The Tale of Hill Top Farm by Susan Wittig Albert Read Free Book Online

with Miss Tolliver, but that was no longer possible. Would she have to lodge here at Belle Green every time she came, with the ferretty Mrs. Crook prying into her business and Mr. Crook scowling at her over every meal, like an irate walrus whose territory she had invaded? She could not ask her father for advice, for he thought the entire idea was ludicrous. Her brother Bertram generally supported her efforts, but he was preoccupied with his own life these days, having just this year bought a farm in Scotland and married a neighboring farmer’s daughter—all without saying a word to anyone but Beatrix. Norman would have helped, of course, generously and without question. He had always been able to suggest clever ways out of the dilemmas that had come up with her little books, and over the five years of their collaboration and friendship, she had come to rely on his sound advice, always offered with regard for her feelings.
    But Norman was dead, Bertram unavailable, her father unapproachable. She was going to have to face these difficulties, however unpleasant, all by herself. She sighed and pulled the blanket up to her chin. She had hoped that she was opening a fresh new chapter in her life—but it was certainly full of unwelcome complications. And with that ambivalent thought, and a murmured goodnight to her animals, she fell asleep.

3
    A Town Mouse Meets a Country Cat
    The moon had shifted so that its beams silvered the shelf where Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, Josey and Mopsy, and Tom Thumb were napping. Mrs. Tig, who looked very like a stout, bristly little person, stirred, blinked, and sniffled. The sniffling turned to snuffling, and in a moment she was seized by a loud a-chew !
    “My pocket handkerchief,” she muttered, rooting around on the floor of her wicker hamper, which had a convenient window let into it so that she could see out. “Where is my pocket handkerchief?”
    “Where are we?” shrilled Tom Thumb, startled out of a sound sleep. “Are we back in London? Oh, please tell me that we’re back in London!”
    “No, we’re not back in London,” Josey said in an irritated tone, and rolled over against Mopsy. “We’re in Sawrey Village. Stop that squeaking and go back to sleep!”
    The door opened noiselessly and a small terrier slipped into the room. He studied the shelf for a moment, then got up on his hind legs and sniffed at Tom’s cage.
    “Oh, my whiskers, it’s a dog!” Tom cried frantically, running in circles around his cage .
    The door opened again, and a shadow slipped into the room.
    “And a CAT!” Tom shrieked, jumping up and down . “We’re doomed! Doomed, I tell you! Doomed, doomed, doomed!”
    “For pity’s sake, stop that racket,” said the dog in some disgust . “I don’t eat people’s pets. That’s as distasteful as eating their shoes, which I’ve never been fond of. And I certainly wouldn’t eat a guest.” He sat down on his haunches and looked at the cat . “What about you, Tabitha Twitchit?”
    “I never eat anything I’ve been introduced to,” the cat replied. A handsome calico, she sat down as well, and gave her paw a suggestive lick.
    “My name is Tom Thumb,” said the mouse, hurriedly recollecting his manners, “and these are my traveling companions, Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle Hedgehog, and Josey and Mopsy Rabbit. We’ve come from London with Miss Potter.” With another uneasy glance at the cat, he pointed to a pillowy mound in the middle of the bed, lowering his voice to a whisper. “That’s Miss Potter, asleep . ”
    “I’m Tabitha Twitchit,” the cat said, and licked the other paw.
    “I’m Rascal,” the dog said, surveying them with some curiosity . “And if you don’t mind my asking, why does your mistress travel with you lot? Seems a bit strange to me.”
    Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle came to the window in her basket and looked out. “There’s nothing at all strange about it,” she said haughtily. “Miss Potter is a widely respected illustrator, and we are her