Subscribe
Share
Share
Embed
Fairytale lovers of all ages, will enjoy this collection of timeless classics, as Ms. Rae takes you into the woods and to far off places.
SPEAKER_01: Welcome to Forget Me
Not Fairy Tales.
Classic stories for book lovers
of all ages.
Let's begin.
The Tale of Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
Written and illustrated by
Beatrix Potter.
Once upon a time, there was a
wood mouse, and her name was
Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
She lived in a bank under a
hedge.
Such a funny house! There were
yards and yards of sandy
passages leading to storerooms
and nut cellars and seed cellars
all amongst the roots of the
hedge.
There was a kitchen, a parlor, a
pantry, and a larder.
Also, there was Mrs.
Tittlemouse's bedroom where she
slept in a little box bed.
Mrs.
Tittlemouse was a most terribly
tidy, particular little mouse,
always sweeping and dusting the
soft sandy floors.
Sometimes a beetle lost its way
in the passages.
Shush, shush, little dirty feet,
said Mrs.
Tittlemouse, clattering her
dustpan.
And one day, a little old woman
ran up and down in a red spotty
cloak.
Your house is on fire, mother
ladybird.
Fly away home to your children.
Another day, a big fat spider
came in to shelter from the
rain.
Beg your pardon, is this not
Miss Muffet's?
Go away, you bold bad spider,
leaving its cobweb all over my
nice clean house.
She bundled the spider out a
window.
He let himself down the hedge
with a long, thin bit of string.
Mrs.
Tittlemouse went on her way to a
distant storeroom to fetch
cherry stones and thistle down
seed for dinner.
All along the passage, she
sniffed and looked at the floor.
Hmm, I smell a smell of honey.
Is it the cow slips outside in
the hedge?
I am sure I can see the marks of
little dirty feet.
Suddenly, round a corner, she
met Babbity Bumble.
said the Bumblebee.
Mrs.
Tittlemouse looked at her
severely.
She wished that she had a broom.
Good day, Babbity Bumble.
I should be glad to buy some
beeswax.
But what are you doing down
here?
Why do you always come in at a
window and say ziz biz?
Mrs.
Tittlemouse began to get cross.
Ziz whiz whiz! replied Babbity
Bumble in a peevish squeak.
She sidled down a passage and
disappeared into a storeroom
which had been used for acorns.
Mrs.
Tittlemouse had eaten the acorns
before Christmas.
The storeroom ought to have been
empty, but it was full of untidy
dry moss.
Mrs.
Tittlemouse began to pull out
the moss.
Three or four other beings put
their heads out and buzzed
fiercely.
I am not in the habit of letting
lodgings.
This is an intrusion, said Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
I will have them turn out.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
I wonder who would help me.
Bills, whizz, whizz! Oh, I will
not have Mr.
Jackson.
He never wipes his feet.
Mrs.
Tittlemouse decided to leave the
bees till after dinner.
When she got back to the parlor,
she heard someone coughing in a
fat voice, and there sat Mr.
Jackson himself.
He was sitting all over a small
rocking chair, twiddling his
thumbs and smiling with his feet
on the fender.
He lived in a drain below the
hedge in a very dirty wet ditch.
How do you do, Mr Jackson?
Oh dear me, you have cut very
wet.
Thank you, thank you, thank you,
Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
I'll sit the well and dry
myself, said Mr.
Jackson.
He sat and smiled, and the water
dripped off his coattails.
Mrs.
Tittlemouse went round with a
mop.
He sat such a while that he had
to be asked if he would take
some dinner.
First, she offered him cherry
stones.
Thank you, thank you, Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
No tea, no tea, no tea, said Mr.
Jackson.
He opened his mouth most
unnecessarily wide.
He certainly had not a tooth in
his head.
Then she offered him thistledown
seed.
Tiddle whittle whittle poof poof
poof, said mister Jackson.
He blew the thistle down all
over the room.
Thank you, thank you, thank you,
misses Tittle Mouse.
Now what I really, really should
like would be a little dish of
honey.
I am afraid I have not got any,
mister Jackson, said Mrs.
Tittle Mouse.
Tiddly whittly whittily, Mrs.
Tittlemouse, said the smiley
mister Jackson.
I can smell it.
That is why I came to call.
Mr Jackson rose ponderously from
the table and began to look into
the cupboards.
Mrs.
Tittlemouse followed him with a
dishcloth to wipe his large wet
foot marks off the parlor floor.
When he had convinced himself
that there was no honey in the
cupboards, he began to walk down
the passage.
Oh indeed, indeed, you will
stick fast, Mr.
Jackson.
Tiddly whittly whittly, Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
First, he squeezed into the
pantry.
Tiddly whittily whittily.
No honey.
No honey, Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
There were three creepy crawly
people hiding in the plate wrap.
Two of them got away, but the
littlest one he caught.
Then he squeezed into the
larder.
Miss Butterfly was tasting the
sugar, but she flew away out of
the window.
Tiddly whittly whittly, Mrs.
Tiddle Mouse.
You seem to have plenty of
visitors.
And without any invitation, said
Mrs.
Thomasina Tittlemouse.
They went along the sandy
passage.
Tiddly whittly Buzzwiz Wheels.
He met Babbity round a corner
and snapped her up and put her
down again.
I do not like bumblebees.
They are all over Bristles, said
Mr.
Jackson, wiping his mouth with
his coat sleeve.
Get out, you nasty old toad,
shrieked Babbity Bumble.
I shall go distracted, scolded
Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
She shut herself up in the nut
cellar while Mr.
Jackson pulled out the bee's
nest.
He seemed to have no objection
to stings.
When Mrs.
Tittlemouse ventured to come
out, everybody had gone away.
But the untidiness was something
dreadful.
Never did I see such a mess.
Smears of honey and moss and
thistledown and marks of big and
little dirty feet all over my
nice clean house.
She gathered up the moss and the
remains of the beeswax.
Then she went out and fetched
some twigs to partly close up
the front door.
I will make it too small for Mr.
Jackson.
She fetched soft soap and
flannel and a new scrumming
brush from the storeroom.
But she was too tired to do any
more.
First, she fell asleep in her
chair, and then she went to bed.
Will it ever be tidy again?
said poor Mrs.
Tell Mouse.
Next morning she got up very
early and began a spring
cleaning, which lasted a
fortnight.
She swept and scrubbed and
dusted, and she rubbed up the
furniture with beeswax and
polished her little tin spoons.
We're all beautifully neat and
clean.
She gave a party to five other
little mice without Mr.
Jackson.
He smelt the party and came up
the bank, but he could not
squeeze in at the door.
So they handed him out acorn
cupfuls of honeydew through the
window, and he was not at all
offended.
He sat outside in the sun and
said, Tiddly, whittily,
whittily, you're very good
health, Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
The end.
I hope you like this story.
The Tale of Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
Fairy tales contain many morals.
One lesson from this story is,
don't take things without
asking.
For if you do, you may find
yourself with fewer invitations
to join in on the fun.
Thanks for listening.
If you'd like a cosier version
of this story, become a member.