Peter Rabbit & Benjamin Bunny 🐇 | Cozy Bedtime Tales by Beatrix Potter

Welcome to Chapter & Pillow. In tonight's ad-free episode, unwind with a soothing, human voice reading three beloved classics by Beatrix Potter: The Tale of Peter Rabbit, The Tale of Benjamin Bunny, and The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher. This slow-spoken narration is crafted to help you quiet an overactive mind and ease into a deep, restful sleep.  

In this reading, we begin with the mischievous Peter Rabbit as he slips into Mr. McGregor’s vegetable garden, continue with Peter and his cousin Benjamin Bunny on a return trip to recover Peter’s lost jacket, and end beside a peaceful pond where the cautious frog Jeremy Fisher attempts a quiet fishing expedition.  

• The Author’s Story: Beatrix Potter was an incredibly independent woman who used the money from her early book sales to buy a real, working farm called Hill Top in the beautiful Lake District of England. She didn't just imagine her characters; she based them entirely on her own real-life pets. She actually owned a real rabbit named Peter who wore a little blue jacket for her sketches, and a real, rescue hedgehog named Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle who lived right inside her farmhouse kitchen. 

⏱️ Episode Timestamps:
• 00:15 – Intro Music & Relaxation
• 04:15 – Story 1: Peter Rabbit
• 12:05 – Story 2: Benjamin Bunny
• 20:54 – Story 3: Jeremy Fisher

