Pierre Lapin

This is a tale about a tail - a tail that belonged to a little red squirrel, and his name was Nutkin. He lived with his brother, Twinkleberry, and a great many cousins in a wood at the edge of a lake. In the very middle of this lake lies an island, covered in nut bushes and tall trees. Among those trees stands a hollow oak, the house of a wise old owl called Old Brown.

One golden autumn, when the nuts were ripe for gathering, Nutkin and all the other little squirrels came down to the water's edge. They fashioned small rafts out of twigs, and using their bushy tails for sails, they paddled across the water to Owl Island. For Old Brown, they brought a present of three fat mice, which they laid upon his doorstep. Twinkleberry and the others bowed low. “Old Mr. Brown,” they said politely, “will you favour us with permission to gather nuts upon your island?”

But Nutkin was a squirrel of excessively impertinent manners. He bobbed up and down like a little red cherry, singing a nonsensical riddle: “Riddle me, riddle me, rot-tot-tote! A little wee man, in a red red coat!” Old Brown paid him no mind at all, shutting his eyes obstinately and going to sleep. The polite squirrels filled their sacks with nuts and sailed home in the quiet of the evening.

For five days, this pattern continued. Each morning the squirrels returned, bringing a fine present for the owl - a fat mole, seven plump minnows, six juicy beetles wrapped in dock-leaves, and sweet, sticky honey stolen from a bumble bees' nest. And each morning, while his cousins showed their respect, Nutkin would dance and jeer, tickling Old Brown with a nettle and singing ever-ruder riddles. “Old Mr. B! Riddle-me-ree!” he would chant, while the other squirrels busied themselves with their work. Old Brown remained silent, though his patience was clearly wearing thin.

On the sixth day, the squirrels came for the last time, bringing a perfect new-laid egg in a rush basket as a final gift. But Nutkin, growing bolder with each unanswered taunt, ran ahead, shouting, “Humpty Dumpty lies in the beck, With a white counterpane round his neck!” Now, Old Brown took an interest in eggs. He opened one eye and shut it again, but still, he did not speak.

This silence only encouraged Nutkin. He danced like a sunbeam, his little voice piping one riddle after another. Finally, he sang, “Arthur O'Bower has broken his band, He comes roaring up the land!” Making a whirring noise to sound like the wind, Nutkin took a running jump and landed right on the head of Old Brown.

In an instant, there was a flutterment and a scufflement and a loud “Squeak!” The other squirrels scattered into the bushes, terrified. When they dared to peep out again, they saw Old Brown sitting calmly on his doorstep as if nothing had happened. But Nutkin was gone. He was inside the owl's waistcoat pocket.

This is not quite the end of the story. Old Brown carried the impertinent squirrel into his house, holding him up by the tail with every intention of skinning him. But Nutkin pulled and struggled with all his might - he pulled so very hard that his beautiful, bushy tail broke in two. In that moment, he was free. He dashed up the staircase and scrambled out of the attic window, leaving half his pride behind.

And that is the story of Nutkin's tail. To this day, if you should meet a little red squirrel in the woods and ask him a riddle, he will not answer with a clever rhyme. He will stamp his feet, throw sticks at you, and scold furiously, shouting, “Cuck-cuck-cuck-cur-r-r-cuck-k-k!”