While Tom Kitten was left alone
under the floor of the attic, he
wriggled about and tried to mew for
help.
But his mouth was full of soot and
cobwebs, and he was tied up in such
very tight knots, he could not make
anybody hear him.
Except a spider who came out of a
crack in the ceiling and examined the
knots critically, from a safe distance.
It was a judge of knots because it
had a habit of tying up unfortunate
bluebottles. It did not offer to assist
him.
Tom Kitten wriggled and squirmed
until he was quite exhausted.
Presently the rats came back and
set to work to make him into a
dumpling. First they smeared him
with butter, and then they rolled him
in the dough.
"Will not the string be very
indigestible, Anna Maria?" inquired
Samuel Whiskers.
Anna Maria said she thought that it
was of no consequence; but she
wished that Tom Kitten would hold
his head still, as it disarranged the
pastry. She laid hold of his ears.
Tom Kitten bit and spit, and
mewed and wriggled; and the rolling
pin went roly-poly, roly; roly-poly,
roly. The rats each held an end.
"His tail is sticking out! You did not
fetch enough dough, Anna Maria."
"I fetched as much as I could
carry," replied Anna Maria.
"I do not think"—said Samuel
Whiskers, pausing to take a look at
Tom Kitten—"I do NOT think it will be
a good pudding. It smells sooty."
Anna Maria was about to argue the
point when all at once there began to
be other sounds up above—the
rasping noise of a saw, and the noise
of a little dog, scratching and yelping!
The rats dropped the rolling pin
and listened attentively.
"We are discovered and interrupted,
Anna Maria; let us collect our
property—and other people's—and
depart at once.
"I fear that we shall be obliged to
leave this pudding.
"But I am persuaded that the knots
would have proved indigestible,
whatever you may urge to the
contrary."
"Come away at once and help me
to tie up some mutton bones in a
counterpane," said Anna Maria. "I
have got half a smoked ham hidden in
the chimney."
So it happened that by the time
John Joiner had got the plank up—
there was nobody here under the floor
except the rolling pin and Tom Kitten
in a very dirty dumpling!
But there was a strong smell of
rats; and John Joiner spent the rest of
the morning sniffing and whining,
and wagging his tail, and going round
and round with his head in the hole
like a gimlet.
Then he nailed the plank down
again and put his tools in his bag, and
came downstairs.
The cat family had quite recovered.
They invited him to stay to dinner.
The dumpling had been peeled off
Tom Kitten and made separately into
a bag pudding, with currants in it to
hide the smuts.
They had been obliged to put Tom
Kitten into a hot bath to get the butter
off.
John Joiner smelt the pudding; but
he regretted that he had not time to
stay to dinner, because he had just
finished making a wheelbarrow for
Miss Potter, and she had ordered two
hen coops.
And when I was going to the post
late in the afternoon—I looked up the
land from the corner, and I saw Mr.
Samuel Whiskers and his wife on the
run, with big bundles on a little
wheelbarrow, which looked very
much like mine.
They were just turning in at the
gate to the barn of Farmer Potatoes.
Samuel Whiskers was puffing and
out of breath. Anna Maria was still
arguing in shrill tones.
She seemed to know her way, and
she seemed to have a quantity of
luggage.
I am sure I never gave her leave to
borrow my wheelbarrow!
They went into the barn and
hauled their parcels with a bit of
string to the top of the haymow.
After that, there were no more rats
for a long time at Tabitha Twitchit's.
As for Farmer Potatoes, he has been
driven nearly distracted. There are
rats, and rats, and rats in his barn!
They eat up the chicken food, and
steal the oats and bran, and make
holes in the meal bags.
And they are all descended from
Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Whiskers—
children and grandchildren and
great-great-grandchildren.
There is no end to them!
Moppet and Mittens have grown up
into very good rat-catchers.
They go out rat-catching in the
village, and they find plenty of
employment. They charge so much a
dozen and earn their living very
comfortably.
They hang up the rats' tails in a
row on the barn door, to show how
many they have caught—dozens and
dozens of them.
But Tom Kitten has always been
afraid of a rat; he never durst face
anything that is bigger than—
A Mouse.
THE TALE OF THE FLOPSY BUNNIES
[For All Little Friends of
Mr. McGregor and Peter and Benjamin]