The Tale of Mrs Tittlemouse FULL Audiobook

The Tale of Mrs Tittlemouse FULL Audiobook


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 parlour, 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. “Shuh! shuh! little dirty feet!” said Mrs.
Tittlemouse, clattering her dust-pan. 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 pardon, is this not Miss Muffet’s?” “Go away, you bold bad spider! Leaving ends of cobweb all over my nice
clean house!” She bundled the spider out at 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. “I smell a smell of honey; is it the cowslips
outside, in the hedge? I am sure I can see the marks of little dirty feet.” Suddenly round a corner, she met Babbitty
Bumble “Zizz, Bizz, Bizzz!” said the bumble bee. Mrs. Tittlemouse looked at her severely. She wished that she had a
broom. “Good-day, Babbitty 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 “Zizz, Bizz, Bizzz?” Mrs. Tittlemouse began to get cross. “Zizz, Wizz, Wizzz!” replied Babbitty 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 bees
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 turned out!” “Buzz! Buzz! Buzzz!” “I wonder who would help me?” “Bizz, Wizz, Wizzz!” “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 parlour, she heard
some one 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? Deary me, you have got very wet!” “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mrs. Tittlemouse! I’ll sit awhile and
dry myself,” said Mr. Jackson. He sat and smiled, and the water dripped off
his coat tails. 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 teeth, no teeth, no teeth!” said Mr. Jackson. He opened his mouth most unnecessarily wide;
he certainly had not a tooth in his head. Then she offered him thistle-down seed, “Tiddly,
widdly, widdly! Pouff,
pouff, puff!” said Mr. Jackson. He blew the thistle-down all over the
room. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mrs. Tittlemouse! Now what I
really, really, should like…would be a little dish of honey!” “I am afraid I have not got any, Mr. Jackson,”
said Mrs. Tittlemouse. “Tiddly, widdly, widdly, Mrs. Tittlemouse!”
said the smiling Mr. 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 dish-cloth,
to wipe his large wet footmarks off the parlour floor. When he had convinced himself that there was
no honey in the cupboards, he began to walk down the passage. “Indeed, indeed, you will stick fast, Mr.
Jackson!” “Tiddly, widdly, widdly, Mrs. Tittlemouse!” First he squeezed into the pantry. “Tiddly, widdly, widdly? no honey? no honey, Mrs. Tittlemouse?” There were three creepy-crawly people hiding
in the plate-rack. 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 the window. “Tiddly, widdly, widdly, Mrs. Tittlemouse;
you seem to have plenty of visitors!” “And without any invitation!” said Mrs. Thomasina
Tittlemouse. They went along the sandy passage “Tiddly
widdly… ” “Buzz! Wizz! Wizz!” He met Babbitty round a corner, and snapped
her up, and put her down again. “I do not like bumble bees. They are all over bristles,” said Mr.
Jackson, wiping his mouth with his coat-sleeve. “Get out, you nasty old toad!” shrieked Babbitty
Bumble. “I shall go distracted!” scolded Mrs. Tittlemouse. She shut herself up in the nut-cellar while
Mr. Jackson pulled out the bees-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 scrubbing 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.
Tittlemouse. 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. When it was 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 honey-dew
through the window, and he was not at all offended. He sat outside in the sun, and said “Tiddly,
widdly, widdly! Your very
good health, Mrs. Tittlemouse!”

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