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The Tailor Of Gloucester
By
Beatrix Potter
=
MY DEAR FREDA,
&=
nbsp;
Because you are fond of fairy-tales, and have been ill, I have made you a story =
all
for yourself--a new one that nobody has read before.
&=
nbsp;
And the queerest thing about it is--that I heard it in Gloucestershire, =
and
that it is true--at least about the tailor, the waistcoat, an=
d the
&=
nbsp;
"No more twist!"
&=
nbsp;
Christmas, 1901
=
THE TAILOR OF GLOUCESTER
=
In the
time of swords and periwigs and full-skirted coats with flowered lappets--w=
hen
gentlemen wore ruffles, and gold-laced waistcoats of paduasoy and
taffeta--there lived a tailor in Gloucester.
He sat in the window of a little shop in Westg=
ate
Street, cross-legged on a table, from morning till dark.
All day long while the light lasted he sewed a=
nd
snippeted, piecing out his satin and pompadour, and lutestring; stuffs had
strange names, and were very expensive in the days of the Tailor of Glouces=
ter.
But although he sewed fine silk for his
neighbours, he himself was very, very poor--a little old man in spectacles,
with a pinched face, old crooked fingers, and a suit of thread-bare clothes=
.
He cut his coats without waste, according to h=
is
embroidered cloth; they were very small ends and snippets that lay about up=
on
the table--"Too narrow breadths for nought--except waistcoats for
mice," said the tailor.
One bitter cold day near Christmastime the tai=
lor
began to make a coat--a coat of cherry-coloured corded silk embroidered with
pansies and roses, and a cream coloured satin waistcoat--trimmed with gauze=
and
green worsted chenille--for the Mayor of Gloucester.
The tailor worked and worked, and he talked to
himself. He measured the silk, and turned it round and round, and trimmed it
into shape with his shears; the table was all littered with cherry-coloured
snippets.
"No breadth at all, and cut on the cross;=
it
is no breadth at all; tippets for mice and ribbons for mobs! for mice!"
said the Tailor of Gloucester.
When the snow-flakes came down against the sma=
ll
leaded window-panes and shut out the light, the tailor had done his day's w=
ork;
all the silk and satin lay cut out upon the table.
There were twelve pieces for the coat and four
pieces for the waistcoat; and there were pocket flaps and cuffs, and buttons
all in order. For the lining of the coat there was fine yellow taffeta; and=
for
the button-holes of the waistcoat, there was cherry-coloured twist. And
everything was ready to sew together in the morning, all measured and
sufficient--except that there was wanting just one single skein of
cherry-coloured twisted silk.
The tailor came out of his shop at dark, for he
did not sleep there at nights; he fastened the window and locked the door, =
and
took away the key. No one lived there at night but little brown mice, and t=
hey
run in and out without any keys!
For behind the wooden wainscots of all the old
houses in Gloucester, there are little mouse staircases and secret trap-doo=
rs;
and the mice run from house to house through those long narrow passages; th=
ey
can run all over the town without going into the streets.
But the tailor came out of his shop, and shuff=
led
home through the snow. He lived quite near by in College Court, next the do=
orway
to College Green; and although it was not a big house, the tailor was so po=
or
he only rented the kitchen.
He lived alone with his cat; it was called
Simpkin.
Now all day long while the tailor was out at w=
ork,
Simpkin kept house by himself; and he also was fond of the mice, though he =
gave
them no satin for coats!
"Miaw?" said the cat when the tailor
opened the door. "Miaw?"
The tailor replied--"Simpkin, we shall ma=
ke
our fortune, but I am worn to a ravelling. Take this groat (which is our la=
st
fourpence) and Simpkin, take a china pipkin; buy a penn'orth of bread, a
penn'orth of milk and a penn'orth of sausages. And oh, Simpkin, with the la=
st
penny of our fourpence buy me one penn'orth of cherry-coloured silk. But do=
not
lose the last penny of the fourpence, Simpkin, or I am undone and worn to a=
thread-paper,
for I have NO MORE TWIST."
Then Simpkin again said, "Miaw?" and
took the groat and the pipkin, and went out into the dark.
The tailor was very tired and beginning to be = ill. He sat down by the hearth and talked to himself about that wonderful coat.<= o:p>
"I shall make my fortune--to be cut bias-=
-the
Mayor of Gloucester is to be married on Christmas Day in the morning, and he
hath ordered a coat and an embroidered waistcoat--to be lined with yellow t=
affeta--and
the taffeta sufficeth; there is no more left over in snippets than will ser=
ve
to make tippets for mice----"
Then the tailor started; for suddenly,
interrupting him, from the dresser at the other side of the kitchen came a
number of little noises--
Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap tip!
"Now what can that be?" said the Tai=
lor
of Gloucester, jumping up from his chair. The dresser was covered with croc=
kery
and pipkins, willow pattern plates, and tea-cups and mugs.
