The Tale of Peter Rabbit

The Tale

of

Peter Rabbit

THE SAALFIELD PUB. Co.
1916

The Tale

of

Peter Rabbit

Once upon a time there were four little rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail and Peter.

They lived with their mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of a very big fir tree. "Now, my dears," said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, "You may

go into the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden.

Your father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs. McGregor."

Now run along and don't get into mischief. I am going out."

Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella and went through the wood to the baker's.

She bought a loaf of brown bread and five currant buns.

Flopsy, Mopsy and Cotton-tail who were good little bunnies went down the lane together to gather blackberries.

But Peter who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's garden and

Squeezed under the gate!

First he ate some lettuces and some French beans

And then He Ate Some Radishes

	And then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley.
	But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr. McGregor!

Mr. McGregor was on his hands and knees planting out young cabbages, but he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out "Stop thief!" Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the garden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate.

He lost one shoe among the cabbages, and the other amongst the potatoes.

After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster

So that I think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately run into a gooseberry net

And got caught by the large buttons on his jacket.

It was a blue jacket with brass buttons, quite new.

Peter gave himself up for lost and shed big tears; But his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows.

Who flew to him in great excitement and implored him to exert himself.

Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve which he intended to pop on the top of Peter, but Peter wriggled out just in time. Leaving his jacket behind him.

He rushed into the tool-shed and—

Jumped into a can.

It would have been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it had not had so much water in it. Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the tool-shed, perhaps hidden underneath a flower-pot. He began to turn them over carefully, looking under each. Presently Peter sneezed "Kertyschoo!"

Mr. McGregor was after him in no time, and tried to put his foot upon Peter, who

Jumped out of a window, upsetting three plants.

	Peter sat down to rest; he was out of breath and trembling with fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also he was very damp with sitting in that can.
After a time he began to wander about, going lippity— lippity— not very fast and looking all around.

He found a door in a wall; but it was locked and there was no room for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath.

An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to the gate but she had such a large pea in her mouth she could not answer. She only shook her head at him.

Peter began to cry.

Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he became more and more puzzled. Presently he came to a pond where Mr. McGregor filled his water-cans. A white cat was staring at some gold-fish; she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her.

He had heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny.

He went back towards the tool-shed, but suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe—scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch. Peter scuttered underneath the bushes, but presently as nothing happened, he came out and

Climbed upon a wheelbarrow, and peeped over.

The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was turned towards Peter and beyond him was the gate!

Peter got down very quietly off the wheel-barrow and started running as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some black currant bushes. Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate and was safe at last in the wood outside the garden.

Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scare-crow to frighten the blackbirds.

Peter never stopped running or looked behind him

Till he got home to the big fir-tree.

He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit hole, and shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking; she wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a fortnight!

I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter! "One teaspoonful to be taken at bedtime." But—

Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.

THE LITTLE RED HEN

An Old English Folk Tale

Retold and Illustrated

by

FLORENCE WHITE WILLIAMS

The
Saalfield Publishing Company
Chicago - Akron, Ohio - New York

PRINTED IN U. S. A.

COPYRIGHT, 1918
BY
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

---

The Little Red Hen

Little Red Hen lived in a
barnyard. She spent almost all of
her time walking about the barnyard

in

her

picketty-pecketty

fashion,

scratching

everywhere

for

worms.

he dearly loved fat, delicious worms and felt they were absolutely necessary to the health of her children. As
often as

she

found a

worm

she

would

call

“Chuck-chuck-chuck!” to her chickies.

hen they were gathered about her, she would distribute choice morsels of her tid-bit. A busy little body was she!

A cat usually napped lazily in the barn door, not even bothering herself to scare the rat who ran here and there as

he pleased.

And

as for

the pig

who lived

in the

sty—he

did

not care what

happened so long as he could eat and grow fat.

ne day the Little Red Hen found a Seed. It was a Wheat Seed, but the Little Red Hen was so accustomed to bugs and worms that she supposed this to be some new and perhaps very delicious kind of meat. She bit it gently and found that it resembled a worm in no way whatsoever as to taste although because it was long and slender, a Little Red Hen might easily be fooled by its appearance.

arrying it about, she made many inquiries as to what it might be. She found it was a Wheat Seed and that, if planted, it would grow up and when ripe it could be made into flour and then into bread.

When she discovered

that, she knew it ought

to be planted. She was

so busy hunting food for

herself and her family

that, naturally, she

thought she ought not

to take time to plant it.

o she thought of the Pig—upon whom time must hang heavily and of the Cat who had nothing to do, and of the great fat Rat with his idle hours, and she called loudly:

“Who

will

plant

the

Seed?”

But the Pig said, “Not I,”

and the Cat said, “Not I,”

and the Rat said, “Not I.”

