The Great Big Treasury of Beatrix Potter

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"Which way did she go, Moppet?"

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

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

They went into the dairy.

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

They tipped over the jar, and she
scrambled out.

"Oh, Mother, Mother!" said
Mittens--

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

Ribby and Tabitha looked at one
another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They did not see him.

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

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

She did not observe Moppet.

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

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

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

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

Tom Kitten wriggled and squirmed
until he was quite exhausted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rats dropped the rolling pin
and listened attentively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is no end to them!

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

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

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

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

A Mouse.

THE TALE OF
THE FLOPSY BUNNIES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes Peter Rabbit had no
cabbages to spare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. McGregor climbed down on
to the rubbish heap--

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

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

He went to put away the mowing
machine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Flopsy Bunnies followed at
a safe distance.

They watched him go into
his house.

And then they crept up to
the window to listen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(The youngest Flopsy Bunny got
upon the windowsill.)

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

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

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

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

Mrs. McGregor untied the
sack and put her hand inside.

When she felt the vegetables
she became very very angry.
She said that Mr. McGregor
had "done it a purpose."

And Mr. McGregor was very
angry too. One of the rotten
marrows came flying through
the kitchen window, and hit
the youngest Flopsy Bunny.

It was rather hurt.

Then Benjamin and Flopsy
thought that it was time to go
home.

So Mr. McGregor did not get his
tobacco, and Mrs. McGregor did
not get her rabbit skins.

But next Christmas Thomasina
Tittlemouse got a present of
enough rabbit wool to make herself
a cloak and a hood, and a
handsome muff and a pair of
warm mittens.

THE TALE OF
MRS. TITTLEMOUSE

[Nellie's
Little Book]

Once upon a time there was
a woodmouse, and her name
was Mrs. Tittlemouse.

She lived in a bank under a hedge.

Such a funny house! There
were yards and yards of sandy
passages, leading to store-
rooms and nut cellars and
seed cellars, all amongst the
roots of the hedge.

There was a kitchen, a parlor,
a pantry, and a larder.

Also, there was Mrs. Tittle-
mouse's bedroom, where she
slept in a little box bed!

Mrs. Tittlemouse was a most
terribly tidy particular little
mouse, always sweeping and
dusting the soft sandy floors.

Sometimes a beetle lost its way
in the passages.

"Shuh! shuh! little dirty feet!"
said Mrs. Tittlemouse, clattering
her dustpan.

And one day a little old woman
ran up and down in a red spotty
cloak.

"Your house is on fire, Mother
Ladybird! Fly away home to your
children!"

Another day, a big fat spider
came in to shelter from the rain.

"Beg pardon, is this not Miss
Muffet's?"

"Go away, you bold bad spider!
Leaving ends of cobweb all over
my nice clean house!"

She bundled the spider out at a
window.

He let himself down the hedge
with a long thin bit of string.

Mrs. Tittlemouse went on her
way to a distant storeroom, to
fetch cherrystones and thistle-
down seed for dinner.

All along the passage she
sniffed, and looked at the floor.

"I smell a smell of honey; is it
the cowslips outside, in the hedge?
I am sure I can see the marks of
little dirty feet."

Suddenly round a corner, she
met Babbitty Bumble--"Zizz,
Bizz, Bizzz!" said the bumble bee.

Mrs. Tittlemouse looked at her
severely. She wished that she had
a broom.

"Good-day, Babbitty Bumble; I
should be glad to buy some bees-
wax. But what are you doing
down here? Why do you always
come in at a window, and say,
Zizz, Bizz, Bizzz?" Mrs. Tittle-
mouse began to get cross.

"Zizz, Wizz, Wizzz!" replied
Babbitty Bumble in a peevish
squeak. She sidled down a passage,
and disappeared into a
storeroom which had been used
for acorns.

Mrs. Tittlemouse had eaten the
acorns before Christmas; the
storeroom ought to have been
empty.

But it was full of untidy dry
moss.

Mrs. Tittlemouse began to pull out the
moss. Three or four other bees put
their heads out, and buzzed fiercely.

"I am not in the habit of letting
lodgings; this is an intrusion!"
said Mrs. Tittlemouse.
"I will have them turned out
--" "Buzz! Buzz! Buzzz!"--"I
wonder who would help me?"
"Bizz, Wizz, Wizzz!"

--"I will not have Mr. Jackson;
he never wipes his feet."

Mrs. Tittlemouse decided to
leave the bees till after dinner.

When she got back to the parlor,
she heard some one coughing
in a fat voice; and there sat Mr.
Jackson himself.

He was sitting all over a
small rocking chair, twiddling his
thumbs and smiling, with his feet
on the fender.

He lived in a drain below the
hedge, in a very dirty wet ditch.

"How do you do, Mr. Jackson?
Deary me, you have got
very wet!"

"Thank you, thank you,
thank you, Mrs. Tittlemouse!
I'll sit awhile and dry myself,"
said Mr. Jackson.

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.

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