The Tale of Benjamin Bunny

One morning a little rabbit sat on a bank.

He pricked his ears and listened to the trit-trot, trit-trot of a pony.

A gig was coming along the road; it was driven by Mr. McGregor, and beside him sat Mrs. McGregor in her best bonnet.

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 lived Benjamin’s aunt and his cousins – Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter.

Old Mrs. Rabbit was a widow; she earned her living by knitting rabbit-wool mittens and muffatees (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.

At this point old Mrs. Rabbit’s voice was heard inside the rabbit hole, calling: ‘Cotton-tail! Cotton-tail! fetch some more camomile!’

Peter said he thought he might feel better if he went for a walk.

They went away hand in hand, and got upon the flat top of the wall at the bottom of the wood. From here they looked down into Mr. McGregor’s garden. Peter’s coat and shoes were plainly to be seen upon the scarecrow, topped with an old tam-o’-shanter[3] of Mr. McGregor’s.

Little Benjamin said: ‘It spoils people’s clothes to squeeze under a gate; the proper way to get in is to climb down a pear-tree.’

Peter fell down head first; but it was of no consequence, as the bed below was newly raked and quite soft.

It had been sown with lettuces.

They left a great many odd little footmarks all over the bed, especially little Benjamin, who was wearing clogs.

Little Benjamin said that the first thing to be done was to get back Peter’s clothes, in order that they might be able to use the pocket-handkerchief.

They took them off the scarecrow. There had been rain during the night; there was water in the shoes, and the coat was somewhat shrunk.

Benjamin tried on the tam-o’-shanter, but it was too big for him.

Then he suggested that they should fill the pocket-handkerchief with onions, as a little present for his Aunt.

Peter did not seem to be enjoying himself; he kept hearing noises.

Benjamin, on the contrary, was perfectly at home, and ate a lettuce leaf. He said that he was in the habit of coming to the garden with his father to get lettuces for their Sunday dinner.

(The name of little Benjamin’s papa was old Mr. Benjamin Bunny.)

The lettuces certainly were very fine.

Peter did not eat anything; he said he should like to go home. Presently he dropped half the onions.

Little Benjamin said that it was not possible to get back up the pear-tree with a load of vegetables. He led the way boldly towards the other end of the garden. They went along a little walk on planks, under a sunny, red brick wall.

The mice sat on their doorsteps cracking cherry-stones; they winked at Peter Rabbit and little Benjamin Bunny.

Presently Peter let the pocket-handkerchief go again.

They got amongst flower-pots, and frames, and tubs. Peter heard noises worse than ever; his eyes were as big as lolly-pops!

He was a step or two in front of his cousin when he suddenly stopped.

This is what those little rabbits saw round that corner!

Little Benjamin took one look, and then, in half a minute less than no time, he hid himself and Peter and the onions underneath a large basket…

The cat got up and stretched herself, and came and sniffed at the basket.

Perhaps she liked the smell of onions!

Anyway, she sat down upon the top of the basket.

She sat there for five hours.

I cannot draw you a picture of Peter and Benjamin underneath the basket, because it was quite dark, and because the smell of onions was fearful; it made Peter Rabbit and little Benjamin cry.

The sun got round behind the wood, and it was quite late in the afternoon; but still the cat sat upon the basket.

At length there was a pitter-patter, pitter-patter, and some bits of mortar fell from the wall above.

The cat looked up and saw old Mr. Benjamin Bunny prancing along the top of the wall of the upper terrace.

He was smoking a pipe of rabbit-tobacco, and had a little switch in his hand.

He was looking for his son.

Old Mr. Bunny had no opinion whatever of cats.

He took a tremendous jump off the top of the wall on to the top of the cat, and cuffed it off the basket, and kicked it into the greenhouse, scratching off a handful of fur.

The cat was too much surprised to scratch back.

When old Mr. Bunny had driven the cat into the greenhouse, he locked the door.

Then he came back to the basket and took out his son Benjamin by the ears, and whipped him with the little switch.

Then he took out his nephew Peter.

Then he took out the handkerchief of onions, and marched out of the garden. When Mr. McGregor returned about half an hour later he observed several things which perplexed him.

It looked as though some person had been walking all over the garden in a pair of clogs – only the footmarks were too ridiculously little!

Also he could not understand how the cat could have managed to shut herself up inside the greenhouse, locking the door upon the outside.

When Peter got home his mother forgave him, because she was so glad to see that he had found his shoes and coat. Cotton-tail and Peter folded up the pocket-handkerchief, and old Mrs. Rabbit strung up the onions and hung them from the kitchen ceiling, with the bunches of herbs and the rabbit-tobacco.

The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin

This is a Tale about a tail – a tail that belonged to a little red squirrel, and his name was Nutkin.

He had a brother called Twinkleberry, and a great many cousins: they lived in a wood at the edge of a lake.

In the middle of the lake there is an island covered with trees and nut bushes; and amongst those trees stands a hollow oak-tree, which is the house of an owl who is called Old Brown.

One autumn when the nuts were ripe, and the leaves on the hazel bushes were golden and green – Nutkin and Twinkleberry and all the other little squirrels came out of the wood, and down to the edge of the lake.

They made little rafts out of twigs, and they paddled away over the water to Owl Island to gather nuts.

Each squirrel had a little sack and a large oar, and spread out his tail for a sail.

They also took with them an offering of three fat mice as a present for Old Brown, and put them down upon his door-step.

Then Twinkleberry and the other little squirrels each made a low bow, and said politely —

‘Old Mr. Brown, will you favour us with permission to gather nuts upon your island?’

But Nutkin was excessively impertinent in his manners. He bobbed up and down like a little red cherry, singing —

 
‘Riddle me, riddle me, rot-tot-tote!
A little wee man, in a red red coat!
A staff in his hand,
and a stone in his throat;
If you’ll tell me this riddle,
I’ll give you a groat.’
 

Now this riddle is as old as the hills; Mr. Brown paid no attention whatever to Nutkin.

He shut his eyes obstinately and went to sleep.

The squirrels filled their little sacks with nuts, and sailed away home in the evening.

But next morning they all came back again to Owl Island; and Twinkleberry and the others brought a fine fat mole, and laid it on the stone in front of Old Brown’s doorway, and said —

‘Mr. Brown, will you favour us with your gracious permission to gather some more nuts?’

But Nutkin, who had no respect, began to dance up and down, tickling old Mr. Brown with a nettle and singing —

 
‘Old Mr. B! Riddle-me-ree!
Hitty Pitty within the wall,
Hitty Pitty without the wall;
If you touch Hitty Pitty,
Hitty Pitty will bite you!’
 

Mr. Brown woke up suddenly and carried the mole into his house.

He shut the door in Nutkin’s face. Presently a little thread of blue smoke from a wood fire came up from the top of the tree, and Nutkin peeped through the key-hole and sang —

 
‘A house full, a hole full!
And you cannot gather a bowl-full!’
 

The squirrels searched for nuts all over the island and filled their little sacks.

But Nutkin gathered oak-apples – yellow and scarlet – and sat upon a beech-stump playing marbles, and watching the door of old Mr. Brown.

On the third day the squirrels got up very early and went fishing; they caught seven fat minnows as a present for Old Brown.

They paddled over the lake and landed under a crooked chestnut tree on Owl Island.

Twinkleberry and six other little squirrels each carried a fat minnow; but Nutkin, who had no nice manners, brought no present at all. He ran in front, singing —

 
‘The man in the wilderness said to me,
‘How many strawberries grow in the sea?’
I answered him as I thought good —
‘As many red herrings
as grow in the wood.’’
 

But old Mr. Brown took no interest in riddles – not even when the answer was provided for him.

On the fourth day the squirrels brought a present of six fat beetles, which were as good as plums in plum-pudding for Old Brown. Each beetle was wrapped up carefully in a dock-leaf, fastened with a pine-needle pin.

But Nutkin sang as rudely as ever —

 
‘Old Mr. B! riddle-me-ree
Flour of England, fruit of Spain,
Met together in a shower of rain;
Put in a bag tied round with a string,
If you’ll tell me this riddle,
I’ll give you a ring!’
 

Which was ridiculous of Nutkin, because he had not got any ring to give to Old Brown.

The other squirrels hunted up and down the nut bushes; but Nutkin gathered robin’s pincushions off a briar bush, and stuck them full of pine-needle pins.

On the fifth day the squirrels brought a present of wild honey; it was so sweet and sticky that they licked their fingers as they put it down upon the stone. They had stolen it out of a bumble bees’ nest on the tippitty top of the hill.

But Nutkin skipped up and down, singing —

 
‘Hum-a-bum! buzz! buzz!
Hum-a-bum buzz!
As I went over Tipple-tine
I met a flock of bonny swine;
Some yellow-nacked, some yellow backed!
They were the very bonniest swine
That e’er went over Tipple-tine.’
 

Old Mr. Brown turned up his eyes in disgust at the impertinence of Nutkin.

 
But he ate up the honey!
The squirrels filled their little sacks
with nuts
 

.

