The Tale of Castle Cottage Read Online Free Page B

few of these pies,” Sarah replied. “You’d be surprised at how many housewives find that a nice pork pie is just the thing for the husband’s tea—especially on washday or ironing day, when she’s all fagged out. About as fagged out as you look, Bea,” she added candidly. She was beginning to be a bit worried by her friend’s appearance. Beatrix was always so determinedly cheerful, but she certainly didn’t seem so today.
    Beatrix sighed. “I suppose I am still a bit under the weather. It’s all I can do to go back and forth to Lindeth Howe, where my parents are on holiday. And I’m hurrying to finish a book. I’ve been pasting galley proofs into the dummy today. I’m dreadfully behindhand with it—the pen-and-inks aren’t quite done yet—and the editor is beginning to fret that it won’t be finished in time.”
    Sarah finished her milk and put the glass down. From the beginning of their friendship, she had been impressed by Beatrix’s seemingly infinite creativity. She produced dozens of stories and hundreds of drawings—as well as taking care of those demanding parents of hers, and not just one but two farms! Sarah sighed enviously. It was all she could manage to produce a dozen loaves of bread and three or four batches of sticky buns every morning. And the pork pies, of course. She had practically no time for anything else—which was exactly how she had got herself into such a muddle with her accounts.
    But that was neither here nor there at the moment. “Another book?” she asked curiously. “What’s this one about?”
    “Pigs.” Beatrix chuckled. “It’s called The Tale of Pigling Bland .”
    “Pigs?” Crumpet meowed incredulously. “Not cats? What can you be thinking, Miss Potter?”
    “I don’t know if you remember,” Beatrix went on, “but a few years ago, Mr. Jennings bought some pigs from Mr. Townley.”
    “I remember!” Felicia cried with excitement. “I was here when they arrived. All but one of them were pedigreed, with papers. Mr. Jennings insists on that—says pigs with papers always fetch a better price when it’s time to sell.”
    “Mr. Jennings was busy and couldn’t get them,” Beatrix continued, “so I went to fetch them. When Mr. Townley was loading them into the pony cart, I noticed a tiny one, a perfectly lovely Berkshire girl pig, jet-black, with twinkly eyes and a little turned-up nose. I just had to have her, which annoyed Mr. Jennings no end.”
    “In fact,” Felicia confided cattily to Crumpet, “he said that Miss Potter should have had better sense than to bring her home. She wasn’t worth feeding.”
    This brought Beatrix to her feet. “Felicia Frummety,” she said sternly, going to the wall, “that is enough of that noise.” She picked up the cat and deposited her unceremoniously on the ground. “I’m sure that rat who made off with the turkey eggs is hiding somewhere nearby. Go and find him.”
    “Good enough for you,” Crumpet cried triumphantly, as Felicia flicked her tail in annoyance and stalked off.
    “You, too, Crumpet,” Beatrix said crossly. “Away with both of you, and leave us in peace.” She shooed the gray cat off the wall and sat down again to resume her story. “But I fed the little pig and kept her in a basket beside my bed. Aunt Susan, I called her—a lovely pet, quite plump. And a patient model. She used to nibble my boots when I went into her pig sty to draw her.”
    Sarah smiled. That particular pig had been the talk of the village, for she had a habit of shoving the door open with her pink nose and trotting into the house to beg a bowl of bread and milk. She glanced down at her pie. “You’re not put off by eating pork pie while we talk about your pig?”
    “Not in the least,” Beatrix said, picking up her napkin. “I’ve always been practical when it comes to such matters as bacon and hams. Anyway, I promised myself I would write a pig book before I was finished, and this is the one. The adventures of