AS soon as they had passed, little Benjamin Bunny slid down into the road, and set off—with a hop, skip and a jump—to call upon his relations, who lived in the wood at the back of Mr. McGregor's garden.
THAT wood was full of rabbit holes; and in the neatest sandiest hole of all, cousins—Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail and Peter.
Old Mrs. Rabbit was a widow; she earned her living by knitting
rabbit-wool mittens and muffetees (I once bought a pair at a bazaar).
She also sold herbs, and rosemary tea, and rabbit-tobacco (which is what
WE call lavender).
LITTLE Benjamin did not very much want to see his Aunt.
He came round the back of the fir-tree, and nearly tumbled upon the top of his Cousin Peter.
PETER was sitting by himself. He looked poorly, and was dressed in a red cotton pocket-handkerchief.
"Peter,"—said little Benjamin, in a whisper—"who has got your clothes?"
PETER replied—"The scarecrow in Mr. McGregor's garden," and described how he had been chased about the garden, and had dropped his shoes and coat.
Little Benjamin sat down beside his cousin, and assured him that Mr. McGregor had gone out in a gig, and Mrs. McGregor also; and certainly for the day, because she was wearing her best bonnet.
PETER said he hoped that it would rain.