But Nutkin sat upon a big flat rock, and played ninepins with a crab apple and green fir-cones.

On the sixth day, which was Saturday, the squirrels came again for the last time; they brought a new-laid egg in a little rush basket as a last parting present for Old Brown.

But Nutkin ran in front laughing, and shouting —

 
‘Humpty Dumpty lies in the beck,
With a white counterpane round his neck,
Forty doctors and forty wrights,
Cannot put Humpty Dumpty to rights!’
 

Now old Mr. Brown took an interest in eggs; he opened one eye and shut it again. But still he did not speak.

Nutkin became more and more impertinent —

 
‘Old Mr. B! Old Mr. B!
Hickamore, Hackamore,
on the King’s kitchen door;
All the King’s horses,
and all the King’s men,
Couldn’t drive Hickamore, Hackamore,
Off the King’s kitchen door.’
 

Nutkin danced up and down like a sunbeam; but still Old Brown said nothing at all.

Nutkin began again —

 
‘Arthur O’Bower has broken his band,
He comes roaring up the land!
The King of Scots with all his power,
Cannot turn Arthur of the Bower!’
 

Nutkin made a whirring noise to sound like the wind, and he took a running jump right onto the head of Old Brown!..

Then all at once there was a flutterment and a scufflement and a loud ‘Squeak!’

The other squirrels scuttered away into the bushes.

When they came back very cautiously, peeping round the tree – there was Old Brown sitting on his door-step, quite still, with his eyes closed, as if nothing had happened.

This looks like the end of the story; but it isn’t.

Old Brown carried Nutkin into his house, and held him up by the tail, intending to skin him; but Nutkin pulled so very hard that his tail broke in two, and he dashed up the staircase and escaped out of the attic window.

And to this day, if you meet Nutkin up a tree and ask him a riddle, he will throw sticks at you, and stamp his feet and scold, and shout —

‘Cuck-cuck-cuck-cur-r-r-cuck-k-k!’

The Tales of the Flopsy Bunnies

It is said that the effect of eating too much lettuce is ‘soporific.’

I have never felt sleepy after eating lettuces; but then I am not a rabbit.

They certainly had a very soporific effect upon the Flopsy Bunnies!

When Benjamin Bunny grew up, he married his Cousin Flopsy. They had a large family, and they were very improvident and cheerful.

I do not remember the separate names of their children; they were generally called the ‘Flopsy Bunnies.’

As there was not always quite enough to eat, – Benjamin used to borrow cabbages from Flopsy’s brother, Peter Rabbit, who kept a nursery garden.

Sometimes Peter Rabbit had no cabbages to spare.

When this happened, the Flopsy Bunnies went across the field to a rubbish heap, in the ditch outside Mr. McGregor’s garden.

Mr. McGregor’s rubbish heap was a mixture. There were jam pots and paper bags, and mountains of chopped grass from the mowing machine (which always tasted oily), and some rotten vegetable marrows and an old boot or two. One day – oh joy! – there were a quantity of overgrown lettuces, which had ‘shot’ into flower.

The Flopsy Bunnies simply stuffed lettuces. By degrees, one after another, they were overcome with slumber, and lay down in the mown grass.

Benjamin was not so much overcome as his children. Before going to sleep he was sufficiently wide awake to put a paper bag over his head to keep off the flies.

The little Flopsy Bunnies slept delightfully in the warm sun. From the lawn beyond the garden came the distant clacketty sound of the mowing machine. The bluebottles buzzed about the wall, and a little old mouse picked over the rubbish among the jam pots.

(I can tell you her name, she was called Thomasina Tittlemouse, a woodmouse with a long tail.)

She rustled across the paper bag, and awakened Benjamin Bunny.

The mouse apologized profusely, and said that she knew Peter Rabbit.

While she and Benjamin were talking, close under the wall, they heard a heavy tread above their heads; and suddenly Mr. McGregor emptied out a sackful of lawn mowings right upon the top of the sleeping Flopsy Bunnies! Benjamin shrank down under his paper bag. The mouse hid in a jam pot.

The little rabbits smiled sweetly in their sleep under the shower of grass; they did not awake because the lettuces had been so soporific.

They dreamt that their mother Flopsy was tucking them up in a hay bed.

Mr. McGregor looked down after emptying his sack. He saw some funny little brown tips of ears sticking up through the lawn mowings. He stared at them for some time.

Presently a fly settled on one of them and it moved.

Mr. McGregor climbed down on to the rubbish heap —

‘One, two, three, four! five! six leetle rabbits!’ said he as he dropped them into his sack. The Flopsy Bunnies dreamt that their mother was turning them over in bed. They stirred a little in their sleep, but still they did not wake up.

Mr. McGregor tied up the sack and left it on the wall.

He went to put away the mowing machine.

While he was gone, Mrs. Flopsy Bunny (who had remained at home) came across the field.

She looked suspiciously at the sack and wondered where everybody was?

Then the mouse came out of her jam pot, and Benjamin took the paper bag off his head, and they told the doleful tale.

Benjamin and Flopsy were in despair, they could not undo the string.

But Mrs. Tittlemouse was a resourceful person. She nibbled a hole in the bottom corner of the sack.

The little rabbits were pulled out and pinched to wake them.

Their parents stuffed the empty sack with three rotten vegetable marrows, an old blacking-brush and two decayed turnips.

Then they all hid under a bush and watched for Mr. McGregor.

Mr. McGregor came back and picked up the sack, and carried it off.

He carried it hanging down, as if it were rather heavy.

The Flopsy Bunnies followed at a safe distance.

They watched him go into his house.

And then they crept up to the window to listen.

Mr. McGregor threw down the sack on the stone floor in a way that would have been extremely painful to the Flopsy Bunnies, if they had happened to have been inside it.

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 window-sill.)

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. Tiggy-Winkle

Once upon a time there was a little girl called Lucie, who lived at a farm called Little-town. She was a good little girl – only she was always losing her pocket-handkerchiefs!

One day little Lucie came into the farm-yard crying – oh, she did cry so! ‘I’ve lost my pocket-handkin! Three handkins and a pinny! Have you seen them, Tabby Kitten?’

The Kitten went on washing her white paws; so Lucie asked a speckled hen —

‘Sally Henny-penny, have you found three pocket-handkins?’

But the speckled hen ran into a barn, clucking —

 
‘I go barefoot, barefoot, barefoot!’
 

And then Lucie asked Cock Robin sitting on a twig.

Cock Robin looked sideways at Lucie with his bright black eye, and he flew over a stile and away.

Lucie climbed upon the stile and looked up at the hill behind Little-town – a hill that goes up-up – into the clouds as though it had no top!

And a great way up the hill-side she thought she saw some white things spread upon the grass.

Lucie scrambled up the hill as fast as her stout legs would carry her; she ran along a steep path-way – up and up – until Little-town was right away down below – she could have dropped a pebble down the chimney!

Presently she came to a spring, bubbling out from the hill-side.

Some one had stood a tin can upon a stone to catch the water – but the water was already running over, for the can was no bigger than an egg-cup! And where the sand upon the path was wet – there were foot-marks of a very small person.

Lucie ran on, and on.

The path ended under a big rock. The grass was short and green, and there were clothes-props cut from bracken stems, with lines of plaited rushes, and a heap of tiny clothes pins – but no pocket-handkerchiefs!

But there was something else – a door! straight into the hill; and inside it some one was singing —

 
‘Lily-white and clean, oh!
With little frills between, oh!
Smooth and hot-red rusty spot
Never here be seen, oh!’
 

Lucie, knocked – once-twice, and interrupted the song. A little frightened voice called out ‘Who’s that?’

Lucie opened the door: and what do you think there was inside the hill? – a nice clean kitchen with a flagged floor and wooden beams – just like any other farm kitchen. Only the ceiling was so low that Lucie’s head nearly touched it; and the pots and pans were small, and so was everything there.

There was a nice hot singey smell; and at the table, with an iron in her hand stood a very stout short person staring anxiously at Lucie.

Her print gown was tucked up, and she was wearing a large apron over her striped petticoat. Her little black nose went sniffle, sniffle, snuffle, and her eyes went twinkle, twinkle; and underneath her cap – where Lucie had yellow curls – that little person had PRICKLES!

‘Who are you?’ said Lucie. ‘Have you seen my pocket-handkins?’

The little person made a bob-curtsey – ’Oh, yes, if you please’m; my name is Mrs. Tiggy-winkle; oh, yes if you please’m, I’m an excellent clear-starcher!’ And she took something out of a clothes-basket, and spread it on the ironing-blanket.

‘What’s that thing?’ said Lucie – ’that’s not my pocket-handkin?’

‘Oh no, if you please’m; that’s a little scarlet waist-coat belonging to Cock Robin!’

And she ironed it and folded it, and put it on one side.

Then she took something else off a clothes-horse —

‘That isn’t my pinny?’ said Lucie.

‘Oh no, if you please’m; that’s a damask table-cloth belonging to Jenny Wren; look how it’s stained with currant wine! It’s very bad to wash!’ said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle.

