Title:THE GREAT BIG TREASURY
The Great Big Treasury
THE TALE OF PETER RABBIT
THE TAILOR OF GLOUCESTER
THE TALE OF SQUIRREL NUTKIN
THE TALE OF BENJAMIN BUNNY
THE TALE OF TWO BAD MICE
THE TALE OF MRS. TIGGY-WINKLE
THE PIE AND THE PATTY-PAN
THE TALE OF MR. JEREMY FISHER
THE STORY OF A FIERCE BAD RABBIT
THE STORY OF MISS MOPPET
THE TALE OF TOM KITTEN
THE TALE OF JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK
THE ROLY-POLY PUDDING
THE TALE OF THE FLOPSY BUNNIES
THE TALE OF MRS. TITTLEMOUSE
THE TALE OF TIMMY TIPTOES
THE TALE OF MR. TOD
THE TALE OF PIGLING BLAND
GINGER AND PICKLES
THE TALE OF
Once upon a time there were
four little Rabbits, and their names
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 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 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
Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail, who
were good little bunnies, went down
the lane 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
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.
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 of his shoes among the
cabbages, and the other shoe
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 upon the
top of Peter; but Peter wriggled out
just in time, leaving his jacket behind him.
And rushed into the toolshed, 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 toolshed,
perhaps hidden underneath a flowerpot. 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. The window
was too small for Mr. McGregor, and
he was tired of running after Peter. He
went back to his work.
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
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 that 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
goldfish; 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 has heard about
cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny.
He went back towards the
toolshed, but suddenly, quite close to
him, he heard the noise of a hoe--scrr-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
Peter got down very quietly off the
wheelbarrow, 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
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 table-spoonful to be taken at
But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail
had bread and milk and blackberries
THE TAILOR OF
"be at charges for a looking-glass;
And entertain a score or two of tailors."
My Dear Freda:
Because you are fond of failytales, and have been ill, I
have made you a story all for yourself--a new one that
nobody has read before.
And the queerest thing about it is--that I heard it in
Gloucestershire, and that it is true--at least about the
tailor, the waistcoat, and the
"No more twist!"
In the time of swords and peri wigs
and full-skirted coats with flowered
lappets--when gentlemen wore
ruffles, and gold-laced waistcoats of
paduasoy and taffeta--there lived a
tailor in Gloucester.
He sat in the window of a little
shop in Westgate Street, cross-legged
on a table from morning till dark.
All day long while the light lasted
he sewed and snippetted, piecing out
his satin, and pompadour, and
lutestring; stuffs had strange names,
and were very expensive in the days of
the Tailor of Gloucester.
But although he sewed fine silk for
his neighbours, he himself was very,
very poor. He cut his coats without
waste; according to his embroidered
cloth, they were very small ends and
snippets that lay about upon the
table--"Too narrow breadths for
nought--except waistcoats for mice,"
said the tailor.
One bitter cold day near
Christmastime the tailor began to
make a coat (a coat of cherrycoloured corded silk embroidered
with pansies and roses) and a creamcoloured satin waistcoat for the
Mayor of Gloucester.
The tailor worked and worked, and
he talked to himself: "No breadth at
all, and cut on the cross; it is no
breadth at all; tippets for mice and
ribbons for mobs! for mice!" said the
Tailor of Gloucester.
When the snow-flakes came down
against the small leaded windowpanes and shut out the light, the tailor
had done his work; all the silk
and satin lay cut out upon the table.
There were twelve pieces for the
coat and four pieces for the waistcoat;
and there were pocket-flaps and cuffs
and buttons, all in order. For the
lining of the coat there was fine
yellow taffeta, and for the buttonholes of the waistcoat there was
cherry-coloured twist. And everything
was ready to sew together in the
morning, all measured and
sufficient--except that there was
wanting just one single skein of
cherry-coloured twisted silk.
The tailor came out of his shop at
dark. No one lived there at nights but
little brown mice, and THEY ran ...