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!”