❤️ ASMR Sleep Stories ❤️ (F4A) (Girlfriend Reads You Bedtime Stories) (English Accent) (Crackling Fireplace) (Beatrix Potter Stories)

Transcript

Once upon a time there were four little rabbits and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Caution Tail and Peter. They lived with their mother in a sandbank underneath the root of a very big fir tree. Now, my dears, said Old Mrs Rabbit one morning, you may go into the fields or down the lane but don't go into Mr McGregor's garden.

Your father had an accident there. He was put in a pie by Mrs McGregor. Now run along and don't get into mischief.

I'm going out. Then Old Mrs Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella and went through the wood to the baker's. She bought a loaf of brown bread and five currant buns.

Flopsy, Mopsy and Caution Tail, who were good little bunnies, went down the lane to gather blackberries. But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr McGregor's garden and squeezed under the gate. First he ate some lettuces and some French beans and then he ate some radishes.

And then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley. But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr McGregor? Mr McGregor was on his hands and knees planting out young cabbages.

But he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out, Stop, thief! Peter was most dreadfully frightened. He rushed all over the garden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate.

He lost one of his shoes among the cabbages and the other shoe amongst the potatoes. After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so that I think he might have got away altogether, if he had not unfortunately run into a gooseberry net and got caught by the large buttons on his jacket. It was a blue jacket with brass buttons, quite new.

Peter gave himself up for lost and shed big tears, but his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great excitement and implored him to exert himself. Mr McGregor came up with a scythe, which he intended to pop upon the top of Peter. But Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving his jacket behind him, and rushed into the tool shed and jumped into a can.

It would have been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it had not had so much water in it. Mr McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the tool shed, perhaps hidden underneath a flowerpot. He began to turn them over carefully, looking under each.

Presently, Peter sneezed, Catish you! Mr McGregor was after him in no time, and tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out a window, upsetting three plants. The window was too small for Mr McGregor, and he was tired of running after Peter.

He went back to his work. Peter sat down to rest. He was out of breath and trembling with fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go.

He was also very damp, with sitting in that can. After a time he began to wander about, going lippity-lippity, not very fast, and looking all around. He found a door in a wall, but it was locked, and there was no room for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath.

An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth that she could not answer. She only shook her head at him.

Peter began to cry. Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he became more and more puzzled. Presently he came to a pond where Mr McGregor filled his water cans.

A white cat was staring at some goldfish. She sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her.

He had heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny. He went back towards the toolshed, but suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe scritch, scratch, scratch, scritch. Peter scutted underneath the bushes, but presently, as nothing happened, he came out and climbed upon the wheelbarrow and peeped over.

The first thing he saw was Mr McGregor hoeing onions. His back was turned towards Peter, and beyond him was the gate. Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow and started running as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some blackcurrant bushes.

Mr McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate and was safe at last in the wood outside the garden. Mr McGregor hung up the little jacket and shoes for a scarecrow to frighten the blackbirds.

Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to the big fir tree. He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit hole and shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking.

She wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a fortnight. I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.

His mother put him to bed and made some chamomile tea and she gave a dose of it to Peter. One tablespoon to be taken at bedtime. The Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.

The Tale of Jemima Puddle Duck by Beatrix Potter What a funny sight it is to see a brood of ducklings with a hen. Listen to the story of Jemima Puddle Duck, who was annoyed because the farmer's wife would not let her hatch her own eggs. Her sister-in-law, Mrs Rebecca Puddle Duck, was perfectly willing to leave the hatching to someone else.

I have not the patience to sit on a nest for twenty-eight days, and no more have you, Jemima. You would let them go cold. You know you would.

I wish to hatch my own eggs. I will hatch them all by myself, quacked Jemima Puddle Duck. She tried to hide her eggs, but they were always found and carried off.

Jemima Puddle Duck became quite desperate. She was determined to make a nest right away from the farm. She set off on a fine spring afternoon along the cart road that leads over the hill.

She was wearing a shawl and a poke bonnet. When she reached the top of the hill, she saw a wood in the distance. She thought that it looked a safe, quiet spot.

Jemima Puddle Duck was not much in the habit of flying. She ran downhill a few yards, flapping her shawl, and then she jumped off into the air. She flew beautifully when she had got a good start.

She skimmed along over the treetops until she saw an open place in the middle of the wood, where the trees and the brushwood had been cleared. Jemima alighted rather heavily and began to waddle about in search of a convenient dry nesting place. She rather fancied a tree stump amongst some tall foxgloves.

But seated upon the stump, she was startled to find an elegantly dressed gentleman reading a newspaper. He had black prick ears and sandy-coloured whiskers. Quack, said Jemima Puddle Duck, with her head and her bonnet at one side.

Quack! The gentleman raised his eyes above his newspaper and looked curiously at Jemima. Madam, have you lost your way? he said.

He had a long bushy tail which he was sitting upon, as the stump was somewhat damp. Jemima thought him mighty civil and handsome. She explained that she had not lost her way, but that she was trying to find a convenient dry nesting place.

