in gardens and orchards.

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