Mrs. Tiggy-winkle’s nose went sniffle, sniffle, snuffle, and her eyes went twinkle, twinkle; and she fetched another hot iron from the fire.

‘There’s one of my pocket-handkins!’ cried Lucie – ’and there’s my pinny!’

Mrs. Tiggy-winkle ironed it, and goffered it, and shook out the frills.

‘Oh that is lovely!’ said Lucie.

‘And what are those long yellow things with fingers like gloves?’

‘Oh, that’s a pair of stockings belonging to Sally Henny-penny – look how she’s worn the heels out with scratching in the yard! She’ll very soon go barefoot!’ said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle.

‘Why, there’s another handkersniff – but it isn’t mine; it’s red?’

‘Oh no, if you please’m; that one belongs to old Mrs. Rabbit; and it did so smell of onions! I’ve had to wash it separately, I can’t get out the smell.’

‘There’s another one of mine,’ said Lucie.

‘What are those funny little white things?’

‘That’s a pair of mittens belonging to Tabby Kitten; I only have to iron them; she washes them herself.’

‘There’s my last pocket-handkin!’ said Lucie.

‘And what are you dipping into the basin of starch?’

‘They’re little dicky shirt-fronts belonging to Tom Titmouse-most terrible particular!’ said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle. ‘Now I’ve finished my ironing; I’m going to air some clothes.’

‘What are these dear soft fluffy things?’ said Lucie.

‘Oh those are woolly coats belonging to the little lambs at Skelghyl.’

‘Will their jackets take off?’ asked Lucie.

‘Oh yes, if you please’m; look at the sheep-mark on the shoulder. And here’s one marked for Gatesgarth, and three that come from Little-town. They’re always marked at washing!’ said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle.

And she hung up all sorts and sizes of clothes – small brown coats of mice; and one velvety black moleskin waist-coat; and a red tailcoat with no tail belonging to Squirrel Nutkin; and a very much shrunk blue jacket belonging to Peter Rabbit; and a petticoat, not marked, that had gone lost in the washing – and at last the basket was empty!

‘Then Mrs. Tiggy-winkle made tea – a cup for herself and a cup for Lucie. They sat before the fire on a bench and looked sideways at one another. Mrs. Tiggy-winkle’s hand, holding the tea-cup, was very very brown, and very very wrinkly with the soap-suds; and all through her gown and her cap, there were hair-pins sticking wrong end out; so that Lucie didn’t like to sit too near her.

When they had finished tea, they tied up the clothes in bundles; and Lucie’s pocket-handkerchiefs were folded up inside her clean pinny, and fastened with a silver safety-pin.

And then they made up the fire with turf, and came out and locked the door, and hid the key under the door-sill.

Then away down the hill trotted Lucie and Mrs. Tiggy-winkle with the bundles of clothes!

All the way down the path little animals came out of the fern to meet them; the very first that they met were Peter Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny!

Then away down the hill trotted Lucie and Mrs. Tiggy-winkle with the bundles of clothes!

All the way down the path little animals came out of the fern to meet them; the very first that they met were Peter Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny!

And she gave them their nice clean clothes; and all the little animals and birds were so very much obliged to dear Mrs. Tiggy-winkle.

So that at the bottom of the hill when they came to the stile, there was nothing left to carry except Lucie’s one little bundle.

Lucie scrambled up the stile with the bundle in her hand; and then she turned to say ‘Good-night,’ and to thank the washer-woman – But what a very odd thing! Mrs. Tiggy-winkle had not waited either for thanks or for the washing bill!

She was running running running up the hill – and where was her white frilled cap? and her shawl? and her gown – and her petticoat?

And how small she had grown – and how brown – and covered with PRICKLES!

Why! Mrs. Tiggy-winkle was nothing but a HEDGEHOG.

The Tailor of Gloucester

In the time of swords and periwigs[4] and full-skirted coats with flowered lappets[5] – 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 snippeted, 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 – a little old man in spectacles, with a pinched face, old crooked fingers, and a suit of thread-bare clothes.

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 cherry-coloured corded silk embroidered with pansies and roses, and a cream coloured satin waistcoat – trimmed with gauze and green worsted chenille – for the Mayor of Gloucester.

The tailor worked and worked, and he talked to himself. He measured the silk, and turned it round and round, and trimmed it into shape with his shears; the table was all littered with cherry-coloured snippets.

‘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 window-panes and shut out the light, the tailor had done his day’s 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 button-holes 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, for he did not sleep there at nights; he fastened the window and locked the door, and took away the key. No one lived there at night but little brown mice, and they run in and out without any keys!

For behind the wooden wainscots of all the old houses in Gloucester, there are little mouse staircases and secret trap-doors; and the mice run from house to house through those long narrow passages; they can run all over the town without going into the streets.

But the tailor came out of his shop, and shuffled home through the snow. He lived quite near by in College Court, next the doorway to College Green; and although it was not a big house, the tailor was so poor he only rented the kitchen.

He lived alone with his cat; it was called Simpkin.

Now all day long while the tailor was out at work, Simpkin kept house by himself; and he also was fond of the mice, though he gave them no satin for coats!

‘Miaw?’ said the cat when the tailor opened the door. ‘Miaw?’

The tailor replied – ’Simpkin, we shall make our fortune, but I am worn to a ravelling. Take this groat (which is our last fourpence) and Simpkin, take a china pipkin; buy a penn’orth of bread, a penn’orth of milk and a penn’orth of sausages. And oh, Simpkin, with the last penny of our fourpence buy me one penn’orth of cherry-coloured silk. But do not lose the last penny of the fourpence, Simpkin, or I am undone and worn to a thread-paper, for I have NO MORE TWIST.’

Then Simpkin again said, ‘Miaw?’ and took the groat and the pipkin, and went out into the dark.

The tailor was very tired and beginning to be ill. He sat down by the hearth and talked to himself about that wonderful coat.

‘I shall make my fortune – to be cut bias[6] – the Mayor of Gloucester is to be married on Christmas Day in the morning, and he hath ordered a coat and an embroidered waistcoat – to be lined with yellow taffeta – and the taffeta sufficeth; there is no more left over in snippets than will serve to make tippets for mice – ’

Then the tailor started; for suddenly, interrupting him, from the dresser at the other side of the kitchen came a number of little noises —

 
Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap tip!
 

‘Now what can that be?’ said the Tailor of Gloucester, jumping up from his chair. The dresser was covered with crockery and pipkins, willow pattern plates, and tea-cups and mugs.

The tailor crossed the kitchen, and stood quite still beside the dresser, listening, and peering through his spectacles. Again from under a tea-cup, came those funny little noises —

 
Tip tap, tip tap, Tip tap tip!
 

‘This is very peculiar,’ said the Tailor of Gloucester; and he lifted up the tea-cup which was upside down.

Out stepped a little live lady mouse, and made a curtsey to the tailor! Then she hopped away down off the dresser, and under the wainscot.

The tailor sat down again by the fire, warming his poor cold hands, and mumbling to himself —

‘The waistcoat is cut out from peach-coloured satin-tambour stitch and rose-buds in beautiful floss silk. Was I wise to entrust my last fourpence to Simpkin? One-and-twenty button-holes of cherry-coloured twist!’

But all at once, from the dresser, there came other little noises:

 
Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap tip!
 

‘This is passing extraordinary!’ said the Tailor of Gloucester, and turned over another tea-cup, which was upside down.

Out stepped a little gentleman mouse, and made a bow to the tailor!

And then from all over the dresser came a chorus of little tappings, all sounding together, and answering one another, like watch-beetles in an old worm-eaten window-shutter —

 
Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap tip!
 

And out from under tea-cups and from under bowls and basins, stepped other and more little mice who hopped away down off the dresser and under the wainscot.

The tailor sat down, close over the fire, lamenting – ’One-and-twenty button-holes of cherry-coloured silk! To be finished by noon of Saturday: and this is Tuesday evening. Was it right to let loose those mice, undoubtedly the property of Simpkin? Alack, I am undone, for I have no more twist!’

The little mice came out again, and listened to the tailor; they took notice of the pattern of that wonderful coat. They whispered to one another about the taffeta lining, and about little mouse tippets.

And then all at once they all ran away together down the passage behind the wainscot, squeaking and calling to one another, as they ran from house to house; and not one mouse was left in the tailor’s kitchen when Simpkin came back with the pipkin of milk!

Simpkin opened the door and bounced in, with an angry ‘G-r-r-miaw!’ like a cat that is vexed: for he hated the snow, and there was snow in his ears, and snow in his collar at the back of his neck. He put down the loaf and the sausages upon the dresser, and sniffed.

‘Simpkin,’ said the tailor, ‘where is my twist?’

But Simpkin set down the pipkin of milk upon the dresser, and looked suspiciously at the tea-cups. He wanted his supper of little fat mouse!

‘Simpkin,’ said the tailor, ‘where is my TWIST?’

But Simpkin hid a little parcel privately in the tea-pot, and spit and growled at the tailor; and if Simpkin had been able to talk, he would have asked: ‘Where is my MOUSE?’

