Tommy Brock's snores continued,grunty and regular from Mr.Tod's bed. Nothing could be seen ofthe young family.The sun had set; an owl began tohoot in the wood. There were manyunpleasant things lying about thathad much better have been buried;rabbit bones and skulls, and chickens'legs and other horrors. It wasa shocking place, and very dark.They went back to the front ofthe house, and tried in every way tomove the bolt of the kitchen window.They tried to push up a rustynail between the window sashes;but it was of no use, especiallywithout a light.They sat side by side outside thewindow, whispering and listening.In half an hour the moon roseover the wood. It shone full andclear and cold, upon the house,amongst the rocks, and in at thekitchen window. But alas, no littlerabbit babies were to be seen! Themoonbeams twinkled on the carvingknife and the pie dish, andmade a path of brightness acrossthe dirty floor.The light showed a little door ina wall beside the kitchen fireplace—a little iron door belonging to abrick oven of that old-fashionedsort that used to be heated withfaggots of wood.And presently at the same momentPeter and Benjamin noticedthat whenever they shook the windowthe little door opposite shookin answer. The young family werealive; shut up in the oven!Benjamin was so excited that itwas a mercy he did not awakeTommy Brock, whose snores continuedsolemnly in Mr. Tod's bed.But there really was not verymuch comfort in the discovery.They could not open the window;and although the young family wasalive the little rabbits were quiteincapable of letting themselves out;they were not old enough to crawl.After much whispering, Peterand Benjamin decided to dig a tunnel.They began to burrow a yardor two lower down the bank. Theyhoped that they might be able towork between the large stonesunder the house; the kitchen floorwas so dirty that it was impossibleto say whether it was made of earthor flags.They dug and dug for hours.They could not tunnel straight onaccount of stones; but by the end ofthe night they were under thekitchen floor. Benjamin was on hisback scratching upwards. Peter'sclaws were worn down; he wasoutside the tunnel, shuffling sandaway. He called out that it wasmorning—sunrise; and that thejays were making a noise downbelow in the woods.Benjamin Bunny came out of thedark tunnel shaking the sand fromhis ears; he cleaned his face withhis paws. Every minute the sunshone warmer on the top of thehill. In the valley there was a sea ofwhite mist, with golden tops oftrees showing through.Again from the fields downbelow in the mist there came theangry cry of a jay, followed by thesharp yelping bark of a fox!Then those two rabbits lost theirheads completely. They did themost foolish thing that they couldhave done. They rushed into theirshort new tunnel, and hid themselvesat the top end of it, underMr. Tod's kitchen floor.Mr. Tod was coming up BullBanks, and he was in the very worstof tempers. First he had been upsetby breaking the plate. It was hisown fault; but it was a china plate,the last of the dinner service thathad belonged to his grandmother,old Vixen Tod. Then the midgeshad been very bad. And he hadfailed to catch a hen pheasant onher nest; and it had contained onlyfive eggs, two of them addled. Mr.Tod had had an unsatisfactorynight.As usual, when out of humor, hedetermined to move house. First hetried the pollard willow, but it wasdamp; and the otters had left adead fish near it. Mr. Tod likesnobody's leavings but his own.He made his way up the hill; histemper was not improved by noticingunmistakable marks of badger.No one else grubs up the moss sowantonly as Tommy Brock.Mr. Tod slapped his stick uponthe earth and fumed; he guessedwhere Tommy Brock had gone to.He was further annoyed by the jaybird which followed him persistently.It flew from tree to tree andscolded, warning every rabbitwithin hearing that either a cat ora fox was coming up the plantation.Once when it flew screamingover his head Mr. Tod snapped atit, and barked.He approached his house verycarefully, with a large rusty key. Hesniffed and his whiskers bristled.The house was locked up, but Mr.Tod had his doubts whether it wasempty. He turned the rusty key inthe lock; the rabbits below couldhear it. Mr. Tod opened the doorcautiously and went in.The sight that met Mr. Tod's eyesin Mr. Tod's kitchen made Mr. Todfurious. There was Mr. Tod's chair,and Mr. Tod's pie dish, and hisknife and fork and mustard andsalt cellar, and his tablecloth, thathe had left folded up in the dresser—all set out for supper (or breakfast)—without doubt for thatodious Tommy Brock.There was a smell of fresh earthand dirty badger, which fortunatelyoverpowered all smell ofrabbit.But what absorbed Mr. Tod'sattention was a noise, a deep slowregular snoring grunting noise,coming from his own bed.He peeped through the