The shed was almost quite full of
feathers—it was almost suffocating;
but it was comfortable and very soft.
Jemima Puddle-duck was rather
surprised to find such a vast quantity
of feathers. But it was very
comfortable; and she made a nest
without any trouble at all.
When she came out, the sandy-
whiskered gentleman was sitting on a
log reading the newspaper—at least
he had it spread out, but he was
looking over the top of it.
He was so polite that he seemed
almost sorry to let Jemima go home
for the night. He promised to take
great care of her nest until she came
back again the next day.
He said he loved eggs and
ducklings; he should be proud to see a
fine nestful in his woodshed.
Jemima Puddle-duck came every
afternoon; she laid nine eggs in the
nest. They were greeny white and very
large. The foxy gentleman admired
them immensely. He used to turn
them over and count them when
Jemima was not there.
At last Jemima told him that she
intended to begin to sit next day—"and
I will bring a bag of corn with me, so
that I need never leave my nest until
the eggs are hatched. They might catch
cold," said the conscientious Jemima.
"Madam, I beg you not to trouble
yourself with a bag; I will provide
oats. But before you commence your
tedious sitting, I intend to give you a
treat. Let us have a dinner party all to
ourselves!
"May I ask you to bring up some
herbs from the farm garden to make
a savory omelet? Sage and thyme, and
mint and two onions, and some
parsley. I will provide lard for the
stuff—lard for the omelet," said the
hospitable gentleman with sandy
whiskers.
Jemima Puddle-duck was a
simpleton: not even the mention of
sage and onions made her suspicious.
She went round the farm garden,
nibbling off snippets of all the
different sorts of herbs that are used
for stuffing roast duck.
And she waddled into the kitchen
and got two onions out of a basket.
The collie dog Kep met her coming
out, "What are you doing with those
onions? Where do you go every
afternoon by yourself, Jemima
Puddle-duck?"
Jemima was rather in awe of the
collie; she told him the whole story.
The collie listened, with his wise
head on one side; he grinned when
she described the polite gentleman
with sandy whiskers.
He asked several questions about
the wood and about the exact position
of the house and shed.
Then he went out, and trotted
down the village. He went to look for
two foxhound puppies who were out
at walk with the butcher.
Jemima Puddle-duck went up the
cart road for the last time, on a sunny
afternoon. She was rather burdened
with bunches of herbs and two onions
in a bag.
She flew over the wood, and
alighted opposite the house of the
bushy long-tailed gentleman.
He was sitting on a log; he sniffed
the air and kept glancing uneasily
round the wood. When Jemima
alighted he quite jumped.
"Come into the house as soon as
you have looked at your eggs. Give me
the herbs for the omelet. Be sharp!"
He was rather abrupt. Jemima
Puddle-duck had never heard him
speak like that.
She felt surprised and uncomfortable.
While she was inside she heard
pattering feet round the back of the
shed. Someone with a black nose
sniffed at the bottom of the door, and
them locked it.
Jemima became much alarmed.
A moment afterward there were
most awful noises—barking, baying,
growls and howls, squealing and
groans.
And nothing more was ever seen of
that foxy-whiskered gentleman.
Presently Kep opened the door of
the shed and let out Jemima Puddle-
duck.
Unfortunately the puppies rushed
in and gobbled up all the eggs before
he could stop them.
He had a bite on his ear, and both
the puppies were limping.
Jemima Puddle-duck was escorted
home in tears on account of those
eggs.
She laid some more in June, and she
was permitted to keep them herself:
but only four of them hatched.
Jemima Puddle-duck said that it
was because of her nerves; but she
had always been a bad sitter.
THE ROLY-POLY PUDDING
[In Remembrance of "Sammy,"
the Intelligent Pink-Eyed Representative of
a Persecuted (But Irrepressible) Race.
An Affectionate Little Friend,
and Most Accomplished Thief!]
Once upon a time there was an old
cat, called Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit, who
was an anxious parent. She used to
lose her kittens continually, and
whenever they were lost they were
always in mischief!
On baking day she determined to
shut them up in a cupboard.
She caught Moppet and Mittens,
but she could not find Tom.
Mrs. Tabitha went up and down all
over the house, mewing for Tom
Kitten. She looked in the pantry under
the staircase, and she searched the
best spare bedroom that was all
covered up with dust sheets. She went
right upstairs and looked into the
attics, but she could not find him
anywhere.
It was an old, old house, full of
cupboards and passages. Some of the
walls were four feet thick, and there
used to be queer noises inside them,
as if there might be a little secret
staircase. Certainly there were odd
little jagged doorways in the wainscot,
and things disappeared at night—
especially cheese and bacon.
Mrs. Tabitha became more and
more distracted and mewed
dreadfully.
While their mother was searching
the house, Moppet and Mittens had
got into mischief.
The cupboard door was not locked,
so they pushed it open and came out.
They went straight to the dough
which was set to rise in a pan before
the fire.
They patted it with their little soft
paws—"Shall we make dear little
muffins?" said Mittens to Moppet.
But just at that moment somebody
knocked at the front door, and
Moppet jumped into the flour barrel
in a fright.
Mittens ran away to the dairy and
hid in an empty jar on the stone shelf
where the milk pans stand.