The Tale of Little Pig Robinson - Beatrix Potter [7]
“What pleasure,” said Aunt Dorcas feelingly — “what possible pleasure can there be in entering a shop where you knock your head against a ham? A ham that may have belonged to a dear second cousin?”
Therefore the aunts bought their sugar and tea, their blue bag, their soap, their frying pans, matches, and mugs from old Mr. Mumby.
All these things he sold, and many more besides, and what he did not keep in stock he would obtain to order. But yeast requires to be quite fresh, he did not sell it; he advised Robinson to ask for yeast at a baker’s shop. Also he said it was too late in the season to buy cabbage seed; everybody had finished sowing vegetable seeds this year. Worsted for darning he did sell; but Robinson had forgotten the colour.
Robinson bought six sticks of delightfully sticky barley sugar with his pennies, and listened carefully to Mr. Mumby’s messages for Aunt Dorcas and Aunt Porcas — how they were to send some cabbages next week when the donkey cart would be mended; and how the kettle was not repaired yet, and there was a new patent box-iron he would like to recommend to Aunt Porcas.
Robinson said “Wee, wee, wee?” and listened, and little dog Tipkins who stood on a stool behind the counter, tying up grocery parcels in blue paper bags — little dog Tipkins whispered to Robinson — “Were there any rats this spring in the barn at Piggery Porcombe? And what would Robinson be doing on Saturday afternoon?”
“Wee, wee, wee!” answered Robinson.
Robinson came out of Mr. Mumby’s, heavily laden. The barley sugar was comforting; but he was troubled about the darning wool, the yeast, and the cabbage seed. He was looking about rather anxiously, when again he met old Betsy, who exclaimed:
“Bless the little piggy! Not gone home yet? Now it must not stop in Stymouth till it gets its pocket picked!”
Robinson explained his difficulty about the darning wool.
Kind old Betsy was ready with help.
“Why, I noticed the wool round the little primrose posy; it was blue-grey colour like the last pair of socks that I knitted for Sam. Come with me to the wool shop — Fleecy Flock’s wool shop. I remember the colour; well I do!” said Betsy.
Mrs. Flock was the sheep that had run against Robinson; she had bought herself three turnips and come straight home from market, for fear of missing customers while her shop was locked up.
Such a shop! Such a jumble! Wool all sorts of colours, thick wool, thin wool, fingering wool, and rug wool, bundles and bundles all jumbled up; and she could not put her hoof on anything. She was so confused and slow at finding things that Betsy got impatient.
“No, I don’t want wool for slippers; darning wool, Fleecy; darning wool, same colour as I bought for my Sam’s socks. Bless me, no, not knitting needles! Darning wool.”
“Baa, baa! Did you say white or black, m’m? Three ply, was it?”
“Oh, dear me, grey darning wool on cards; not heather mixture.”
“I know I have it somewhere,” said Fleecy Flock helplessly, jumbling up the skeins and bundles. “Sim Ram came in this morning with part of the Ewehampton clip; my shop is completely cluttered up —”
It took half an hour to find the wool. If Betsy had not been with him, Robinson never would have got it.
“It’s that late, I must go home,” said Betsy. “My Sam is on shore today for dinner. If you take my advice you will leave that big heavy basket with the Miss Goldfinches, and hurry with your shopping. It’s a long uphill walk home to Piggery Porcombe.”
Robinson, anxious to follow old Betsy’s advice, walked towards the Miss Goldfinches’. On the way he came to a baker’s, and he remembered the yeast.
It was not the right sort of baker’s, unfortunately. There was a nice bakery smell, and pastry in the window; but it was an eating house or cook shop.
When he pushed the swing door open, a man in an apron and a square white cap turned round and said, “Hullo! Is this a pork pie walking on its hind legs?” — and four rude men at a dining table burst out laughing.
Robinson left the shop in a hurry. He felt afraid