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72 pages, Hardcover
First published December 16, 1901
Old Mrs. Rabbit has to run a few errands and has to leave her children home, alone, for a few hours.
Once upon a time there was four litter Rabbits, and their names were - Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter.
"...you may go into the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden."And so the girls, being good little girls, listen to their mother and go to pick blackberries for the family.
...ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's garden.Chaos ensues. Will he make it back? Or die like his father at hands of the old farmer?
Peter finished his breakfast, but the insipid, cloying taste of the dead dandelion leaves left him unsatisfied. The craving was starting to build up in him again. He needed to veg out. Suddenly, he started as a voice came from right behind him.
"We're looking for blackberries. You want to come, Peter?"
It was his half-sister Flopsy, a precociously formed doe. She was not yet one summer old, yet already her haunches had the rounded look of a mature female. She exuded an enticing, musky odor. As if by chance, she turned her head so that their whiskers brushed, and seductively twitched her nose. For a moment, Peter was tempted, but the other urge was too strong.
"Sorry, Flopsy. I've got... stuff to do."
With one bound, he had scooped up his blue jacket, the mark of the civilized young rabbit, and was out of the burrow before he could change his mind. He lolloped down the path as he had done many times before, then, looking both ways, he eased his trembling body under the hard wood of the gate. He was on McGregor territory.
He straightened up, all his senses maximally alert, but there were no warning signals yet. With the practiced ease of the professional thief, he took the short-cut through the gooseberry bushes and emerged directly in the vegetable garden. His eyes glistened with desire as he saw the huge, plump lettuces. No longer caring about safety, he immediately attacked the nearest one, slicing into it with his razor-sharp front teeth. Green juices ran down his chin as he gorged himself on the unresisting leaves. His eyes half-closed, he chewed, swallowed, bit again, forcing the food down his throat as fast as he could eat until he reached the tender heart. In less time than one could believe possible, the lettuce was no more than an eviscerated husk. Peter contemptuously tossed away the bitter stem and then started on the radishes. Their tart, peppery red flesh contrasted delightfully with the sweet lettuce, and he frenziedly ate one after another. His swollen stomach hurt, but the pleasure was still stronger.
'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.'
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