hinges ofthe half-open bedroom door. Thenhe turned and came out of thehouse in a hurry. His whiskers bristledand his coat collar stood onend with rage.For the next twenty minutes Mr.Tod kept creeping cautiously intothe house, and retreating hurriedlyout again. By degrees he venturedfurther in—right into the bed-room. When he was outside thehouse, he scratched up the earthwith fury. But when he was inside—he did not like the look ofTommy Brock's teeth.He was lying on his back with hismouth open, grinning from ear toear. He snored peacefully andregularly; but one eye was notperfectly shut.Mr. Tod came in and out of thebedroom. Twice he brought in hiswalking stick, and once he broughtin the coal scuttle. But he thoughtbetter of it, and took them away.When he came back after removingthe coal scuttle, Tommy Brockwas lying a little more sideways;but he seemed even sounder asleep.He was an incurably indolent person;he was not in the least afraidof Mr. Tod; he was simply too lazyand comfortable to move.Mr. Tod came back yet againinto the bedroom with a clothesline. He stood a minute watchingTommy Brock and listening attentivelyto the snores. They were veryloud indeed, but seemed quite natural.Mr. Tod turned his back towardsthe bed, and undid the window. Itcreaked; he turned round with ajump. Tommy Brock, who hadopened one eye—shut it hastily.The snores continued.Mr. Tod's proceedings werepeculiar, and rather difficult (becausethe bed was between the windowand the door of the bedroom). Heopened the window a little way,and pushed out the greater part ofthe clothes line on to the window-sill. The rest of the line, with a hookat the end, remained in his hand.Tommy Brock snored conscientiously.Mr. Tod stood and lookedat him for a minute; then he leftthe room again.Tommy Brock opened both eyes,and looked at the rope and grinned.There was a noise outside the window.Tommy Brock shut his eyes ina hurry.Mr. Tod had gone out at thefront door, and round to the backof the house. On the way, he stumbledover the rabbit burrow. If hehad had any idea who was inside ithe would have pulled them outquickly.His foot went through the tunnelnearly upon the top of Peter Rabbitand Benjamin; but, fortunately, hethought that it was some more ofTommy Brock's work.He took up the coil of line fromthe sill, listened for a moment, andthen tied the rope to a tree.Tommy Brock watched him withone eye, through the window. Hewas puzzled.Mr. Tod fetched a large heavypailful of water from the spring,and staggered with it through thekitchen into his bedroom.Tommy Brock snored industriously,with rather a snort.Mr. Tod put down the pail besidethe bed, took up the end of ropewith the hook—hesitated, andlooked at Tommy Brock. Thesnores were almost apoplectic; butthe grin was not quite so big.Mr. Tod gingerly mounted achair by the head of the bedstead.His legs were dangerously near toTommy Brock's teeth.He reached up and put the endof rope, with the hook, over thehead of the tester bed, where thecurtains ought to hang.(Mr. Tod's curtains were foldedup, and put away, owing to thehouse being unoccupied. So wasthe counterpane. Tommy Brockwas covered with a blanket only.)Mr. Tod standing on the unsteadychair looked down upon him attentively;he really was a first prizesound sleeper!It seemed as though nothingwould waken him—not even theflapping rope across the bed.Mr. Tod descended safely fromthe chair, and endeavored to get upagain with the pail of water. Heintended to hang it from the hook,dangling over the head of TommyBrock, in order to make a sort ofshower-bath, worked by a string,through the window.But, naturally, being a thin-legged person (though vindictiveand sandy whiskered)—he wasquite unable to lift the heavyweight to the level of the hook andrope. He very nearly overbalancedhimself.The snores became more andmore apoplectic. One of TommyBrock's hind legs twitched underthe blanket, but still he slept onpeacefully.Mr. Tod and the pail descendedfrom the chair without accident.After considerable thought, heemptied the water into a washbasin and jug. The empty pail wasnot too heavy for him; he slung itup wobbling over the head ofTommy Brock.Surely there never was such asleeper! Mr. Tod got up and down,down and up on the chair.As he could not lift the wholepailful of water at once he fetcheda milk jug and ladled quarts ofwater into the pail by degrees. Thepail got fuller and fuller, andswung like a pendulum. Occasionallya drop splashed over; but stillTommy Brock snored regularly andnever moved,—except in one eye.At last Mr. Tod's preparationswere complete. The pail was full ofwater; the rope was tightly strainedover the top of the bed, and acrossthe windowsill to the tree outside."It will make a great mess in mybedroom; but I could never sleep inthat bed again without a springcleaning of some sort," said Mr.Tod.