The tailor crossed the kitchen, and stood quite
still beside the dresser, listening, and peering through his spectacles. Ag=
ain
from under a tea-cup, came those funny little noises--
Tip tap, tip tap, Tip tap tip!
"This is very peculiar," said the Ta=
ilor
of Gloucester; and he lifted up the tea-cup which was upside down.
Out stepped a little live lady mouse, and made=
a
curtsey to the tailor! Then she hopped away down off the dresser, and under=
the
wainscot.
The tailor sat down again by the fire, warming=
his
poor cold hands, and mumbling to himself----
"The waistcoat is cut out from peach-colo=
ured
satin--tambour stitch and rose-buds in beautiful floss silk. Was I wise to
entrust my last fourpence to Simpkin? One-and-twenty button-holes of
cherry-coloured twist!"
But all at once, from the dresser, there came
other little noises:
Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap tip!
"This is passing extraordinary!" said
the Tailor of Gloucester, and turned over another tea-cup, which was upside
down.
Out stepped a little gentleman mouse, and made=
a
bow to the tailor!
And then from all over the dresser came a chor=
us
of little tappings, all sounding together, and answering one another, like
watch-beetles in an old worm-eaten window-shutter--
Tip tap, tip tap, tip tap tip!
And out from under tea-cups and from under bow=
ls
and basins, stepped other and more little mice who hopped away down off the
dresser and under the wainscot.
The tailor sat down, close over the fire,
lamenting--"One-and-twenty button-holes of cherry-coloured silk! To be
finished by noon of Saturday: and this is Tuesday evening. Was it right to =
let
loose those mice, undoubtedly the property of Simpkin? Alack, I am undone, =
for
I have no more twist!"
The little mice came out again, and listened to
the tailor; they took notice of the pattern of that wonderful coat. They
whispered to one another about the taffeta lining, and about little mouse
tippets.
And then all at once they all ran away together
down the passage behind the wainscot, squeaking and calling to one another,=
as
they ran from house to house; and not one mouse was left in the tailor's
kitchen when Simpkin came back with the pipkin of milk!
Simpkin opened the door and bounced in, with an
angry "G-r-r-miaw!" like a cat that is vexed: for he hated the sn=
ow,
and there was snow in his ears, and snow in his collar at the back of his n=
eck.
He put down the loaf and the sausages upon the dresser, and sniffed.
"Simpkin," said the tailor, "wh=
ere
is my twist?"
But Simpkin set down the pipkin of milk upon t=
he
dresser, and looked suspiciously at the tea-cups. He wanted his supper of
little fat mouse!
"Simpkin," said the tailor, "wh=
ere
is my TWIST?"
But Simpkin hid a little parcel privately in t=
he
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 Tailo=
r 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 mous=
e!
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 fe=
ver,
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 s=
hop
in Westgate Street the embroidered silk and satin lay cut out upon the tabl=
e--one-and-twenty
button-holes--and who should come to sew them, when the window was barred, =
and
the door was fast locked?
But that does not hinder the little brown mice;
they run in and out without any keys through all the old houses in Gloucest=
er!
Out of doors the market folks went trudging
through the snow to buy their geese and turkeys, and to bake their Christmas
pies; but there would be no Christmas dinner for Simpkin and the poor old
Tailor of Gloucester.
The tailor lay ill for three days and nights; =
and
then it was Christmas Eve, and very late at night. The moon climbed up over=
the
roofs and chimneys, and looked down over the gateway into College Court. Th=
ere
were no lights in the windows, nor any sound in the houses; all the city of=
Gloucester
was fast asleep under the snow.
And still Simpkin wanted his mice, and he mewe=
d as
he stood beside the four-post bed.
But it is in the old story that all the beasts=
can
talk, in the night between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in the morning
(though there are very few folk that can hear them, or know what it is that
they say).
When the Cathedral clock struck twelve there w=
as
an answer--like an echo of the chimes--and Simpkin heard it, and came out of
the tailor's door, and wandered about in the snow.
From all the roofs and gables and old wooden
houses in Gloucester came a thousand merry voices singing the old Christmas
rhymes--all the old songs that ever I heard of, and some that I don't know,
like Whittington's bells.
First and loudest the cocks cried out: "D=
ame,
get up, and bake your pies!"
"Oh, dilly, dilly, dilly!" sighed
Simpkin.
And now in a garret there were lights and soun=
ds
of dancing, and cats came from over the way.
"Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fid=
dle!
All the cats in Gloucester--except me," said Simpkin.
Under the wooden eaves the starlings and sparr=
ows
sang of Christmas pies; the jack-daws woke up in the Cathedral tower; and
although it was the middle of the night the throstles and robins sang; the =
air
was quite full of little twittering tunes.
But it was all rather provoking to poor hungry
Simpkin!
Particularly he was vexed with some little shr=
ill
voices from behind a wooden lattice. I think that they were bats, because t=
hey
always have very small voices--especially in a black frost, when they talk =
in
their sleep, like the Tailor of Gloucester.
