The Tale of Peter Rabbit

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 sandy bank, under 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 you must not 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 her basket and her umbrella and went through the wood to the baker’s, where she bought a loaf of brown bread and five currant buns.

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

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

First he ate some lettuces and some French beans. 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. He jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out, “Stop, thief!”

Peter was 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 among the potatoes.

After that he ran on all four legs and went faster, and I think he might have got away altogether if he had not run headlong into a gooseberry net and been 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 big tears rolled down his face. But his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great excitement and begged him to try, and try again.

Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve, meaning to pop it over the top of Peter. But Peter wriggled out just in time, and left his jacket behind him.

He rushed into the tool shed and jumped into a can. It would have been a beautiful place 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 under a flower pot. He began to turn the pots over one by one, looking carefully under each.

Presently Peter sneezed. “Kertyschoo!”

Mr. McGregor was after him in no time. He tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of a window and upset three plants on the way. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor, and he was tired of running after a rabbit, so he went back to his work.

Peter sat down to rest. He was out of breath and trembling with fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. He was very damp, too, from sitting in that can.

After a while he began to wander about, going lippity, lippity, not very fast, and looking all round him.

He found a door in a wall, but it was locked, and there was no room for a plump little rabbit to squeeze underneath.

An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to the gate. But she had such a large pea in her mouth that she could not answer, and only shook her head at him. Peter began to cry.

Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he grew more and more puzzled.

Presently he came to a pond where Mr. McGregor filled his watering cans. A white cat sat staring at some goldfish. She sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her tail twitched, as though it had a life of its own. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her, for he had heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny.

Peter went back towards the tool shed. But suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe: scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch. He scuttled under the bushes.

Nothing happened, so presently he came out, climbed up on a wheelbarrow and peeped over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions, with his back turned. And beyond him was the gate!

Peter got down off the wheelbarrow very quietly and started running as fast as he could go, along a straight path behind some black currant bushes.

Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate and was safe at last in the wood outside the garden.

Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scarecrow, to frighten the blackbirds.

Peter never stopped running and never looked behind him until he got home to the big fir tree.

He was so tired that he flopped down on the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit hole and shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking. She wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and the second pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a fortnight.

I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.

His mother put him to bed and made some camomile tea, and she gave a dose of it to Peter: one tablespoonful, to be taken at bedtime.

But Flopsy, Mopsy and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.