Mr. Tod took a last look at thebadger and softly left the room. Hewent out of the house, shutting thefront door. The rabbits heard hisfootsteps over the tunnel.He ran round behind the house,intending to undo the rope in orderto let fall the pailful of water uponTommy Brock—"I will wake him up with anunpleasant surprise," said Mr. Tod.The moment he had gone,Tommy Brock got up in a hurry; herolled Mr. Tod's dressing-gown intoa bundle, put it into the bed beneaththe pail of water instead ofhimself, and left the room also—grinning immensely.He went into the kitchen, lightedthe fire and boiled the kettle; forthe moment he did not troublehimself to cook the baby rabbits.
When Mr. Tod got to the tree, hefound that the weight and strainhad dragged the knot so tight thatit was past untying. He was obligedto gnaw it with his teeth. Hechewed and gnawed for more thantwenty minutes. At last the ropegave way with such a sudden jerkthat it nearly pulled his teeth out,and quite knocked him over backwards.Inside the house there was agreat crash and splash, and thenoise of a pail rolling over and over.But no screams. Mr. Tod wasmystified; he sat quite still, andlistened attentively. Then he peepedin at the window. The water wasdripping from the bed, the pail hadrolled into a corner.In the middle of the bed, underthe blanket, was a wet SOMETHING—much flattened in the middle,where the pail had caught it (as itwere across the tummy). Its headwas covered by the wet blanket,and it was NOT SNORING ANY LONGER.There was nothing stirring, andno sound except the drip, drop,drop, drip, of water trickling fromthe mattress.
Mr. Tod watched it for half anhour; his eyes glistened.Then he cut a caper, and becameso bold that he even tapped at thewindow; but the bundle nevermoved.Yes—there was no doubt aboutit—it had turned out even betterthan he had planned; the pail hadhit poor old Tommy Brock, andkilled him dead!"I will bury that nasty person inthe hole which he has dug. I willbring my bedding out, and dry it inthe sun," said Mr. Tod."I will wash the tablecloth andspread it on the grass in the sun tobleach. And the blanket must behung up in the wind; and the bedmust be thoroughly disinfected,and aired with a warming-pan;and warmed with a hot water bottle.""I will get soft soap, and monkeysoap, and all sorts of soap; andsoda and scrubbing brushes; andpersian powder; and carbolic toremove the smell. I must have adisinfecting. Perhaps I may have toburn sulphur."He hurried round the house toget a shovel from the kitchen—"First I will arrange the hole—thenI will drag out that person in theblanket. . . ."He opened the door. . . .Tommy Brock was sitting at Mr.Tod's kitchen table, pouring out teafrom Mr. Tod's teapot into Mr.Tod's teacup. He was quite dryhimself and grinning; and he threwthe cup of scalding tea all over Mr.Tod.Then Mr. Tod rushed uponTommy Brock, and Tommy Brockgrappled with Mr. Tod amongstthe broken crockery, and therewas a terrific battle all over thekitchen. To the rabbits underneathit sounded as if the floor would giveway at each crash of falling furniture.They crept out of their tunnel,and hung about amongst the rocksand bushes, listening anxiously.Inside the house the racket wasfearful. The rabbit babies in theoven woke up trembling; perhaps itwas fortunate they were shut up inside.Everything was upset except thekitchen table.And everything was broken,except the mantelpiece and thekitchen fender. The crockery wassmashed to atoms.The chairs were broken, and thewindow, and the clock fell with acrash, and there were handfuls ofMr. Tod's sandy whiskers.The vases fell off the mantelpiece,the cannisters fell off theshelf; the kettle fell off the hob.Tommy Brock put his foot in a jarof raspberry jam.