They said something mysterious that sounded li=
ke--
&=
nbsp;
"Buz, quoth the blue fly, hum, quoth the bee, Buz and hum=
they
cry, and so do we!"
and Simpkin went away shaking his ears as if he
had a bee in his bonnet.
From the tailor's shop in Westgate came a glow=
of
light; and when Simpkin crept up to peep in at the window it was full of
candles. There was a snippeting of scissors, and snappeting of thread; and
little mouse voices sang loudly and gaily--
=
"Four-and-twenty tailors =
Went
to catch a snail, =
The
best man amongst them =
Durst
not touch her tail, =
She
put out her horns =
Like a little kyloe cow, Run, tailors, run=
! or
she'll have you all e'en now!"
Then without a pause the little mouse voices w=
ent
on again--
&=
nbsp;
"Sieve my lady's oatmeal, Grind my la=
dy's
flour, Put
it in a chestnut, Let it stan=
d an
hour----"
"Mew! Mew!" interrupted Simpkin, and=
he
scratched at the door. But the key was under the tailor's pillow, he could =
not
get in.
The little mice only laughed, and tried another
tune--
&=
nbsp;
"Three little mice sat down to spin, Pussy passe=
d by
and she peeped in. What are yo=
u at,
my fine little men? Making coat=
s for
gentlemen. Shall I com=
e in
and cut off your threads? Oh, no, Miss
Pussy, you'd bite off our heads!"
"Mew! Mew!" cried Simpkin. "Hey
diddle dinketty?" answered the little mice--
&=
nbsp;
"Hey diddle dinketty, poppetty pet! The merchan=
ts of
London they wear scarlet; Silk in the
collar, and gold in the hem, So merrily =
march
the merchantmen!"
They clicked their thimbles to mark the time, =
but
none of the songs pleased Simpkin; he sniffed and mewed at the door of the
shop.
&=
nbsp;
"And then I bought A pipkin an=
d a
popkin, A
slipkin and a slopkin, All for one
farthing----
and upon the kitchen dresser!" added the =
rude
little mice.
"Mew! scratch! scratch!" scuffled
Simpkin on the window-sill; while the little mice inside sprang to their fe=
et,
and all began to shout at once in little twittering voices: "No more
twist! No more twist!" And they barred up the window shutters and shut=
out
Simpkin.
But still through the nicks in the shutters he
could hear the click of thimbles, and little mouse voices singing--
"No more twist! No more twist!"
Simpkin came away from the shop and went home,
considering in his mind. He found the poor old tailor without fever, sleepi=
ng
peacefully.
Then Simpkin went on tip-toe and took a little
parcel of silk out of the tea-pot, and looked at it in the moonlight; and he
felt quite ashamed of his badness compared with those good little mice!
When the tailor awoke in the morning, the first
thing which he saw upon the patchwork quilt, was a skein of cherry-coloured
twisted silk, and beside his bed stood the repentant Simpkin!
"Alack, I am worn to a ravelling," s=
aid
the Tailor of Gloucester, "but I have my twist!"
The sun was shining on the snow when the tailor
got up and dressed, and came out into the street with Simpkin running before
him.
The starlings whistled on the chimney stacks, =
and
the throstles and robins sang--but they sang their own little noises, not t=
he
words they had sung in the night.
"Alack," said the tailor, "I ha=
ve
my twist; but no more strength--nor time--than will serve to make me one si=
ngle
button-hole; for this is Christmas Day in the Morning! The Mayor of Glouces=
ter
shall be married by noon--and where is his cherry-coloured coat?"
He unlocked the door of the little shop in
Westgate Street, and Simpkin ran in, like a cat that expects something.
But there was no one there! Not even one little
brown mouse!
The boards were swept clean; the little ends of
thread and the little silk snippets were all tidied away, and gone from off=
the
floor.
But upon the table--oh joy! the tailor gave a
shout--there, where he had left plain cuttings of silk--there lay the most
beautifullest coat and embroidered satin waistcoat that ever were worn by a
Mayor of Gloucester.
There were roses and pansies upon the facings =
of
the coat; and the waistcoat was worked with poppies and corn-flowers.
Everything was finished except just one single
cherry-coloured button-hole, and where that button-hole was wanting there w=
as
pinned a scrap of paper with these words--in little teeny weeny writing--
=
NO MORE TWIST
And from then began the luck of the Tailor of
Gloucester; he grew quite stout, and he grew quite rich.
He made the most wonderful waistcoats for all =
the
rich merchants of Gloucester, and for all the fine gentlemen of the country
round.
Never were seen such ruffles, or such embroide=
red
cuffs and lappets! But his button-holes were the greatest triumph of it all=
.
The stitches of those button-holes were so
neat--so neat--I wonder how they could be stitched by an old man in spectac=
les,
with crooked old fingers, and a tailor's thimble.
The stitches of those button-holes were so
small--so small--they looked as if they had been made by little mice!
=
THE
END