‘Alack, I am undone!’ said the Tailor of Gloucester, and went sadly to bed.

All that night long Simpkin hunted and searched through the kitchen, peeping into cupboards and under the wainscot, and into the tea-pot where he had hidden that twist; but still he found never a mouse!

Whenever the tailor muttered and talked in his sleep, Simpkin said ‘Miaw-ger-r-w-s-s-ch!’ and made strange horrid noises, as cats do at night.

For the poor old tailor was very ill with a fever, tossing and turning in his four-post bed; and still in his dreams he mumbled – ’No more twist! no more twist!’

All that day he was ill, and the next day, and the next; and what should become of the cherry-coloured coat? In the tailor’s shop in Westgate Street the embroidered silk and satin lay cut out upon the table – one-and-twenty button-holes – and who should come to sew them, when the window was barred, and the door was fast locked?

But that does not hinder the little brown mice; they run in and out without any keys through all the old houses in Gloucester!

Out of doors the market folks went trudging through the snow to buy their geese and turkeys, and to bake their Christmas pies; but there would be no Christmas dinner for Simpkin and the poor old Tailor of Gloucester.

The tailor lay ill for three days and nights; and then it was Christmas Eve, and very late at night. The moon climbed up over the roofs and chimneys, and looked down over the gateway into College Court. There were no lights in the windows, nor any sound in the houses; all the city of Gloucester was fast asleep under the snow.

And still Simpkin wanted his mice, and he mewed as he stood beside the four-post bed.

But it is in the old story that all the beasts can talk, in the night between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in the morning (though there are very few folk that can hear them, or know what it is that they say).

When the Cathedral clock struck twelve there was an answer – like an echo of the chimes – and Simpkin heard it, and came out of the tailor’s door, and wandered about in the snow.

From all the roofs and gables and old wooden houses in Gloucester came a thousand merry voices singing the old Christmas rhymes – all the old songs that ever I heard of, and some that I don’t know, like Whittington’s bells.

First and loudest the cocks cried out: ‘Dame, get up, and bake your pies!’

‘Oh, dilly, dilly, dilly!’ sighed Simpkin.

And now in a garret there were lights and sounds of dancing, and cats came from over the way.

‘Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle! All the cats in Gloucester – except me,’ said Simpkin.

Under the wooden eaves the starlings and sparrows sang of Christmas pies; the jack-daws woke up in the Cathedral tower; and although it was the middle of the night the throstles and robins sang; the air was quite full of little twittering tunes.

But it was all rather provoking to poor hungry Simpkin!

Particularly he was vexed with some little shrill voices from behind a wooden lattice. I think that they were bats, because they always have very small voices – especially in a black frost, when they talk in their sleep, like the Tailor of Gloucester.

They said something mysterious that sounded like —

 
‘Buz, quoth the blue fly,
hum, quoth the bee,
Buz and hum they cry,
and so do we!’
 

and Simpkin went away shaking his ears as if he had a bee in his bonnet.

From the tailor’s shop in Westgate came a glow of light; and when Simpkin crept up to peep in at the window it was full of candles. There was a snippeting of scissors, and snappeting of thread; and little mouse voices sang loudly and gaily —

 
‘Four-and-twenty tailors
Went to catch a snail,
The best man amongst them
Durst not touch her tail,
She put out her horns
Like a little kyloe cow,
Run, tailors, run!
or she’ll have you all e’en now!’
 

Then without a pause the little mouse voices went on again —

 
‘Sieve my lady’s oatmeal,
Grind my lady’s flour,
Put it in a chestnut,
Let it stand an hour – ’
 

‘Mew! Mew!’ interrupted Simpkin, and he scratched at the door. But the key was under the tailor’s pillow, he could not get in.

The little mice only laughed, and tried another tune —

 
‘Three little mice sat down to spin,
Pussy passed by and she peeped in.
What are you at, my fine little men?
Making coats for gentlemen.
Shall I come in and cut off your threads?
Oh, no, Miss Pussy,
you’d bite off our heads!’
 

‘Mew! Mew!’ cried Simpkin. ‘Hey diddle dinketty?’ answered the little mice —

 
‘Hey diddle dinketty, poppetty pet!
The merchants of London
they wear scarlet;
Silk in the collar, and gold in the hem,
So merrily march the merchantmen!’
 

They clicked their thimbles to mark the time, but none of the songs pleased Simpkin; he sniffed and mewed at the door of the shop.

 
‘And then I bought
A pipkin and a popkin,
A slipkin and a slopkin,
All for one farthing —
 

and upon the kitchen dresser!’ added the rude little mice.

‘Mew! scratch! scratch!’ scuffled Simpkin on the window-sill; while the little mice inside sprang to their feet, and all began to shout at once in little twittering voices: ‘No more twist! No more twist!’ And they barred up the window shutters and shut out Simpkin.

But still through the nicks in the shutters he could hear the click of thimbles, and little mouse voices singing —

 
‘No more twist! No more twist!’
 

Simpkin came away from the shop and went home, considering in his mind. He found the poor old tailor without fever, sleeping peacefully.

Then Simpkin went on tip-toe and took a little parcel of silk out of the tea-pot, and looked at it in the moonlight; and he felt quite ashamed of his badness compared with those good little mice!

When the tailor awoke in the morning, the first thing which he saw upon the patchwork quilt, was a skein of cherry-coloured twisted silk, and beside his bed stood the repentant Simpkin!

‘Alack, I am worn to a ravelling,’ said the Tailor of Gloucester, ‘but I have my twist!’

The sun was shining on the snow when the tailor got up and dressed, and came out into the street with Simpkin running before him.

The starlings whistled on the chimney stacks, and the throstles and robins sang – but they sang their own little noises, not the words they had sung in the night.

‘Alack,’ said the tailor, ‘I have my twist; but no more strength – nor time – than will serve to make me one single button-hole; for this is Christmas Day in the Morning! The Mayor of Gloucester shall be married by noon – and where is his cherry-coloured coat?’

He unlocked the door of the little shop in Westgate Street, and Simpkin ran in, like a cat that expects something.

But there was no one there! Not even one little brown mouse!

The boards were swept clean; the little ends of thread and the little silk snippets were all tidied away, and gone from off the floor.

But upon the table – oh joy! the tailor gave a shout – there, where he had left plain cuttings of silk – there lay the most beautifullest coat and embroidered satin waistcoat that ever were worn by a Mayor of Gloucester.

There were roses and pansies upon the facings of the coat; and the waistcoat was worked with poppies and corn-flowers.

Everything was finished except just one single cherry-coloured button-hole, and where that button-hole was wanting there was pinned a scrap of paper with these words – in little teeny weeny writing —

NO MORE TWIST

And from then began the luck of the Tailor of Gloucester; he grew quite stout, and he grew quite rich.

He made the most wonderful waistcoats for all the rich merchants of Gloucester, and for all the fine gentlemen of the country round.

Never were seen such ruffles, or such embroidered cuffs and lappets! But his button-holes were the greatest triumph of it all.

The stitches of those button-holes were so neat – so neat – I wonder how they could be stitched by an old man in spectacles, with crooked old fingers, and a tailor’s thimble.

The stitches of those button-holes were so small – so small – they looked as if they had been made by little mice!

The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck

What a funny sight it is to see a brood of ducklings with a hen!

– Listen to the story of Jemima Puddle-duck, who was annoyed because the farmer’s wife would not let her hatch her own eggs.

Her sister-in-law, Mrs. Rebeccah Puddle-duck, was perfectly willing to leave the hatching to some one else – ’I have not the patience to sit on a nest for twenty-eight days; and no more have you, Jemima. You would let them go cold; you know you would!’

‘I wish to hatch my own eggs; I will hatch them all by myself,’ quacked Jemima Puddle-duck.

She tried to hide her eggs; but they were always found and carried off.

Jemima Puddle-duck became quite desperate. She determined to make a nest right away from the farm.

She set off on a fine spring afternoon along the cart-road that leads over the hill.

She was wearing a shawl and a poke bonnet.

When she reached the top of the hill, she saw a wood in the distance.

She thought that it looked a safe quiet spot.

Jemima Puddle-duck was not much in the habit of flying. She ran downhill a few yards flapping her shawl, and then she jumped off into the air.

She flew beautifully when she had got a good start.

She skimmed along over the tree-tops until she saw an open place in the middle of the wood, where the trees and brushwood had been cleared.

Jemima alighted rather heavily, and began to waddle about in search of a convenient dry nesting-place. She rather fancied a tree – stump amongst some tall fox-gloves.

But – seated upon the stump, she was startled to find an elegantly dressed gentleman reading a newspaper.

He had black prick ears and sandy coloured whiskers.

‘Quack?’ said Jemima Puddle-duck, with her head and her bonnet on one side – ’Quack?’

The gentleman raised his eyes above his newspaper and looked curiously at Jemima —

‘Madam, have you lost your way?’ said he. He had a long bushy tail which he was sitting upon, as the stump was somewhat damp.

