LITMIR.BIZ

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      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 and 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 End

      The Tale of Peter Rabbit

       (Beatrix Potter)

       Table of Contents

      Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names were—

       Flopsy,

       Mopsy,

       Cotton-tail,

       and Peter.

      They lived with their Mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of a very big fir-tree.

      'Now my dears,' said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, 'you may go into the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden: your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs. McGregor.'

      'Now run along, and don't get into mischief. I am going out.'

      Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella, and went through the wood to the baker's. She bought a loaf of brown bread and five currant buns.

      Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail, who were good little bunnies, went down the lane to gather blackberries:

      But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's garden, and squeezed under the gate!

      First he ate some lettuces and some French beans; and then he ate some radishes;

      And then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley.

      But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr. McGregor!

      Mr. McGregor was on his hands and knees planting out young cabbages, but he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out, 'Stop thief!'

      Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the garden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate.

      He lost one of his shoes among the cabbages, and the other shoe amongst the potatoes.

      After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so that I think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately run into a gooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his jacket. It was a blue jacket with brass buttons, quite new.

      Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great excitement, and implored him to exert himself.

      Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve, which he intended to pop upon the top of Peter; but Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving his jacket behind him.

      And rushed into the tool-shed, and jumped into a can. It would have been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it had not had so much water in it.

      Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the tool-shed, perhaps hidden underneath a flower-pot. He began to turn them over carefully, looking under each.

      Presently Peter sneezed—'Kertyschoo!' Mr. McGregor was after him in no time.

      And tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of a window, upsetting three plants. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor, and he was tired of running after Peter.

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