quick temper and a tenacious resolve, he soon would be.
“You shall have to put Mr. Biddle into one of your little books,” Sarah said decidedly. “He repaired the slates on my roof. Stubborn as the day is long, and hates like anything to do business with a woman. Tell you what, Bea—you can draw him as a donkey.”
At that, Beatrix threw back her head and laughed heartily. “Dear Sarah,” she said at last. “You are good for the soul. Here I was, thinking I was the only woman the wretched man had ever dealt with. Yes, indeed. If I ever do a donkey book, I shall have Mr. Biddle in mind. And now that I’ve a clearer picture of him, perhaps I shan’t lose my temper quite so easily. Donkeys can’t help being donkeys, after all.”
“Speaking of books,” Dimity remarked, “my cousin wrote from London that she saw Jeremy Fisher in a bookstore window.” Beatrix had been drawing Jeremy the previous autumn. “What are you working on now?”
“It’s called The Tale of Tom Kitten, ” Beatrix replied. “I got another idea for it this morning, when I was watching the cats pushing and shoving one another on the stone wall at Hill Top.” Her smile was crooked. “But I always find it difficult to settle to drawing whilst I’m here. There’s so much to do, in addition to all the renovations. Tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Jennings and I are driving up to Holly How Farm to look at some Herdwicks Mr. Hornby has sold us. I must confess to admiring the breed, even though it is quite out of fashion these days.”
Sarah laughed, delighted. “Fancy the famous Miss Potter, a shepherd. But I daresay the children who read your books would understand.”
Dimity stood. “I’m afraid I must be going. I really must come to terms with Mrs. Wharton and the dahlias.”
“You could just cancel the dahlias,” Sarah said. “Who would miss them?”
“That wouldn’t work at all, I’m afraid,” Dimity said. “Everybody enters dahlias. It’s Mrs. Wharton who needs canceling.” She paused. “So it’s been decided that we won’t tell Margaret about Lady Longford and Dr. Gainwell?” She wasn’t sure that this was the right thing to do, but Sarah was always so positive that it was hard to argue against her.
“That’s the plan,” Sarah said. She shrugged. “Anyway, who knows? Maybe this Gainwell fellow will decide to go back to Borneo or New Guinea or wherever he’s been, and then Margaret would have worried for nothing.”
“If we don’t tell her,” Beatrix said quietly, “we shall have to expect that someone else will do it.”
Which, of course, is exactly what happened.
6
Miss Nash Hears Some Unpleasant News
Margaret Nash had always felt some irony in her summer situation.
June and end-of-term never came soon enough. She was delighted to pick up the last pair of wellies, dust the last eraser, and turn the key on the Sawrey School door, imagining the great pleasures waiting for her in the garden and the kitchen and at the seashore, where she and her sister Annie usually spent a fortnight. But her spirits always began to sag about the middle of July, and it wasn’t long after that when she began actually looking forward to the end of the summer holiday and the return to school, inspired with a sense of change and renewal and the expectation that this year’s crop of students would be even better than the last.
This year, the anticipation that gripped Margaret was even stronger than usual, partly because Annie had been ill and they had been unable to get away for their usual fortnight’s holiday, but mostly because she hoped (if that was the right word for an emotion that included desire, anxiety, trepidation, and the fear that she might not quite be up to the task) that she was to be named the new head teacher at Sawrey School, where for the last nine years she had taught the infants class. She was thinking about this as she stood at the table in the kitchen of the cottage that she and Annie shared, the
“You shall have to put Mr. Biddle into one of your little books,” Sarah said decidedly. “He repaired the slates on my roof. Stubborn as the day is long, and hates like anything to do business with a woman. Tell you what, Bea—you can draw him as a donkey.”
At that, Beatrix threw back her head and laughed heartily. “Dear Sarah,” she said at last. “You are good for the soul. Here I was, thinking I was the only woman the wretched man had ever dealt with. Yes, indeed. If I ever do a donkey book, I shall have Mr. Biddle in mind. And now that I’ve a clearer picture of him, perhaps I shan’t lose my temper quite so easily. Donkeys can’t help being donkeys, after all.”
“Speaking of books,” Dimity remarked, “my cousin wrote from London that she saw Jeremy Fisher in a bookstore window.” Beatrix had been drawing Jeremy the previous autumn. “What are you working on now?”
“It’s called The Tale of Tom Kitten, ” Beatrix replied. “I got another idea for it this morning, when I was watching the cats pushing and shoving one another on the stone wall at Hill Top.” Her smile was crooked. “But I always find it difficult to settle to drawing whilst I’m here. There’s so much to do, in addition to all the renovations. Tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Jennings and I are driving up to Holly How Farm to look at some Herdwicks Mr. Hornby has sold us. I must confess to admiring the breed, even though it is quite out of fashion these days.”
Sarah laughed, delighted. “Fancy the famous Miss Potter, a shepherd. But I daresay the children who read your books would understand.”
Dimity stood. “I’m afraid I must be going. I really must come to terms with Mrs. Wharton and the dahlias.”
“You could just cancel the dahlias,” Sarah said. “Who would miss them?”
“That wouldn’t work at all, I’m afraid,” Dimity said. “Everybody enters dahlias. It’s Mrs. Wharton who needs canceling.” She paused. “So it’s been decided that we won’t tell Margaret about Lady Longford and Dr. Gainwell?” She wasn’t sure that this was the right thing to do, but Sarah was always so positive that it was hard to argue against her.
“That’s the plan,” Sarah said. She shrugged. “Anyway, who knows? Maybe this Gainwell fellow will decide to go back to Borneo or New Guinea or wherever he’s been, and then Margaret would have worried for nothing.”
“If we don’t tell her,” Beatrix said quietly, “we shall have to expect that someone else will do it.”
Which, of course, is exactly what happened.
6
Miss Nash Hears Some Unpleasant News
Margaret Nash had always felt some irony in her summer situation.
June and end-of-term never came soon enough. She was delighted to pick up the last pair of wellies, dust the last eraser, and turn the key on the Sawrey School door, imagining the great pleasures waiting for her in the garden and the kitchen and at the seashore, where she and her sister Annie usually spent a fortnight. But her spirits always began to sag about the middle of July, and it wasn’t long after that when she began actually looking forward to the end of the summer holiday and the return to school, inspired with a sense of change and renewal and the expectation that this year’s crop of students would be even better than the last.
This year, the anticipation that gripped Margaret was even stronger than usual, partly because Annie had been ill and they had been unable to get away for their usual fortnight’s holiday, but mostly because she hoped (if that was the right word for an emotion that included desire, anxiety, trepidation, and the fear that she might not quite be up to the task) that she was to be named the new head teacher at Sawrey School, where for the last nine years she had taught the infants class. She was thinking about this as she stood at the table in the kitchen of the cottage that she and Annie shared, the
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