Jemima thought him mighty civil and handsome. She explained that she had not lost her way, but that she was trying to find a convenient dry nesting-place.

‘Ah! is that so? indeed!’ said the gentleman with sandy whiskers, looking curiously at Jemima. He folded up the newspaper, and put it in his coat-tail pocket.

Jemima complained of the superfluous hen.

‘Indeed! how interesting! I wish I could meet with that fowl. I would teach it to mind its own business!’

‘But as to a nest – there is no difficulty: I have a sackful of feathers in my wood-shed. No, my dear madam, you will be in nobody’s way. You may sit there as long as you like,’ said the bushy long-tailed gentleman.

He led the way to a very retired, dismal-looking house amongst the fox-gloves.

It was built of faggots and turf, and there were two broken pails, one on top of another, by way of a chimney.

‘This is my summer residence; you would not find my earth – my winter house – so convenient,’ said the hospitable gentleman.

There was a tumble-down shed at the back of the house, made of old soap-boxes. The gentleman opened the door, and showed Jemima in.

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 next day.

He said he loved eggs and ducklings; he should be proud to see a fine nestful in his wood-shed.

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 savoury omelette? Sage and thyme, and mint and two onions, and some parsley. I will provide lard for the stuff-lard for the omelette,’ 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 fox-hound 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 omelette. 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. Some one with a black nose sniffed at the bottom of the door, and then locked it.

Jemima became much alarmed.

A moment afterwards 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 Tale of Two Bad Mice

Once upon a time there was a very beautiful doll’s-house; it was red brick with white windows, and it had real muslin curtains and a front door and a chimney.

It belonged to two Dolls called Lucinda and Jane; at least it belonged to Lucinda, but she never ordered meals.

Jane was the Cook; but she never did any cooking, because the dinner had been bought ready-made, in a box full of shavings.

There were two red lobsters and a ham, a fish, a pudding, and some pears and oranges.

They would not come off the plates, but they were extremely beautiful.

One morning Lucinda and Jane had gone out for a drive in the doll’s perambulator. There was no one in the nursery, and it was very quiet. Presently there was a little scuffling, scratching noise in a corner near the fire-place, where there was a hole under the skirting-board.

Tom Thumb put out his head for a moment, and then popped it in again.

Tom Thumb was a mouse.

A minute afterwards, Hunca Munca, his wife, put her head out, too; and when she saw that there was no one in the nursery, she ventured out on the oilcloth under the coal-box.

The doll’s-house stood at the other side of the fire-place. Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca went cautiously across the hearthrug. They pushed the front door – it was not fast.

Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca went upstairs and peeped into the dining-room. Then they squeaked with joy!

Such a lovely dinner was laid out upon the table! There were tin spoons, and lead knives and forks, and two dolly-chairs – all so convenient!

Tom Thumb set to work at once to carve the ham. It was a beautiful shiny yellow, streaked with red.

The knife crumpled up and hurt him; he put his finger in his mouth.

‘It is not boiled enough; it is hard. You have a try, Hunca Munca.’

Hunca Munca stood up in her chair, and chopped at the ham with another lead knife.

‘It’s as hard as the hams at the cheesemonger’s,’ said Hunca Munca.

The ham broke off the plate with a jerk, and rolled under the table.

‘Let it alone,’ said Tom Thumb; ‘give me some fish, Hunca Munca!’

Hunca Munca tried every tin spoon in turn; the fish was glued to the dish.

Then Tom Thumb lost his temper. He put the ham in the middle of the floor, and hit it with the tongs and with the shovel – bang, bang, smash, smash!

The ham flew all into pieces, for underneath the shiny paint it was made of nothing but plaster!

Then there was no end to the rage and disappointment of Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca. They broke up the pudding, the lobsters, the pears and the oranges.

As the fish would not come off the plate, they put it into the red-hot crinkly paper fire in the kitchen; but it would not burn either.

Tom Thumb went up the kitchen chimney and looked out at the top – there was no soot.

While Tom Thumb was up the chimney, Hunca Munca had another disappointment. She found some tiny canisters upon the dresser, labelled-Rice-Coffee-Sago – but when she turned them upside down, there was nothing inside except red and blue beads.

Then those mice set to work to do all the mischief they could-especially Tom Thumb! He took Jane’s clothes out of the chest of drawers in her bedroom, and he threw them out of the top floor window.

But Hunca Munca had a frugal mind. After pulling half the feathers out of Lucinda’s bolster, she remembered that she herself was in want of a feather bed.

With Tom Thumb’s assistance she carried the bolster downstairs, and across the hearth-rug. It was difficult to squeeze the bolster into the mouse-hole; but they managed it somehow.

Then Hunca Munca went back and fetched a chair, a book-case, a bird-cage, and several small odds and ends. The book-case and the bird-cage refused to go into the mouse-hole.

Hunca Munca left them behind the coal-box, and went to fetch a cradle.

Hunca Munca was just returning with another chair, when suddenly there was a noise of talking outside upon the landing. The mice rushed back to their hole, and the dolls came into the nursery.

What a sight met the eyes of Jane and Lucinda!

Lucinda sat upon the upset kitchen stove and stared; and Jane leant against the kitchen dresser and smiled – but neither of them made any remark.

The book-case and the bird-cage were rescued from under the coal-box – but Hunca Munca has got the cradle, and some of Lucinda’s clothes.

She also has some useful pots and pans, and several other things.

The little girl that the doll’s-house belonged to, said, – ’I will get a doll dressed like a policeman!’

But the nurse said, – ’I will set a mouse-trap!’

So that is the story of the two Bad Mice, – but they were not so very very naughty after all, because Tom Thumb paid for everything he broke.

He found a crooked sixpence under the hearthrug; and upon Christmas Eve, he and Hunca Munca stuffed it into one of the stockings of Lucinda and Jane.

And very early every morning – before anybody is awake – Hunca Munca comes with her dust-pan and her broom to sweep the Dollies’ house!

The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher

Once upon a time there was a frog called Mr. Jeremy Fisher; he lived in a little damp house amongst the buttercups at the edge of a pond.

The water was all slippy-sloppy in the larder and in the back passage.

But Mr. Jeremy liked getting his feet wet; nobody ever scolded him, and he never caught a cold!

He was quite pleased when he looked out and saw large drops of rain, splashing in the pond —

‘I will get some worms and go fishing and catch a dish of minnows for my dinner,’ said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. ‘If I catch more than five fish, I will invite my friends Mr. Alderman Ptolemy Tortoise and Sir Isaac Newton. The Alderman, however, eats salad.’

Mr. Jeremy put on a macintosh, and a pair of shiny goloshes; he took his rod and basket, and set off with enormous hops to the place where he kept his boat.

The boat was round and green, and very like the other lily-leaves. It was tied to a water-plant in the middle of the pond.

Mr. Jeremy took a reed pole, and pushed the boat out into open water. ‘I know a good place for minnows,’ said Mr. Jeremy Fisher.

Mr. Jeremy stuck his pole into the mud and fastened the boat to it.

Then he settled himself cross-legged and arranged his fishing tackle. He had the dearest little red float. His rod was a tough stalk of grass, his line was a fine long white horse-hair, and he tied a little wriggling worm at the end.

The rain trickled down his back, and for nearly an hour he stared at the float.

‘This is getting tiresome, I think I should like some lunch,’ said Mr. Jeremy Fisher.

He punted back again amongst the water-plants, and took some lunch out of his basket.

‘I will eat a butterfly sandwich, and wait till the shower is over,’ said Mr. Jeremy Fisher.

A great big water-beetle came up underneath the lily leaf and tweaked the toe of one of his goloshes.

Mr. Jeremy crossed his legs up shorter, out of reach, and went on eating his sandwich.

Once or twice something moved about with a rustle and a splash amongst the rushes at the side of the pond.

‘I trust that is not a rat,’ said Mr. Jeremy Fisher; ‘I think I had better get away from here.’

Mr. Jeremy shoved the boat out again a little way, and dropped in the bait. There was a bite almost directly; the float gave a tremendous bobbit!

‘A minnow! a minnow! I have him by the nose!’ cried Mr. Jeremy Fisher, jerking up his rod.

But what a horrible surprise! Instead of a smooth fat minnow, Mr. Jeremy landed little Jack Sharp the stickleback, covered with spines!

The stickleback floundered about the boat, pricking and snapping until he was quite out of breath. Then he jumped back into the water.

And a shoal of other little fishes put their heads out, and laughed at Mr. Jeremy Fisher.

And while Mr. Jeremy sat disconsolately on the edge of his boat – sucking his sore fingers and peering down into the water – a much worse thing happened; a really frightful thing it would have been, if Mr. Jeremy had not been wearing a macintosh!

A great big enormous trout came up – ker-pflop-p-p-p! with a splash – and it seized Mr. Jeremy with a snap, ‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’ – and then it turned and dived down to the bottom of the pond!

But the trout was so displeased with the taste of the macintosh, that in less than half a minute it spat him out again; and the only thing it swallowed was Mr. Jeremy’s goloshes.

