Beatrix Potter Books

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But Simpkin hid a little parcel privately in the tea-pot, and spit and growled at the tailor; and if Simpkin had been able to talk, he would
have asked: "Where is my MOUSE?" "Alack, I am undone!" said the Tailor of Gloucester, and went sadly
to bed.
All that night long Simpkin hunted and searched through the
kitchen, peeping into cupboards and under the wainscot, and into
the tea-pot where he had hidden that twist; but still he found never
a mouse! Whenever the tailor muttered and talked in his sleep,
Simpkin said "Miaw-ger-r-w-s-s-ch!" and made strange horrid
noises, as cats do at night.
For the poor old tailor was very ill with a fever, tossing and turning in his four-post bed; and still in his dreams he mumbled—"No more
twist! no more twist!"
All that day he was ill, and the next day, and the next; and what
should become of the cherry-coloured coat? In the tailor's shop in
Westgate Street the embroidered silk and satin lay cut out upon the
table—one-and-twenty button-holes—and who should come to sew
them, when the window was barred, and the door was fast locked?