And the boiling water out of thekettle fell upon the tail of Mr. Tod.When the kettle fell, TommyBrock, who was still grinning,happened to be uppermost; and herolled Mr. Tod over and over like alog, out at the door.Then the snarling and worryingwent on outside; and they rolledover the bank, and down hill,bumping over the rocks. There willnever be any love lost betweenTommy Brock and Mr. Tod.As soon as the coast was clear,Peter Rabbit and Benjamin Bunnycame out of the bushes."Now for it! Run in, CousinBenjamin! Run in and get them! whileI watch the door."But Benjamin was frightened—"Oh; oh! they are coming back!""No they are not.""Yes they are!""What dreadful bad language! Ithink they have fallen down thestone quarry."Still Benjamin hesitated, andPeter kept pushing him—"Be quick, it's all right. Shut theoven door, Cousin Benjamin, sothat he won't miss them."Decidedly there were livelydoings in Mr. Tod's kitchen!At home in the rabbit hole,things had not been quite comfortable.After quarreling at supper,Flopsy and old Mr. Bouncer hadpassed a sleepless night, andquarrelled again at breakfast. Old Mr.Bouncer could no longer deny thathe had invited company into therabbit hole; but he refused to replyto the questions and reproaches ofFlopsy. The day passed heavily.Old Mr. Bouncer, very sulky, washuddled up in a corner, barricadedwith a chair. Flopsy had takenaway his pipe and hidden the tobacco.She had been having a completeturn out and spring cleaning,to relieve her feelings. She had justfinished. Old Mr. Bouncer, behindhis chair, was wondering anxiouslywhat she would do next.In Mr. Tod's kitchen, amidst thewreckage, Benjamin Bunny pickedhis way to the oven nervously,through a thick cloud of dust. Heopened the oven door, felt inside,and found something warm andwriggling. He lifted it out carefully,and rejoined Peter Rabbit."I've got them! Can we get away?Shall we hide, Cousin Peter?"Peter pricked his ears; distantsounds of fighting still echoed inthe wood.Five minutes afterwards twobreathless rabbits came scutteringaway down Bull Banks, half carrying,half dragging a sack betweenthem, bumpetty bump over thegrass. They reached home safely,and burst into the rabbit hole.Great was old Mr. Bouncer's reliefand Flopsy's joy when Peter andBenjamin arrived in triumph withthe young family. The rabbit babieswere rather tumbled and very hungry;they were fed and put to bed.They soon recovered.A new long pipe and a fresh supplyof rabbit tobacco was presentedto Mr. Bouncer. He was ratherupon his dignity; but he accepted.Old Mr. Bouncer was forgiven,and they all had dinner. Then Peterand Benjamin told their story—butthey had not waited long enough tobe able to tell the end of the battlebetween Tommy Brock and Mr.Tod.
[For Cicily and Charlie,a Tale of the Christmas Pig]
Once upon a time there was anold pig called Aunt Pettitoes. Shehad eight of a family: four little girlpigs, called Cross-patch, Suck-suck,Yock-yock and Spot; and four littleboy pigs, called Alexander, PiglingBland, Chin-Chin and Stumpy.Stumpy had had an accident to histail.The eight little pigs had very fineappetites—"Yus, yus, yus! they eatand indeed they DO eat!" said AuntPettitoes, looking at her familywith pride. Suddenly there werefearful squeals; Alexander hadsqueezed inside the hoops of thepig trough and stuck.
Aunt Pettitoes and I dragged himout by the hind legs.Chin-chin was already in disgrace;it was washing day, and hehad eaten a piece of soap. Andpresently in a basket of cleanclothes, we found another dirtylittle pig—"Tchut, tut, tut! whicheveris this?" grunted Aunt Pettitoes.Now all the pig family are pink, orpink with black spots, but this pigchild was smutty black all over;when it had been popped into atub, it proved to be Yock-yock.I went into the garden; there Ifound Cross-patch and Suck-suckrooting up carrots. I whipped themmyself and led them out by theears. Cross-patch tried to bite me."Aunt Pettitoes, Aunt Pettitoes!you are a worthy person, but yourfamily is not well brought up.Every one of them has been inmischief except Spot and PiglingBland.""Yus, yus!" sighed Aunt Pettitoes."And they drink bucketfuls of milk;I shall have to get another cow!Good little Spot shall stay at hometo do the housework; but the othersmust go. Four little boy pigs andfour little girl pigs are too manyaltogether." "Yus, yus, yus," saidAunt Pettitoes, "there will be moreto eat without them."So Chin-chin and Suck-suck wentaway in a wheel-barrow, andStumpy, Yock-yock and Cross-patch rode away in a cart.And the other two little boy pigs,Pigling Bland and Alexander wentto market. We brushed their coats,we curled their tails and washedtheir little faces, and wished themgood bye in the yard.Aunt Pettitoes wiped her eyeswith a large pocket handkerchief,then she wiped Pigling Bland's noseand shed tears; then she wipedAlexander's nose and shed tears;then she passed the handkerchief toSpot. Aunt Pettitoes sighed