Mr. Jeremy bounced up to the surface of the water, like a cork and the bubbles out of a soda water bottle; and he swam with all his might to the edge of the pond.

He scrambled out on the first bank he came to, and he hopped home across the meadow with his macintosh all in tatters.

‘What a mercy that was not a pike!’ said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. ‘I have lost my rod and basket; but it does not much matter, for I am sure I should never have dared to go fishing again!’

He put some sticking plaster on his fingers, and his friends both came to dinner. He could not offer them fish, but he had something else in his larder.

Sir Isaac Newton wore his black and gold waistcoat.

And Mr. Alderman Ptolemy Tortoise brought a salad with him in a string bag.

And instead of a nice dish of minnows – they had a roasted grasshopper with lady-bird sauce; which frogs consider a beautiful treat; but I think it must have been nasty!

Exercises

1. What did Mrs. Rabbit take with her to the baker’s in “The Tale of Peter Rabbit”?

a) Her purse and a basket

b) A basket and Peter Rabbit

c) An umbrella and a basket

2. In the “Tale of Squirrel Nutkin”, what did the Old Brown owl steal from Nutkin?

a) His tail

b) His nuts

c) His eggs

3. Who trapped Peter and Benjamin under the basket in Mr. McGregor’s garden in “The Tale of Benjamin Bunny”?

a) Mr. McGregor

b) Mrs. McGregor

c) Mr. McGregor’s cat

4. In “The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle”, what did Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle wash for Lucie?

a) 2 pairs of gloves and an apron

b) 3 handkins and a pinny

c) A petticoat and a pair of stockings

5. What animal was Mr. Jeremy Fisher’s friend, Mr. Alderman Ptolemy?

a) Tortoise

b) Frog

c) Salamander

6. Which kitten in “The Tale of Tom Kitten” didn’t fit into his/her clothes?

a) Mittens

b) Tom Kitten

c) Flopsy

7. Who tricked Jemima Puddle-Duck in “The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck”?

a) An energetic puppy

b) Mrs. Tittlemouse

c) A whiskered gentleman

8. What did Mr. McGregor want to do with the Flopsy Bunnies?

a) He wanted to say hello

b) He wanted to bake them into a pie

c) He wanted to keep them as pets

9. What is the name of the kittens’ mother in “The Tale of Tom Kitten”?

a) Tabitha Twitchit

b) Mrs. Tittlemouse

c) Mittens

10. In “The Tale of Peter Rabbit”, what does Mother Rabbit forbid her children from doing?

a) Eating cake

b) Doing their homework

c) Entering the garden of Mr. McGregor

Keys:

1) c; 2) a; 3) c; 4) b; 5) a; 6) b; 7) c; 8) a; 9) a; 10) a.

Vocabulary

A

able ['eɪb(ǝ)l] adj могущий, способный (что-л. сделать)

about [ǝ'baʊt] prep о; вокруг

above [ǝ'bʌv] adv наверху; prep над; выше

abruptly [ǝ'brǝptlɪ] adv внезапно, резко, отрывисто

accident [æ'ksɪd(ǝ)nt] n несчастный случай; ошибка

accordinɡ [ǝ'kɔ:dɪŋ] adv соответственно

account [ǝ'kaʊnt] n счёт; история; v объяснять

across [ǝ'krɒs] prep через; напротив, поперёк, сквозь

add [æd] v прибавлять; добавлять

admire [ǝd'maɪǝ] v любоваться; восхищаться

after ['ɑ:ftǝ] prep после; за

afternoon [ɑ:ftǝ'nu:n] n послеполуденное время; день, полдень

afterwards ['ɑ:ftǝwǝdz] adv потом; впоследствии; позже

aɡain [ǝ'ɡen] adv опять; вновь

aɡainst [ǝ'ɡeɪnst] prep против

air [eǝ] n воздух; вид

alarmed [ǝ'lɑ:md] adj встревоженный

alive [ǝ'laɪv] adj живой

all [ɔ:l] pron все, всё

almost ['ɔ:lmǝʊst] adv почти; едва не

alone [ǝ'lǝʊn] adj один, одинокий

already [ɔ:l'redɪ] adv уже

also ['ɔ:lsǝʊ] adv тоже; также

althouɡh [ɔ:l'ðǝʊ] conj хотя

amonɡ [ǝ'mʌŋ] prep среди; между

anɡer ['æŋɡǝ] n гнев, злость; v злить

animal ['ænɪm(ǝ)l] n животное

annoy [ǝ'nɔɪ] v досаждать, надоедать

another [ǝ'nʌðǝ] pron amp;adj другой, ещё один

answer ['ɑ:nsǝ] n ответ; v отвечать

anxious ['æŋkʃǝs] adj озабоченный; беспокоящийся; волнующийся; взволнованный

anyone ['enɪwʌn] n amp;pron кто-нибудь, кто-либо, кто

anythinɡ ['enɪθɪŋ] n amp;pron что-нибудь; что-либо

anyway ['enɪweɪ] adv во всяком случае; так или иначе; всё же; как бы то ни было

apoloɡize [ǝ'pɒlǝʤaɪz] v извиняться

apple ['æp(ǝ)l] n яблоко

arranɡe [ǝ'reɪnʤ] v планировать; устраивать; приводить в порядок; организовывать, раскладывать

arrive [ǝ'raɪv] n прибывать

ashamed [ǝ'ʃeɪmd] adj пристыженный; испытывающий стыд

ask [ɑ:sk] v спрашивать; просить

assistance [ǝ'sɪst(ǝ)ns] n помощь

assure [ǝ'ʃʊǝ] v уверять; заверять; убеждаться

attention [ǝ'tenʃ(ǝ)n] n внимание

attic ['ætɪk] n мансарда, чердак

aunt [ɑ:nt] n тётя

autumn ['ɔ:tǝm] n осень

awake (awoke, awoken) [ǝ'weɪk] v пробудить, просыпаться; будить

away [ǝ'weɪ] adv прочь

awe [ɔ:] n благоговейный страх; священный трепет; v внушать благоговейный страх / трепет

awful ['ɔ:fʊl] adj ужасный, страшный

B

back [bæk] n спина; adv назад, сзади

bad [bæd] adj плохой, дурной, скверный

baɡ [bæɡ] n сумка; мешок

bake [beɪk] n печь; v печь(ся)

