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Postal shopping

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She was so disappointed, that, although she tried hard, she could not keep a few tears from splashing down on the stony path. She never heard Jock come along towards her, and drew quickly into her shell when he spoke to her.

But it was a different Jock from the rowdy little chap he had been. He sat down in front of her and said very humbly:

“Please come out of your shell, Ma'am, I do so want someone to talk to.”

Miss Amelia put her head out very cautiously.

“You look very unhappy, Ma'am,” said Jock, “are you in trouble?”

“Trouble?” Miss Amelia sobbed, as she again thought of everything. “It is you that is the trouble. You, with your bad manners. You have growled and barked at everybody so much that they are all frightened and none of them will come to my birthday party on the drying green.”

Jock was very ashamed, and did not know where to look.

“Did I really frighten them away?” he asked. “I know I said I wanted to, but I was only playing.”

“You should never say things like that, not even in fun,” said Miss Amelia severely.

And then she sat thinking for a few minutes.

“If you really didn't mean it,” she said after a little while, “perhaps I can still have my birthday party, but we shall have to get Mr. Tom to help. Come along with me.”

And they started off to look for Mr. Tom. They found him at the back of the house and he was very surprised to see Miss Amelia and the Puppy together. But before he had time to say anything Miss Amelia started to tell him of her plan.

“Oh! Ho!” said Mr. Tom, and then feeling that this was an opportunity to use one of the long words he was so fond of, “A reconciliation, eh? Well now what do you want me to do?”

“I want you,” said Miss Amelia, “to go round to all the animals and tell them that I am giving my party after all, and that they need not be afraid of Jock because he is going to sit beside me and be a good boy. Aren't you, my dear?” she added to Jock who nodded his head.

So that evening the little people of Pudding Hill came down by twos and threes to the drying green and found spread out for them the most delicious feast. There were plates of porridge for the Hedgehogs, cheese sandwiches for the Field Mice. Johnny Black had celery seed, and the Sparrowdenes sugar biscuits. Peter Possum and Joe the Morepork drank milk and ate jam out of a tin. Mr. Tom had a tin of salmon.

Then when they had all eaten as much as they possibly could, Johnny Black sang his song, and the Field Mice were so busy scampering about among all the empty plates that they forgot to make any rude remarks.

Sam and Sue Hedgehog did their dance and Joe the Morepork sang a song, which came as a surprise to everyone. It was not very good. Nobody could understand what it was about and in the middle of it he said, “Good-night all,” and flew away.

Then Jock the puppy stood up and he looked very big beside the others. So big that the animals suddenly became afraid and sat very still.

“I want to be friends with you all,” he said. “I didn't mean to frighten you. I only wanted to play. So please don't go away from Pudding Hill, and we will all live happily together.”

There was silence for a moment, then Peter Possum jumped up and cried. “Alright we'll play with you. See if you can catch me,” and he dashed off round the drying green.

Jock went after him and soon all the animals were tearing round and round, laughing, squeaking and chirping until it was time to go to bed.

Then they all said good-night to Miss Amelia, and thanked her for the jolliest party they had ever had.

“My son's birthday to-morrow,” confided the little old gentleman to the tobacconist, “and what to give him I don't know, but something in your line might do.” “A pipe?” suggested the tobacconist. “Got about fifty,” said the little old gentleman. “A pouch?” “Stacks of ‘em.” “How about a cigarette case?” “He smokes a pipe,” said the little old gentleman. “Some tobacco, then?” “H'm,” ejaculated the little old gentleman, “have to be pretty good. He knows what's what!” “Has he sampled ‘toasted’?” “H'm—don't think so. Is it O. K.?” “Nothing to touch it,” declared the tobacconist. “Try a pound tin of Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead), full strength.” “I'll try before I buy,” said the little old gentleman, “give me a fill.” Five minutes later he said, “let's have a pound. If he doesn't like this he ought to.” “He will!” said the tobacconist. And so he did! No smoker can resist “toasted!” Five brands: Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead), Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog), Cavendish, Riverhead Gold and Desert Gold. Not only famous for flavour and bouquet, they're harmless too!^*

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