andgrunted, and addressed those littlepigs as follows—"Now Pigling Bland, son PiglingBland, you must go to market. Takeyour brother Alexander by thehand. Mind your Sunday clothes,and remember to blow your nose"—(Aunt Pettitoes passed round thehandkerchief again)—"beware oftraps, hen roosts, bacon and eggs;always walk upon your hind legs."Pigling Bland who was a sedatelittle pig, looked solemnly at hismother, a tear trickled down hischeek.Aunt Pettitoes turned to theother—"Now son Alexander takethe hand"—"Wee, wee, wee!"giggled Alexander—"take the hand ofyour brother Pigling Bland, youmust go to market. Mind—" "Wee,wee, wee!" interrupted Alexanderagain. "You put me out," said AuntPettitoes—"Observe signposts andmilestones; do not gobble herringbones—" "And remember," said Iimpressively, "if you once cross thecounty boundary you cannot comeback. Alexander, you are notattending. Here are two licensespermitting two pigs to go to market inLancashire. Attend Alexander. Ihave had no end of trouble in gettingthese papers from the policeman."Pigling Bland listenedgravely; Alexander was hopelesslyvolatile.I pinned the papers, for safety,inside their waistcoat pockets;Aunt Pettitoes gave to each a littlebundle, and eight conversationpeppermints with appropriatemoral sentiments in screws ofpaper. Then they started.Pigling Bland and Alexandertrotted along steadily for a mile; atleast Pigling Bland did. Alexandermade the road half as long againby skipping from side to side. Hedanced about and pinched hisbrother, singing—"This pig went to market, this pig stayedat home,"This pig had a bit of meat—let's see what they have given US fordinner, Pigling?"Pigling Bland and Alexander satdown and untied their bundles.Alexander gobbled up his dinner inno time; he had already eaten allhis own peppermints—"Give meone of yours, please, Pigling?" "ButI wish to preserve them foremergencies," said Pigling Blanddoubtfully. Alexander went into squealsof laughter. Then he pricked Piglingwith the pin that had fastenedhis pig paper; and when Piglingslapped him he dropped the pin,and tried to take Pigling's pin, andthe papers got mixed up. PiglingBland reproved Alexander.But presently they made it upagain, and trotted away together,singing—"Tom, Tom the piper's son, stole a pigand away he ran!"But all the tune that he could play, was`Over the hills and far away!'"
"What's that, young Sirs? Stole apig? Where are your licenses?" saidthe policeman. They had nearly runagainst him round a corner. PiglingBland pulled out his paper; Alexander,after fumbling, handed oversomething scrumply—"To 2 1/2 oz. conversation sweetiesat three farthings"—"What's this?this ain't a license?" Alexander'snose lengthened visibly, he had lostit. "I had one, indeed I had, Mr.Policeman!"
"It's not likely they let you startwithout. I am passing the farm.You may walk with me." "Can Icome back too?" inquired PiglingBland. "I see no reason, young Sir;your paper is all right." PiglingBland did not like going on alone,and it was beginning to rain. But itis unwise to argue with the police;he gave his brother a peppermint,and watched him out of sight.To conclude the adventures ofAlexander—the policeman saunteredup to the house about teatime, followed by a damp subduedlittle pig. I disposed of Alexander inthe neighborhood; he did fairlywell when he had settled down.Pigling Bland went on alonedejectedly; he came to cross roads anda sign-post—"To Market-town 5miles," "Over the Hills, 4 miles,""To Pettitoes Farm, 3 miles."Pigling Bland was shocked, therewas little hope of sleeping in MarketTown, and tomorrow was thehiring fair; it was deplorable tothink how much time had beenwasted by the frivolity of Alexander.He glanced wistfully along theroad towards the hills, and then setoff walking obediently the otherway, buttoning up his coat againstthe rain. He had never wanted togo; and the idea of standing all byhimself in a crowded market, to bestared at, pushed, and hired bysome big strange farmer was verydisagreeable—"I wish I could have a little gardenand grow potatoes," said PiglingBland.He put his cold hand in hispocket and felt his paper, he put hisother hand in his other pocket andfelt another paper—Alexander's!Pigling squealed; then ran backfrantically, hoping to overtakeAlexander and the policeman.He took a wrong turn—severalwrong turns, and was quite lost.It grew dark, the wind whistled,the trees creaked and groaned.Pigling Bland became frightenedand cried "Wee, wee, wee! I can'tfind my way home!"After an hour's wandering he gotout of the wood; the moon shonethrough the clouds, and PiglingBland saw a country that was newto him.The road crossed a moor; belowwas a wide valley with a river twinklingin the moonlight, and beyond—in misty distance—lay the hills.He saw a small wooden hut,made his way to it, and crept inside—"I am afraid it IS a hen house,but what can I do?" said PiglingBland, wet and cold and quite tiredout.