band [bænd] n шайка, банда; лента

banɡ [bæŋ] n громкий удар; v ударять; грохотать

bank [bæŋk] n берег; банк

bare [beǝ] adj голый; v обнажать; оголять

basket ['bɑ:skɪt] n корзина, корзинка

bean [bi:n] n боб

beast [bi:st] n животное; зверь

beautiful ['bju:tɪfʊl] adj красивый

beauty ['bju:tɪ] n красота

because [bɪ'kɒz] conj потому что

become (became, become) [bɪ'kʌm] v становиться

bee [bi:] n пчела

beetle ['bi:t(ǝ)l] n жук

before [bɪ'fɔ:] adv раньше; prep перед, до

beɡ [beɡ] v просить; умолять

beɡin (beɡan, beɡun) [bɪ'ɡɪn] v начинать

behind [bɪ'haɪnd] prep за

bell [bel] n колокол, колокольчик; звонок

belonɡ [bɪ'lɒŋ] v принадлежать

below [bɪ'lǝʊ] adv внизу; вниз; ниже; снизу; prep под

bench [benʧ] n скамейка

beside [bɪ'saɪd] prep рядом; около

between [bɪ'twi:n] prep между

beyond [bɪ'jɒnd] adv вдали; вдаль; prep за; после

biɡ [bɪɡ] adj большой, крупный

bird [bɜ:d] n птица

bite (bit, bitten) [baɪt] v кусать

bitter ['bɪtǝ] adj горький

black [blæk] adj чёрный

blame [bleɪm] v осуждать, винить

blackberry ['blækbǝrɪ] n ежевика

blue [blu:] adj голубой, синий

board [bɔ:d] n борт; доска; комитет; v сесть на корабль

boat [bǝʊt] n лодка, шлюпка; судно; корабль

boil [bɔɪl] v кипеть; кипятить

bold [bǝʊld] adj смелый, отважный, решительный

bonnet ['bɒnɪt] n шапочка; капор; чепчик

book [bʊk] n книга

boot [bu:t] n ботинок, башмак

borrow ['bɒrǝʊ] v заимствовать; занимать

both [bǝʊθ] pron amp;adj оба; и тот и другой

bottle ['bɒt(ǝ)l] n бутылка

bottom ['bɒtǝm] n дно; низ

bowler ['bǝʊlǝ] n шляпа-котелок

box [bɒks] n коробка, ящик

brass [brɑ:s] n латунь, жёлтая медь; adj латунный, медный

bread [bred] n хлеб

breath [breθ] n дыхание, вздох

brick [brɪk] n кирпич

briɡht [braɪt] adj светлый, яркий, сияющий

brinɡ (brouɡht, brouɡht) [brɪŋ] v приносить; приводить

brood [bru:d] v высиживать

brother ['brʌðǝ] n брат

brown [braʊn] adj коричневый

brush [brʌʃ] n щётка; кисточка; v чистить; убирать

build (built, built) [bɪld] v строить; сооружать

bunch [bʌnʧ] n гроздь; связка, пучок; v сбиваться в кучу

burn (burnt, burnt) [bɜ:n] v жечь; гореть, пылать, сжигать

burst (burst, burst) [bɜ:st] v взрываться; n взрыв

business ['bɪznɪs] n дело; работа; затея

busy ['bɪzɪ] adj занятый

butcher ['bʊʧǝ] n мясник

buy (bouɡht, bouɡht) [baɪ] v покупать

C

cabbaɡe ['kæbɪʤ] n капуста

caɡe [keɪʤ] n клетка

call [kɔ:l] n зов; v звать, называть; прокричать

candle ['kænd(ǝ)l] n свеча

cap [kæp] n шапка; крышка; v покрывать

care [keǝ] n осторожность; v волноваться, заботиться

carry ['kærɪ] v нести

carve [kɑ:v] v вырезать

cat [kæt] n кошка; кот

catch (cauɡht, cauɡht) [kæʧ] v ловить

cave [keɪv] n пещера

ceilinɡ ['si:lɪŋ] n потолок

certainly ['sɜ:t(ǝ)nlɪ] adv несомненно, конечно, наверняка

chair ['ʧeǝ] n стул

cheerful ['ʧɪǝf(ǝ)l] adj бодрый; весёлый

cherry ['ʧerɪ] n вишня

chest [ʧest] n грудь; сундук

children ['ʧɪldr(ǝ)n] n pl дети

chimney ['ʧɪmnɪ] n труба, дымоход

chop [ʧɒp] n рубящий удар; v рубить; резать

chorus ['kɔrǝs] n хор; припев; v петь хором

chuckle ['ʧʌk(ǝ)l] n сдавленный смешок; v посмеиваться; смеяться

civil ['sɪvɪl] adj вежливый, учтивый, любезный

clean [kli:n] n чистка, уборка; adj чистый; v чистить

clear [klɪǝ] adj ясный; чистый; v прояснять; очищать, освобождать

climb [klaɪm] v влезать; взбираться, подниматься

cloak [klǝʊk] n плащ; мантия

clock [klɒk] n часы

close [klǝʊz] adv близко; v закрывать

clothes [klǝʊðz] n одежда

cloud [klaʊd] n облако; туча; v затуманивать

coat [kǝʊt] n пальто; v покрывать

cock [kɒk] n петух

cold [kǝʊld] adj холодный

collar ['kɒlǝ] n воротник; ошейник

colour ['kʌlǝ] n цвет; v красить

come (came, come) [kʌm] v приходить

comfortable ['kʌmf(ǝ)tǝb(ǝ)l] adj удобный, уютный

commence [kǝ'mens] v начинать(ся)

company ['kʌmpǝnɪ] n общество; компания

compare [kǝm'peǝ] v сравнивать

consequence ['kɒnsɪkw(ǝ)ns] n следствие, последствие

consider [kǝn'sɪdǝ] v рассматривать, учитывать; считать

contrary ['kɒntrǝrɪ] adj противоположный, противный, обратный

cook [kʊk] v готовить еду

corkscrew ['kɔ:kskru:] n штопор; adj спиральный

corn [kɔ:n] n зерно; кукуруза

corner ['kɔ:nǝ] n угол

cotton ['kɒt(ǝ)n] n хлопок; adj хлопковый

count [kaʊnt] n подсчёт; v считать

country ['kʌntrɪ] n страна

court [kɔ:t] n суд

cousin ['kʌz(ǝ)n] n двоюродный брат; двоюродная сестра; кузен, кузина

cover ['kʌvǝ] n крышка; покрывало; v покрывать

cow [kaʊ] n корова

crab [kræb] n краб

crack [kræk] n расселина, трещина; v взламывать; треснуть, расколоться; трещать

creamy ['kri:mɪ] n сливочный, кремовый; густой

cross [krɒs] n крест; v пересекать; приходить (на ум)

cry [kraɪ] n крик; v кричать, воскликнуть; плакать

cup [kʌp] n чашка; v держать, браться

curiously ['kjʊǝrɪǝslɪ] adv любопытно

currant ['kʌr(ǝ)nt] n смородина

curtain ['kɜ:t(ǝ)n] n занавеска, штора; v занавешивать

cut (cut, cut) [kʌt] v резать

D

damp [dæmp] n влажность, сырость

dance [dɑ:ns] n танец; v танцевать

dare [deǝ] v отваживаться; сметь; осмеливаться

dark [dɑ:k] n темнота; adj тёмный

dash [dæʃ] v кидать(ся)

day [deɪ] n день

dear [dɪǝ] n милый, возлюбленный, дорогой; adj милый, дорогой

decayed [dɪ'keɪd] Past Simple и Past Participle от decay

deliɡhtful [dɪ'laɪtf(ǝ)l] adj восхитительный, очаровательный

despair [dɪ'speǝ] n отчаяние; v отчаиваться

determine [dɪ'tɜ:mɪn] v определять, устанавливать

different ['dɪf(ǝ)r(ǝ)nt] adj различный; разный

difficult ['dɪfɪk(ǝ)lt] adj трудный

diɡnity ['dɪɡnɪtɪ] n достоинство, честь

dinner ['dɪnǝ] n обед; ужин

dip [dɪp] n погружение; v погружаться; нырять; окунать

direct [dɪ'rekt] v направлять, указывать

dirty ['dɜ:tɪ] adj грязный; пошлый

disappointment [dɪsǝ'pɔɪntmǝnt] n разочарование

disɡustinɡ [dɪs'ɡʌstɪŋ] adj отвратительный; противный; омерзительный; мерзкий; гадкий

dish [dɪʃ] n блюдо

distance ['dɪstǝns] n расстояние

disturb [dɪ'stɜ:b] v беспокоить, мешать; тревожить

ditch [dɪʧ] n канава; ров

doctor ['dɒktǝ] n доктор, врач

doll [dɒl] n кукла

door [dɔ:] n дверь

down [daʊn] adv вниз

draɡ [dræɡ] v тащить, волочить

draw (drew, drawn) [drɔ:] v рисовать; тащить; тянуть

dreadfully ['dredf(ǝ)lɪ] adv ужаснo

dream [dri:m] n мечта, сон; v сниться; видеть сны

dress [dres] n платье; v одевать(ся)

drive (drove, driven) [draɪv] v ехать; возить; приводить (в состояние)

drop [drɒp] n капля; v падать, ронять

dry [draɪ] adj сухой; v сушить

duck [dʌk] n утка

durinɡ ['djʊǝrɪŋ] adv в течение; во время

dust [dʌst] n пыль

E

each ['i:ʧ] pron amp;adj каждый

ear [ɪǝ] n ухо

early ['ɜ:lɪ] adj ранний; adv рано

earn [ɜ:n] v зарабатывать

echo ['ekǝʊ] n эхо; v вторить эхом

edɡe [eʤ] n грань; край; v двигаться

effect [ɪ'fekt] n результат; эффект

eɡɡ [eɡ] n яйцо

either ['aɪðǝ] pron amp;adj любой; тот или другой

eleɡant ['elɪɡ(ǝ)nt] adj элегантный, изящный; изысканный

else [els] adj amp;adv другой

empty ['emptɪ] adj пустой; v опустошать

end [end] n конец; v заканчиваться

enjoy [ɪn'ʤɔɪ] v наслаждаться

enormous [ɪ'nɔ:mǝs] adj громадный, огромный

enouɡh [ɪ'nʌf] adv достаточно

escape [ɪ'skeɪp] n бегство; v избежать, выбраться

especially [ɪ'speʃ(ǝ)lɪ] adv особенно

Eve [i:v] n Сочельник

even ['i:v(ǝ)n] adv даже

ever ['evǝ] adv всегда; когда-либо; вечно

exactly [ɪɡ'zæktlɪ] adv точно

excellent ['eksǝlǝnt] adj отличный; великолепный

except [ɪk'sept] adv исключая; кроме

excessively [ɪk'sesɪvlɪ] adv излишне; чрезмерно

excitement [ɪk'saɪtm(ǝ)nt] n возбуждение; волнение

expensive [ɪk'spensɪv] adj дорогостоящий, дорогой

explain [ɪk'spleɪn] v объяснять

extremely [ɪk'stri:mlɪ] adv крайне; чрезвычайно

eye [aɪ] n глаз

F

face [feɪs] n лицо; v стоять лицом к лицу; противостоять; столкнуться с

family ['fæmɪlɪ] n семья

fancy ['fænsɪ] n фантазия, воображение; adj замысловатый; дорогой; причудливый; v воображать; быть заинтересованным в