“Well, then,” said the Little Red Hen, “I will.”

And she did.

hen she went on with her daily duties through the long summer days, scratching for worms and feeding her chicks, while

the Pig grew fat,

and the Cat grew fat,

and the Rat grew fat,

and the Wheat

grew tall and

ready for

harvest.

o one day the Little Red Hen chanced to notice how large the Wheat was and that the grain was ripe, so she ran about calling briskly: “Who will cut the Wheat?”

The Pig said, “Not I,”

the Cat said, “Not I,”

and the Rat said, “Not I.”

“Well,

then,”

said the

Little

Red Hen,

“I will.”

And she did.

he got the sickle from among the farmer's tools in the barn and proceeded to cut off all of the big plant of Wheat.

On the ground lay the nicely cut Wheat, ready to be gathered and threshed, but the newest and yellowest and downiest of Mrs.

Hen's chicks set up a “peep-peep-peeping” in their most vigorous fashion, proclaiming to the world at large, but most particularly to their mother, that she was neglecting them.

oor Little Red Hen! She felt quite bewildered and hardly knew where to turn.

Her attention was sorely divided between her duty to her children and her duty to the Wheat, for which she felt responsible.

So, again, in a very hopeful tone, she called out, “Who will thresh the Wheat?”

But the Pig, with a grunt, said, “Not I,” and the Cat, with a meow, said, “Not I,” and the Rat, with a squeak, said, “Not I.”

So the Little Red Hen, looking, it must be admitted, rather discouraged, said, “Well, I will, then.”

And she did.

Of course, she had to feed her babies first, though, and when she had gotten them all to sleep for their afternoon nap, she

went out and threshed the Wheat. Then she called out: “Who will carry the Wheat to the mill to be ground?”

Turning their backs with snippy glee, that Pig said, “Not I,”

and

that

Cat

said,

“Not I,”

and

that

Rat

said,

“Not I.”

o the good Little Red Hen could do nothing but say, “I will then.” And she did.

Carrying the sack of Wheat, she trudged off to the distant mill. There she ordered the Wheat ground into beautiful white flour. When the miller brought her the

flour

she walked

slowly

back all

the way

to her own

barnyard

in her own

picketty-pecketty

fashion.

he even managed, in spite of her load, to catch a nice juicy worm now and then and had one left for the babies when she reached them. Those cunning little fluff-balls were so glad to see their mother. For the first time, they really appreciated her.

After this really strenuous day Mrs. Hen retired to her slumbers earlier than usual—indeed, before the colors came into the sky to herald the setting of the sun, her usual bedtime hour.

She would have liked to sleep late in the morning, but her chicks, joining in the morning chorus of the hen yard, drove away all hopes of such a luxury.

Even as she sleepily half opened one eye, the thought came to her that to-day that Wheat must, somehow, be made into bread.

She was not in the habit of making bread, although, of course, anyone can make it if he or she follows the recipe with care, and she knew perfectly well that she could do it if necessary.

So after her children were fed and made sweet and fresh for the day, she hunted up the Pig, the Cat and the Rat.

Still confident that they would

surely help

her some day

she sang out,

“Who will

make the

bread?”

las for the Little Red Hen! Once

more her hopes were dashed! For

the

Pig

said,

“Not

I,”

the

Cat

said,

“Not

I,”

and

the

Rat

said,

“Not

I.”

o the Little Red Hen said once more, “I will then,” and she did.

Feeling that she might have known all the time that she would have to do it all herself, she went and put on a fresh apron and spotless cook's cap. First of all she set the dough, as was proper. When it was time she brought out the moulding board and the baking tins, moulded the bread, divided it into loaves, and put them into the oven to bake. All the while the Cat sat lazily by, giggling and chuckling.

And close at

hand the

vain Rat

powdered

his nose

and admired

himself

in a mirror.

In the distance

could be

heard the long-drawn

snores of

the dozing Pig.

t last the great moment arrived. A delicious odor was wafted upon the autumn breeze. Everywhere the barnyard citizens sniffed the air with delight.

The Red Hen ambled in her picketty-pecketty way toward the source of all this excitement.

lthough she appeared to be perfectly calm, in reality she could only with difficulty restrain an impulse to dance and sing, for had she not

done

all

the

work

on

this

wonderful

bread?

mall wonder that she was the most excited person in the barnyard!

She did not know whether the bread would be fit to eat, but—joy of joys!—when the lovely brown loaves came out of the oven,

they were done to perfection.

Then, probably because she had acquired the habit, the Red Hen called:

“Who

will

eat

the

Bread?”

All the animals in the barnyard were watching hungrily and smacking their lips in anticipation, and

the Pig said, “I will,”

the Cat said, “I will,”

the Rat said, “I will.”

But the Little Red Hen said,

“No, you won't. I will.”

And

she did.