Ah, is that so? Indeed, said the gentleman with sandy whiskers, looking curiously at Jemima. He folded up the newspaper and put it in his coat-tail pocket.

Jemima complained of the superfluous hen. Indeed, how interesting! I wish I could meet with that fowl.

I would teach it to mind its own business. But as to the nest, there is no difficulty. I have a sack full of feathers in my woodshed.

No, my dear madam, you will be in nobody's way. You may sit there as long as you like, said the bushy long-tailed gentleman. He led the way to a very retired, dismal-looking house amongst the fox-cloves.

It was built of faggots and turf, and there were two broken pails, one on top of another, by the way of a chimney. This is my summer residence. You would not find my earth, my winter house, so convenient, said the hospitable gentleman.

There was a tumbled-down shed at the back of the house, made of old soapboxes. The gentleman opened the door and showed Jemima in. The shed was almost quite full of feathers.

It was almost suffocating, but it was comfortable and very soft. Jemima Puddle Duck was rather surprised to find such a vast quantity of feathers, but it was very comfortable, and she made a nest without any trouble at all. When she came out, the sandy-whiskered gentleman was sitting on a log, reading the newspaper.

At least he had it spread out, but he was looking over the top of it. He was so polite that he seemed almost sorry to let Jemima go home for the night. He promised to take great care of her nest until she came back the next day.

He said he loved eggs and ducklings. He should be so proud to find a nestful in the woodshed. Jemima Puddle Duck came every afternoon.

She laid nine eggs in the nest. They were greeny-white and very large. The foxy gentleman admired them immensely.

He used to turn them over and count them when Jemima was not there. At last Jemima told him that she intended to begin to sit the next day. And I will bring a bag of corn with me, so that I may never leave my nest until the eggs are hatched.

They might catch cold, said the conscientious Jemima. Madam, I beg you not to trouble yourself with a bag. I will provide oats.

But before you commence your tedious sitting, I intend to give you a treat. Let us have a dinner party, all to ourselves. May I ask you to bring up some herbs from the farm garden to make a savoury omelette? Sage and thyme and mint and two onion, and some parsley.

I will provide lard for the stuff. Lard for the omelette, said the hospitable gentleman with sandy whiskers. Jemima Puddleduck was a simpleton.

Not even the mention of sage and onions made her suspicious. She went round the farm garden, nibbling off snippets of all the different sorts of herbs that are used for stuffing roast duck. And she waddled into the kitchen and got two onions out of a basket.

The collie dog, Kep, met her coming out. What are you doing with those onions? Where do you go every afternoon by yourself, Jemima Puddleduck? Jemima was rather in awe of the collie.

She told him the whole story. The collie listened, with his wise head on one side. He grinned when she described the polite gentleman with sandy whiskers.

He asked several questions about the wood and about the exact position of the house and shed. Then he went out and trotted down the village. He went to look for two foxhound puppies who were out at walk with the butcher.

Jemima Puddleduck went up the cart road for the last time on a sunny afternoon. She was rather burdened with bunches of herbs and two onions in a bag. She flew over the wood and alighted opposite the house of the bushy long-tailed gentleman.

He was sitting on a log. He sniffed the air and kept glancing uneasily round the wood. When Jemima alighted, he quite jumped.

Come into the house as soon as you have looked at your eggs. Give me the herbs for the omelette. Be sharp.

Jemima Puddleduck had never heard him speak like that. She felt surprised and uncomfortable. While she was inside, she heard pattering feet round the back of the shed.

Someone with a black nose sniffed at the bottom of the door and then locked it. Jemima became alarmed. A moment afterwards, there was the most awful noises.

Barking, baying, growls and howls, squealing and groans. And nothing more was ever seen of that foxy whiskered gentleman. Presently, Kep opened the door of the shed and let out Jemima Puddleduck.

Unfortunately, the puppies rushed in and gobbled up all the eggs before he could stop them. He had a bite on his ear and both puppies were limping. Jemima Puddleduck was escorted home in tears on account of those eggs.

She laid some more in June and she was permitted to keep them herself, but only four of them hatched. Jemima Puddleduck said it was because of her nerves, but she had always been a bad sitter. Once upon a time, there were three little kittens and their names were Mittens, Tom Kitten and Moppet.

They had dear little fur coats of their own and they tumbled upon the doorstep and played in the dust. But one day their mother, Mrs Tabitha Twitchett, expected friends to tea. So she fetched the kittens indoors to wash and dress them before the fine company arrived.

First she scrubbed their faces. This one is Moppet. Then she brushed their fur.

This one is Mittens. Then she combed their tails and whiskers. This is Tom Kitten.

Tom was very naughty and he scratched. Mrs Tabitha dressed Moppet and Mittens in clean pinafores and tuckers. And then she took all sorts of elegant, uncomfortable clothes out of a chest of drawers in order to dress up her son, Thomas.

Tom Kitten was very fat and he'd grown. Several buttons burst off. His mother sewed them on again.

When the three kittens were ready. ..