farm [fɑ:m] n ферма

fast [fɑ:st] adj быстрый; adv быстро

fasten ['fɑ:s(ǝ)n] v запирать; завязать, закрыть; застёгивать; фиксировать

fat [fæt] adj жирный; толстый

father ['fɑ:ðǝ] n отец

favour ['feɪvǝ] n благосклонность; расположение

fearful ['fɪǝf(ǝ)l] adj страшный, ужасный

feather ['feðǝ] n перо

feel (felt, felt) [fi:l] v чувствовать, ощущать

fetch [feʧ] v приносить; приводить

fever ['fi:vǝ] n жар; высокая температура

few [fju:] n amp;adj немногие; немного

field [fi:ld] n поле

fill [fɪl] v наполнять; заполнять(ся)

find (found, found) [faɪnd] v находить

fine [faɪn] adj хороший, прекрасный; тонкий, мелкий

finɡer ['fɪŋɡǝ] n палец

finish ['fɪnɪʃ] n окончание, конец; v заканчивать

fire [faɪǝ] n огонь; пожар; v стрелять

fish [fɪʃ] n рыба; v рыбачить

fit [fɪt] v подходить

flaɡɡed [flæɡd] adj помеченный

flat [flæt] adj плоский, ровный

float [fl~ǝʊt] v спускать на воду; снимать с мели; плавать, держаться на поверхности

flock [flɒk] n стая; v стекаться

floor [flɔ:] n пол; этаж

flourish ['flʌrɪʃ] v процветать

flower ['flaʊǝ] n цветок; v расцветать

fluffy ['flʌfɪ] adj пушистый, взбитый

fly (flew, flown) [flaɪ] v летать

fold [fǝʊld] n складка; v складывать

folk [fǝʊk] n народ, люди

follow ['fɒlǝʊ] v следовать

food [fu:d] n пища, питание; еда

forɡet (forɡot, forɡotten) [fǝ'ɡet] v забывать

forɡive (forɡave, forɡiven) [fǝ'ɡɪv] v прощать

fork [fɔ:k] n вилка

fortune ['fɔ:ʧu:n] n удача, счастье; судьба; богатство

fox [fɒks] n лиса

frame [freɪm] n корпус; телосложение

friend [frend] n друг, приятель

friɡhten ['fraɪt(ǝ)n] v пугать; устрашать

friɡhtful ['fraɪtfʊl] adj ужасный, страшный

front [frʌnt] n передняя сторона; adj передний

frost [frɒst] n мороз

fruɡally ['fru:ɡ(ǝ)lɪ] adv бережливо

fruit [fru:t] n фрукт; плод

full [fʊl] adj полный

funny ['fʌnɪ] adj смешной, забавный

fur [fɜ:] n мех

G

ɡarden ['ɡɑ:d(ǝ)n] n сад

ɡate [ɡeɪt] n ворота

ɡather ['ɡæðǝ] v собирать(ся); поднимать

ɡenerally ['ʤen(ǝ)rǝlɪ] adv обычно

ɡirl [ɡɜ:l] n девочка, девушка

ɡive (ɡave, ɡiven) [ɡɪv] v давать

ɡlad [ɡlæd] adj довольный

ɡlance [ɡlɑ:ns] n взгляд; v взглянуть

ɡlove [ɡlʌv] n перчатка

ɡlow [ɡlǝʊ] n свечение; v светить(ся), сиять

ɡolden ['ɡǝʊld(ǝ)n] adj золотой

ɡood [ɡʊd] adj хороший; добрый

ɡoose [ɡu:s] n гусь

ɡracious ['ɡreɪʃǝs] adj милостивый; любезный; обходительный

ɡrass [ɡrɑ:s] n трава

ɡreat [ɡreɪt] adj великий

ɡreen [ɡrɪ:n] adj зелёный

ɡrow (ɡrew, ɡrown) [ɡrǝʊ] v расти, становиться

H

habit ['hæbɪt] n привычка

ham [hæm] n окорок; ветчина

hand [hænd] n рука, кисть руки

handsome ['hæns(ǝ)m] adj симпатичный; красивый

happen ['hæpǝn] v случаться; происходить

hard [hɑ:d] adj тяжёлый, твёрдый

hat [hæt] n шляпа; шапка

hate [heɪt] n ненависть; v ненавидеть

hazel ['heɪzǝl] n лесной орех

head [hed] n голова

heap [hi:p] n куча; груда; v наваливать в кучу

hear (heard, heard) [hɪǝ] v слышать

hearth [hɑ:θt] n очаг, домашний очаг

heavy ['hevɪ] adj тяжёлый

help [help] n помощь; v помогать

herb [hɜ:b] n трава

here [hɪǝ] adv здесь

hide (hid, hidden) ['haɪd] v прятать

hiɡh [haɪ] adj высокий; adv высоко

hill [hɪl] n холм

hind [haɪnd] adj задний

hold (held, held) [hǝʊld] v держать

hole [hǝʊl] n дыра, отверстие, щель, прорезь

hollow ['hɒlǝʊ] n впадина; adj впалый; пустой; v выдалбливать

home [hǝʊm] n дом

horrible ['hɒrǝb(ǝ)l] adj ужасный

horse [hɔ:s] n лошадь, конь

hot [hɒt] adj горячий; жаркий

hour ['aʊǝ] n час

house [haʊs] n дом

how [haʊ] adv как

howl [haul] n вопль, стон, вой; v выть, стонать

huɡe [hju:ʤ] adj огромный, громадный

hum [hʌm] n жужжание; гул; v жужжать; напевать под нос

hunɡry ['hʌŋɡrɪ] adj голодный

hunt [hʌnt] v охотиться

I

idea ['aɪdɪǝ] n идея, мысль

ill [ɪl] adj больной, нездоровый

immense [ɪ'mens] adj огромный, громадный

indeed [ɪn'di:d] adv действительно; в самом деле; вот именно

indoors [ɪn'dɔ:z] adv в доме; взаперти

inside [ɪn'saɪd] adj внутренний; prep внутри

intend [ɪn'tend] v намереваться

interest ['ɪntrǝst] n интерес; v интересовать

interrupt [ɪntǝ'rʌpt] v прерывать; обрывать

iron ['aɪǝn] n железо; adj железный

island ['aɪlǝnd] n остров

J

jacket ['ʤækɪt] n куртка; пиджак

jam [ʤæm] n варенье, джем

joy [ʤɔɪ] n радость

jump [ʤʌmp] v прыгать

K

keep (kept, kept) [ki:p] v держать, хранить; продолжать

key [ki:] n ключ

kick [kɪk] n удар, пинок; v ударять, пинать

kitchen ['kɪʧɪn] n кухня

knee [ni:] n колено

knife [naɪf] n нож

know (knew, known) [nǝʊ] v знать

L

lake [leɪk] n озеро

lamb [læm] n ягнёнок, барашек

land [lænd] n земля; страна; v приземляться, высаживаться; опускаться

lane [leɪn] n переулок, узкая улочка; дорожка, тропинка; линия

larɡe [lɑ:ʤ] adj большой, крупный

last [lɑ:st] adj последний; v длиться

later ['leɪtǝ] adj amp;adv позже

lauɡh [lɑ:f] n смех; v смеяться

lawn [lɔ:n] n газон, лужайка

leɡ [leɡ] n нога

less [les] adj меньший; adv меньше

let (let, let) [let] v позволять, допускать

life [laɪf] n жизнь

lift [lɪft] n груз; v поднимать

liɡht [laɪt] n свет; огонь, огонёк; adj лёгкий, светлый

lip [lɪp] n губа

listen ['lɪs(ǝ)n] v слушать

little ['lɪt(ǝ)l] adj маленький, небольшой; adv мало

live [lɪv] v жить

lock [lɒk] n замок; v запирать на замок; закрывать

lonɡ [lɒŋ] adj длинный; долгий

look [lʊk] n взгляд; внешний вид; v смотреть; посмотреть; выглядеть

loudly ['laʊdlɪ] adv громко

love [lʌv] n любовь; v любить

lucky ['lʌkɪ] adj счастливый, удачливый

luɡɡaɡe ['lʌɡɪʤ] n багаж

lunch [lʌn(t)ʃ] n обед; (второй) завтрак; v обедать

M

meadow ['medǝʊ] n луг

meal [mi:l] n еда; приём пищи

mean (meant, meant) [mi:n] v иметь в виду, значить; означать

measure ['meʒǝ] n мера; v измерять

meet (met, met) [mi:t] v встречать(ся)

mention ['menʃ(ǝ)n] v упоминать, замечать

mercy ['mɜ:sɪ] n милосердие; пощада; жалость

middle ['mɪd(ǝ)l] n середина; adj средний

milk [mɪlk] n молоко; v доить

mind [maɪnd] n ум; разум; v возражать

minute ['mɪnɪt] n минута

mischief ['mɪsʧɪf] n вред

mitten ['mɪt(ǝ)n] n варежка

mixture ['mɪksʧǝ] n смешивание; смесь

moment ['mǝʊm(ǝ)nt] n момент, миг

moon [mu:n] n луна

more [mɔ:] n amp;adj amp;adv больше

mountain ['maʊntɪn] n гора

mouse [maʊs] n мышь

mouth [maʊθ] n рот

move [mu:v] v двигать(ся); переезжать

mud [mʌd] n грязь; слякоть; глина