the trit-trot, trit-trot of a pony.

A gig was coming along the road; it
was driven by Mr. McGregor, and
beside him sat Mrs. McGregor in her
best bonnet.

As soon as they had passed, little
Benjamin Bunny slid down into the
road, and set off--with a hop, skip,
and a jump--to call upon his
relations, who lived in the wood at the
back of Mr. McGregor's garden.

That wood was full of rabbit holes;
and in the neatest, sandiest hole of all
lived Benjamin's aunt and his
cousins--Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail,
and Peter.

Old Mrs. Rabbit was a widow; she
earned her living by knitting
rabbit-wool mittens and muffatees (I
once bought a pair at a bazaar). She
also sold herbs, and rosemary tea,
and rabbit-tobacco (which is what
we call lavender).


Little Benjamin did not very much