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:54

Good evening, this is Kathleen, and welcome to Chapter and Pillow, where stories drift into sleep. I'm so happy you've joined me here this evening. If you're new here, welcome. Tonight we'll spend some time in a small English garden among cabbages after privately printing the story for friends when publishers initially turned it down. It quickly became a success, and over the following years she wrote many more small books about the animals of the English countryside. Tonight we'll follow three of her most beloved tales. First is the tale of Peter Rabbit, where a curious young rabbit learns that wandering into Mr. McGregor's garden can be a very risky adventure. Then we'll continue with the tale of Benjamin Bunny, where Peter and his cousin return to that same garden in search of his lost little jacket and shoes. And finally, we'll visit the tale of Jeremy Fisher, a frog who has a rather difficult time fishing on a pond. But before we begin, let's take just a moment to settle in. Take a slow deep breath in. Hold it for just a moment. And then let it back out. One more deep breath in. Hold it and let it go. Notice any tension you might be feeling in your eyes. Just let them relax a little. Unclench your jaw. Relax your forehead. And notice your breathing becoming slow and easy. There's nowhere you need to go tonight. And nothing for you to do. Just a quiet story waiting to be told and for someone to hear it. So let's leave the day behind together. Open a small garden gate and follow the path into the world of Beatrix Potter. The tale of Peter Rabbit Once upon a time there were four little rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter. They live with their mother in a sandbank underneath the root of a very big fir tree. Now, my dear, said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, you may go into the fields or down the lane, but don't 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'm going out. Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella and went through the wood to the baker's. She bought a loaf of brown bread and five currant buns. Flopsy Mopsy and Cottontail, who were good little bunnies, went down the lane to gather blackberries. But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's garden and squeezed under the gate. First he ate some lettuces and some French beans, and 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, but he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out Stop, thief. Peter was most 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 shoe amongst the potatoes. After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so that I think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately run into a gooseberry net and got 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 shed big tears. But his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows who flew to him in great excitement and implored him to exert himself. Mr. McGregor came up with a seve which he intended to pop upon the top of Peter, but Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving his jacket behind him, and rushed into the tool shed and jumped into a can. It would have been a beautiful thing 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 underneath a flower pot. He began to turn them over carefully, looking under each. Presently Peter sneezed Coony shoe. Mr McGregor was after him in no time, and tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of a window upsetting three plants. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor, and he was tired of running after Peter. 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. Also, he was very damp with sitting in that can. After a time he began to wander about, going lippity lippity, not very fast, and looking all round. He found a door in a wall, but it was locked, and there was no room for a fat 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. She only shook her head at him. Peter began to cry. Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he became more and more puzzled. Presently he came to a pond where Mr. McGregor filled his water cans. A white cat was staring at some goldfish. She sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her. He had heard about cats from his cousin Little Benjamin Bunny. He went back toward the tool shed, but suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe. Scritch, scratch, scratch, scritch. Peter scuttered underneath the bushes, but presently as nothing happened, he came out and climbed upon a wheelbarrow and peeped over. The first thing he saw was mister McGregor hoeing onions. His back was turned toward Peter, and beyond him was the gate. Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow and started running as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some blackcurrant 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 or looked behind him till he got home to the big fir tree. He was so tired that he flopped down upon 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 pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a fortnight. I'm sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed and made him some chamomile tea, and she gave a dose of it to Peter. One tablespoon to be taken at bedtime. But Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper. The Tale of Benjamin Bunny by Beatrix Potter. One morning a little rabbit sat on a bank. He pricked his ears and listened to the trit trot trit trot of a pony. A gig was coming along the road. It was driven by Mr. McGregor, and beside him sat Mrs. McGregor in her very best bonnet. As soon as they had passed, Little Benjamin Bunny slid down into the road and set off, with a hop, skip, and a jump, to call upon his relations who lived in the wood at the back of Mr. McGregor's garden. That wood was full of rabbit holes, and in the neatest, sandiest hole of all lived Benjamin's aunt and his cousins Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter. Old Mrs. Rabbit was a widow. She earned her living by knitting rabbit wool mittens and muffetees. I once bought a pair at a bazaar. She also sold herbs and rosemary tea and rabbit tobacco, which is what we call lavender. Little Benjamin did not very much want to see his aunt. He came round the back of the fir tree and nearly tumbled upon the top of his cousin Peter. Peter was sitting by himself, he looked poorly, and was dressed in a red cotton pocket handkerchief. Peter, said Little Benjamin, in a whisper, who has got your clothes? Peter replied, The Scarecrow in Mr. McGregor's garden, and described how he had been chased about the garden and had dropped his shoes and coat. Little Benjamin sat down beside his cousin and assured him that Mr. McGregor had gone out in a gig, and Mrs. McGregor also, and certainly for the day, because she was wearing her best bonnet. Peter said he hoped that it would rain. At this point, old Mrs. Rabbit's voice was heard inside the rabbit hole calling, Cottontail, Cottontail, fetch some more chamomile. Peter said he thought he might feel better if he went for a walk. They went away hand in hand and got upon the flat top of the wall at the bottom of the wood. From here they looked down into Mr. McGregor's garden. Peter's coat and shoes were plainly to be seen upon the scarecrow, topped with an old tamashanter of Mr. McGregor's. Little Benjamin said, It spoils people's clothes to squeeze under a gate. The proper way to get in is to climb down a pear tree. Peter fell down head first, but it was of no consequence, as the bed below was newly raked and quite soft. It had been sewn with lettuces. They had left a great many odd little footmarks all over the bed, especially little Benjamin, who was wearing clogs. Little Benjamin said the first thing to be done was to get back Peter's clothes, in order that they might be able to use the pocket handkerchief. They took them off the scarecrow. There had been rain during the night. There was water in the shoes, and the coat was