In this classic Beatrix Potter tale, a naughty Tom Kitten gets tangled up in Samuel Whiskers Roly Poly Pudding, totally unable to escape. Will Samuel Whiskers have kitten pie for dinner, or will someone come to Tom’s rescue?
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This is an endearing classic tale by the renowned children’s book author, of Peter Rabbit fame. You can read or download Peter Rabbit on free FKB too,
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Download or read Samuel Whiskers on the links under this post.
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Text From Samuel Whiskers
Once upon a time there was an old cat, called Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit, who
was an anxious parent. She used to lose her kittens continually, and
whenever they were lost they were always in mischief!
On baking day she determined to shut them up in a cupboard.
She caught Moppet and Mittens, but she could not find Tom.
Mrs. Tabitha went up and down all over the house, mewing for Tom
Kitten. She looked in the pantry under the staircase, and she searched
the best spare bedroom that was all covered up with dust sheets. She
went right upstairs and looked into the attics, but she could not find
him anywhere.
It was an old, old house, full of cupboards and passages. Some of the
walls were four feet thick, and there used to be queer noises inside
them, as if there might be a little secret staircase. Certainly there
were odd little jagged doorways in the wainscot, and things disappeared
at night–especially cheese and bacon.
Mrs. Tabitha became more and more distracted, and mewed dreadfully.
While their mother was searching the house, Moppet and Mittens had got
into mischief.
The cupboard door was not locked, so they pushed it open and came out.
They went straight to the dough which was set to rise in a pan before
the fire.
They patted it with their little soft paws–“Shall we make dear little
muffins?” said Mittens to Moppet.
But just at that moment somebody knocked at the front door, and Moppet
jumped into the flour barrel in a fright.
Mittens ran away to the dairy, and hid in an empty jar on the stone
shelf where the milk pans stand.
The visitor was a neighbour, Mrs. Ribby; she had called to borrow some
yeast.
Mrs. Tabitha came downstairs mewing dreadfully–“Come in, Cousin Ribby,
come in, and sit ye down! I’m in sad trouble, Cousin Ribby,” said
Tabitha, shedding tears. “I’ve lost my dear son Thomas; I’m afraid the
rats have got him.” She wiped her eyes with her apron.
“He’s a bad kitten, Cousin Tabitha; he made a cat’s cradle of my best
bonnet last time I came to tea. Where have you looked for him?”
“All over the house! The rats are too many for me. What a thing it is to
have an unruly family!” said Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit.
“I’m not afraid of rats; I will help you to find him; and whip him too!
What is all that soot in the fender?”
“The chimney wants sweeping–Oh, dear me, Cousin Ribby–now Moppet and
Mittens are gone!”
“They have both got out of the cupboard!”
Ribby and Tabitha set to work to search the house thoroughly again.
They poked under the beds with Ribby’s umbrella, and they rummaged in
cupboards. They even fetched a candle, and looked inside a clothes chest
in one of the attics. They could not find anything, but once they heard
a door bang and somebody scuttered downstairs.
“Yes, it is infested with rats,” said Tabitha tearfully. “I caught seven
young ones out of one hole in the back kitchen, and we had them for
dinner last Saturday. And once I saw the old father rat–an enormous old
rat, Cousin Ribby. I was just going to jump upon him, when he showed his
yellow teeth at me and whisked down the hole.”
“The rats get upon my nerves, Cousin Ribby,” said Tabitha.
Ribby and Tabitha searched and searched. They both heard a curious
roly-poly noise under the attic floor. But there was nothing to be seen.
They returned to the kitchen. “Here’s one of your kittens at least,”
said Ribby, dragging Moppet out of the flour barrel.
They shook the flour off her and set her down on the kitchen floor. She
seemed to be in a terrible fright.
“Oh! Mother, Mother,” said Moppet, “there’s been an old woman rat in the
kitchen, and she’s stolen some of the dough!”
The two cats ran to look at the dough pan. Sure enough there were marks
of little scratching fingers, and a lump of dough was gone!
“Which way did she go, Moppet?”
But Moppet had been too much frightened to peep out of the barrel again.
Ribby and Tabitha took her with them to keep her safely in sight, while
they went on with their search.
They went into the dairy. The first thing they found was Mittens, hiding
in an empty jar.
They tipped up the jar, and she scrambled out.
“Oh, Mother, Mother!” said Mittens–
“Oh! Mother, Mother, there has been an old man rat in the dairy–a
dreadful ‘normous big rat, mother; and he’s stolen a pat of butter and
the rolling-pin.”
