The Tale Of Mrs Tittlemouse, A Sleep Story

A sleepy, calm reading of the classic tale by Beatrix Potter, accompanied by soothing countryside sounds. Suitable for listeners of all ages who need some help getting to sleep. This story gradually gets slower toward the end to help you drift off.

Countryside sounds by FxProSound.

Transcript

The Tale of Mrs Tittlemouse by Beatrix Potter Once upon a time,

There was a woodmouse,

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 store rooms,

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.

Shoo!

Shoo!

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 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 store room,

To fetch cherry stones and thistledown seed for dinner.

All along the passage,

She sniffed and looked at the floor.

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.

Ziz!

Bizz!

Bizz!

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!

Bizz!

Bizz!

Mrs Tittlemouse began to get cross.

Ziz!

Wizz!

Wizz!

Replied Babbity Bumble in a peevish squeak.

She sidled down a passage and disappeared into a store room,

Which had been used for acorns.

Mrs Tittlemouse had eaten the acorns before Christmas.

The store room 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!

Buzz!

I wonder who would help me.

Bizz!

Wizz!

Wizz!

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 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?

Deary me,

You have got very wet.

Thank you,

Thank you,

Mrs Tittlemouse.

I'll sit a while 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 teeth,

Said Mr Jackson.

He opened his mouth most unnecessarily wide.

He certainly had not a tooth in his head.

Then she offered him some thistledown seed.

Tiddly,

Widdly,

Widdly,

Poof,

Poof,

Poof,

Said Mr Jackson.

He blew the thistledown all over the room.

Thank you,

Thank you,

Mrs Tittlemouse.

Now what I really,

Really should like would be a little dish of honey.

I'm afraid I've 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 dishcloth 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,

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.

Mrs Butterfly was tasting the sugar,

But she flew away out of the window.

Tiddly,

Widdly,

Widdly,

Mrs Tittlemouse.

You seem to have plenty of visitors.

And without any invitation,

Said Mrs Tomasina Tittlemouse.

They went along the sandy passage.

Tiddly,

Widdly,

Buzz,

Whiz,

Whiz.

He met Babbity around 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 scrubbing brush from the storeroom.

But she was too tired to do any more.

First she fell asleep in her chair.

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 honeydew through the window.

And he was not at all offended.

He sat outside in the sun and said,

Tiddly,

Widdly,

Widdly,

You're very good health,

Mrs Tittlemouse.

The end.

I leaf back through to inspect the beautiful illustrations once more.

And then close the book.

I lay for a moment longer.

Before rising and sliding the book back amongst the others in the collection.

All of my old childhood books stand neatly in a row in their proper place.

Ready for me to pick up and enjoy again.

Should I ever want to return one day.

Reviews

Lovely. And it worked,it took me 3 nights to finish.🪷🩷