somewhat shrunk. Benjamin tried on the tamishanter, but it was too big for him. Then he suggested that they should fill the pocket handkerchief with onions as a little present for his aunt. Peter did not seem to be enjoying himself. He kept hearing noises. Benjamin, on the contrary, was perfectly at home and ate a lettuce leaf. He said that he was in the habit of coming to the garden with his father to get lettuces for their Sunday dinner. The name of Little Benjamin's papa was Old Mr. Benjamin Bunny. The lettuces certainly were very fine. Peter did not eat anything. He said he should like to go home. Presently he dropped half the onions. Little Benjamin said that it was not possible to get back up the pear tree with a load of vegetables. He led the way boldly toward the other end of the garden. They went along a little walk on planks under a sunny red brick wall. The mice sat in their doorsteps, cracking cherry stones. They winked at Peter Rabbit and little Benjamin Bunny. Presently Peter let the pocket handkerchief go again. They got amongst the flower pots and frames and tubs. Peter heard noises worse than ever. His eyes were as big as lollipops. He was a step or two in front of his cousin when he suddenly stopped. This is what those little rabbits saw around that corner. Little Benjamin took one look, and then, in a half minute less than no time, he hid himself and Peter and the onions underneath a large basket. The cat got up and scratched herself, and came and sniffed at the basket. Perhaps she liked the smell of onions. Anyway, she sat down upon the top of the basket. She sat there for five hours. I cannot draw you a picture of Peter and Benjamin underneath the basket because it was quite dark, and because the smell of onions was fearful. It made Peter Rabbit and little Benjamin cry. The sun got round behind the wood and it was quite late in the afternoon, but still the cat sat upon the basket. At length there was a pitter patter, pitter patter, and some bits of mortar fell from the wall above. The cat looked up and saw old Mr. Benjamin Bunny prancing along the top of the wall of the upper terrace. He was smoking a pipe of rabbit tobacco and had a little switch in his hand. He was looking for his son. Old Mr. Bunny had no opinion whatever of cats. He took a tremendous jump off the top of the wall on to the top of the cat and cuffed it off the basket and kicked it into the greenhouse, scratching off a handful of fur. The cat was much too surprised to scratch back. When old Mr. Bunny had driven the cat into the greenhouse, he locked the door. Then he came back to the basket and took out his son Benjamin by the ears and whipped him with the little switch. Then he took out his nephew Peter. Then he took out the handkerchief of onions and marched out of the garden. When Mr. McGregor returned about a half an hour later, he observed several things which perplexed him. It looked as though some person had been walking all over the garden in a pair of clogs. Only the footmarks were too ridiculously little. Also, he could not understand how the cat could have managed to shut herself up inside the greenhouse, locking the door upon the outside. When Peter got home, his mother forgave him, because she was so glad to see that he had found his shoes and coat. Cottontail and Peter folded up the pocket handkerchief, and old Mrs. Rabbit strung up the onions and hung them from the kitchen ceiling with the bunches of herbs and the rabbit tobacco. And before we settle completely into sleep tonight, here is one more small tale from the countryside world of Beatrix Potter. The tale of Jeremy Fisher. Once upon a time there was a frog called Mr. Jeremy Fisher. He lived in a little damp house amongst the buttercups at the edge of a pond. The water was all slippy sloppy in the larder and in the back passage. But Mr. Jeremy liked getting his feet wet. Nobody ever scolded him, and he never caught a cold. He was quite pleased when he looked out and saw large drops of rain splashing in the pond. I will get some worms and go fishing, and catch a dish of minnows for my dinner, said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. If I catch more than five fish, I will invite my friends, Mr. Alderman Ptolemy Tortoise and Sir Isaac Newton. The Alderman, however, eats salad. Mr Jeremy put on a Macintosh and a pair of shiny galoshes. He took his rod and basket and set off with enormous hops to the place where he kept his boat. The boat was round and green and very like the other lily leaves. It was tied to a water plant in the middle of the pond. Mr. Jeremy took a reed pole and pushed the boat out into the open water. I know a good place for minnows, said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. Mr. Jeremy stuck his pole into the mud and fastened the boat to it. Then he settled himself cross-legged and arranged his fishing tackle. He had the dearest little red float. His rod was a tough stalk of grass. His line was a fine long white horsehair, and he tied a little wriggling worm at the end. The rain trickled down his back, and for nearly an hour he stared at the float. This is getting tiresome. I think I should like some lunch, said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. He punted back again amongst the water plants and took some lunch out of his basket. I will eat a butterfly sandwich and wait till the shower is over, said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. A great big water beetle came up underneath the lily leaf and tweaked the toe of one of his galoshes. Mr. Jeremy crossed his legs up shorter, out of reach, and went on eating his sandwich. Once or twice something moved about with a rustle and a splash amongst the rushes at the side of the pond. I trust that is not a rat, said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. I think I had better get away from here. Mr. Jeremy shoved the boat out again a little way and dropped in the bait. There was a bite almost directly. The float gave a tremendous bobbit. A minnow, a minnow, I have him by the nose, cried Mr. Jeremy Fisher, jerking up his rod. But what a horrible surprise. Instead of a smooth fat minnow, Mr. Jeremy landed little Jack Sharp, the stickleback, covered with spines. The stickleback floundered about the boat, pricking and snapping until he was quite out of breath. Then he jumped back into the water. And a shoal of other little fishes put their heads out and laughed at Mr. Jeremy Fisher. And while Mr. Jeremy sat disconsolately, and while Mr. Jeremy and while Mr. Jeremy sat disconsolately on the edge of his boat, sucking his sore fingers and peering down into the water, a much worse thing happened. A really frightful thing it would have been if Mr. Jeremy had not been wearing a Macintosh. A great big enormous trout came up with a splash, and it seized Mr. Jeremy with a snap. Ow, ow, ow! And then it turned and dived down to the bottom of the pond. But the trout was so displeased with the taste of the Macintosh that in less than half a minute it spat him out again, and the only thing it swallowed was Mr. Jeremy's galoshes. Mr. Jeremy bounced up to the surface of the water like a cork and the bubbles out of a soda water bottle, and he swam with all his might to the edge of the pond. He scrambled out on the first bank he came to, and he hopped home crossed the meadow with his Macintosh all in tatters. What a mercy that was not a pike, said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. I have lost my rod and basket, but it does not much matter, for I am sure I should never have dared to go fishing again. He put some sticking plaster on his fingers, and his friends both came to dinner. He could not offer them fish, but he had something else in his larder. Sir Isaac Newton wore his black and gold waistcoat, and Mr. Alderman Ptolemy Tortoise brought a salad with him in a string bag. And instead of a nice dish of minnows, they had a roasted grasshopper with ladybird sauce, which frogs consider a beautiful treat. But I think it must have been nasty. Good night and sleep tight.