Ribby and Tabitha looked at one another.
“A rolling-pin and butter! Oh, my poor son Thomas!” exclaimed Tabitha,
wringing her paws.
“A rolling-pin?” said Ribby. “Did we not hear a roly-poly noise in the
attic when we were looking into that chest?”
Ribby and Tabitha rushed upstairs again. Sure enough the roly-poly noise
was still going on quite distinctly under the attic floor.
“This is serious, Cousin Tabitha,” said Ribby. “We must send for John
Joiner at once, with a saw.”
* * * * *
Now this is what had been happening to Tom Kitten, and it shows how very
unwise it is to go up a chimney in a very old house, where a person does
not know his way, and where there are enormous rats.
Tom Kitten did not want to be shut up in a cupboard. When he saw that
his mother was going to bake, he determined to hide.
He looked about for a nice convenient place, and he fixed upon the
chimney.
The fire had only just been lighted, and it was not hot; but there was a
white choky smoke from the green sticks. Tom Kitten got upon the fender
and looked up. It was a big old-fashioned fire-place.
The chimney itself was wide enough inside for a man to stand up and walk
about. So there was plenty of room for a little Tom Cat.
He jumped right up into the fire-place, balancing himself upon the iron
bar where the kettle hangs.
Tom Kitten took another big jump off the bar, and landed on a ledge high
up inside the chimney, knocking down some soot into the fender.
Tom Kitten coughed and choked with the smoke; and he could hear the
sticks beginning to crackle and burn in the fire-place down below. He
made up his mind to climb right to the top, and get out on the slates,
and try to catch sparrows.
“I cannot go back. If I slipped I might fall in the fire and singe my
beautiful tail and my little blue jacket.”
The chimney was a very big old-fashioned one. It was built in the days
when people burnt logs of wood upon the hearth.
The chimney stack stood up above the roof like a little stone tower, and
the daylight shone down from the top, under the slanting slates that
kept out the rain.
Tom Kitten was getting very frightened! He climbed up, and up, and up.
Then he waded sideways through inches of soot. He was like a little
sweep himself.
It was most confusing in the dark. One flue seemed to lead into
another.
There was less smoke, but Tom Kitten felt quite lost.
He scrambled up and up; but before he reached the chimney top he came to
a place where somebody had loosened a stone in the wall. There were some
mutton bones lying about–
“This seems funny,” said Tom Kitten. “Who has been gnawing bones up here
in the chimney? I wish I had never come! And what a funny smell? It is
something like mouse; only dreadfully strong. It makes me sneeze,” said
Tom Kitten.
He squeezed through the hole in the wall, and dragged himself along a
most uncomfortably tight passage where there was scarcely any light.
He groped his way carefully for several yards; he was at the back of the
skirting-board in the attic, where there is a little mark * in the
picture.
All at once he fell head over heels in the dark, down a hole, and
landed on a heap of very dirty rags.
When Tom Kitten picked himself up and looked about him–he found himself
in a place that he had never seen before, although he had lived all his
life in the house.
It was a very small stuffy fusty room, with boards, and rafters, and
cobwebs, and lath and plaster.
Opposite to him–as far away as he could sit–was an enormous rat.
“What do you mean by tumbling into my bed all covered with smuts?” said
the rat, chattering his teeth.
“Please sir, the chimney wants sweeping,” said poor Tom Kitten.
“Anna Maria! Anna Maria!” squeaked the rat. There was a pattering noise
and an old woman rat poked her head round a rafter.
All in a minute she rushed upon Tom Kitten, and before he knew what was
happening–
His coat was pulled off, and he was rolled up in a bundle, and tied with
string in very hard knots.
Anna Maria did the tying. The old rat watched her and took snuff. When
she had finished, they both sat staring at him with their mouths open.
“Anna Maria,” said the old man rat (whose name was Samuel
Whiskers),–“Anna Maria, make me a kitten dumpling roly-poly pudding for
my dinner.”
“It requires dough and a pat of butter, and a rolling-pin,” said Anna
Maria, considering Tom Kitten with her head on one side.
“No,” said Samuel Whiskers, “make it properly, Anna Maria, with
breadcrumbs.”
“Nonsense! Butter and dough,” replied Anna Maria.
The two rats consulted together for a few minutes and then went away.
Samuel Whiskers got through a hole in the wainscot, and went boldly down
the front staircase to the dairy to get the butter. He did not meet
anybody.
He made a second journey for the rolling-pin. He pushed it in front of
him with his paws, like a brewer’s man trundling a barrel.
