The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse by Beatrix Potter

Taking what isn't yours is sure to lead to more closed doors! In this lively edition of The Tale of The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse, join Rae Wilson for an energetic reading of Beatrix Potter’s classic story. Perfectly paced for a mid-day break or story time at home, this version is designed to keep listeners entertained.

While parenting styles and social norms have evolved since these fables were first told, the lessons they teach—about kindness, hard work, and honesty—remain as relevant as ever.

Looking to read along with Rae? Read along with Rae on YouTube. 

Music in this episode is created by:

"Frost Waltz (Alternate)" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

"Monkeys Spinning Monkeys" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:02

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.