He could hear Ribby and Tabitha talking, but they were busy lighting the
candle to look into the chest.
They did not see him.
Anna Maria went down by way of the skirting-board and a window shutter
to the kitchen to steal the dough.
She borrowed a small saucer, and scooped up the dough with her paws.
She did not observe Moppet.
While Tom Kitten was left alone under the floor of the attic, he
wriggled about and tried to mew for help.
But his mouth was full of soot and cobwebs, and he was tied up in such
very tight knots, he could not make anybody hear him.
Except a spider, which came out of a crack in the ceiling and examined
the knots critically, from a safe distance.
It was a judge of knots because it had a habit of tying up unfortunate
blue-bottles. It did not offer to assist him.
Tom Kitten wriggled and squirmed until he was quite exhausted.
Presently the rats came back and set to work to make him into a
dumpling. First they smeared him with butter, and then they rolled him
in the dough.
“Will not the string be very indigestible, Anna Maria?” inquired Samuel
Whiskers.
Anna Maria said she thought that it was of no consequence; but she
wished that Tom Kitten would hold his head still, as it disarranged the
pastry. She laid hold of his ears.
Tom Kitten bit and spat, and mewed and wriggled; and the rolling-pin
went roly-poly, roly; roly, poly, roly. The rats each held an end.
“His tail is sticking out! You did not fetch enough dough, Anna Maria.”
“I fetched as much as I could carry,” replied Anna Maria.
“I do not think”–said Samuel Whiskers, pausing to take a look at Tom
Kitten–“I do _not_ think it will be a good pudding. It smells sooty.”
Anna Maria was about to argue the point, when all at once there began to
be other sounds up above–the rasping noise of a saw; and the noise of a
little dog, scratching and yelping!
The rats dropped the rolling-pin, and listened attentively.
“We are discovered and interrupted, Anna Maria; let us collect our
property–and other people’s,–and depart at once.”
“I fear that we shall be obliged to leave this pudding.”
“But I am persuaded that the knots would have proved indigestible,
whatever you may urge to the contrary.”
“Come away at once and help me to tie up some mutton bones in a
counterpane,” said Anna Maria. “I have got half a smoked ham hidden in
the chimney.”
So it happened that by the time John Joiner had got the plank up–there
was nobody under the floor except the rolling-pin and Tom Kitten in a
very dirty dumpling!
But there was a strong smell of rats; and John Joiner spent the rest of
the morning sniffing and whining, and wagging his tail, and going round
and round with his head in the hole like a gimlet.
Then he nailed the plank down again and put his tools in his bag, and
came downstairs.
The cat family had quite recovered. They invited him to stay to dinner.
The dumpling had been peeled off Tom Kitten, and made separately into a
bag pudding, with currants in it to hide the smuts.
They had been obliged to put Tom Kitten into a hot bath to get the
butter off.
John Joiner smelt the pudding; but he regretted that he had not time to
stay to dinner, because he had just finished making a wheel-barrow for
Miss Potter, and she had ordered two hen-coops.
And when I was going to the post late in the afternoon–I looked up the
lane from the corner, and I saw Mr. Samuel Whiskers and his wife on the
run, with big bundles on a little wheel-barrow, which looked very like
mine.
They were just turning in at the gate to the barn of Farmer Potatoes.
Samuel Whiskers was puffing and out of breath. Anna Maria was still
arguing in shrill tones.
She seemed to know her way, and she seemed to have a quantity of
luggage.
I am sure _I_ never gave her leave to borrow my wheel-barrow!
They went into the barn, and hauled their parcels with a bit of string
to the top of the hay mow.
After that, there were no more rats for a long time at Tabitha
Twitchit’s.
As for Farmer Potatoes, he has been driven nearly distracted. There are
rats, and rats, and rats in his barn! They eat up the chicken food, and
steal the oats and bran, and make holes in the meal bags.
And they are all descended from Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Whiskers–children
and grand-children and great great grand-children.
There is no end to them!
Moppet and Mittens have grown up into very good rat-catchers.
They go out rat-catching in the village, and they find plenty of
employment. They charge so much a dozen, and earn their living very
comfortably.
They hang up the rats’ tails in a row on the barn door, to show how many
they have caught–dozens and dozens of them.
But Tom Kitten has always been afraid of a rat; he never durst face
anything that is bigger than–
A Mouse.
THE END
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Hi Fati;d, It is very hard to know what to cut out and Beatrix Potter was such a good writer I didn’t like to cut anything out.
it was good but to much pages for me ;-;
yes i did like the book. The book shows and tell how to like who you are