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village. Oh, she had visited here several times, and sketched some of the cottages, and made the acquaintance of a few of the villagers, but they knew very little about her, other than the fact that she wrote and illustrated books for children. After everything that had happened—Norman’s death, and the increasing difficulties with her parents—the idea of a new beginning had a powerful appeal. A fresh start was what she wanted, and a place to get away from her mother and father, and from the city, and from the wreckage of her lost dreams. And though she couldn’t have the love that she had hoped for, she could still have her work, and Hill Top farm, and Sawrey. And that, she thought as she gazed at the enchanted landscape around her, would do. It would do very well.

    A little while later, Beatrix was installed at Belle Green. She found her second-floor room to be a clean and agreeable accommodation, even more pleasant for its view of the garden, where she had taken Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and the rabbits for a brief outing before it grew very dark. Then she unpacked her clothes, set the animals’ boxes and basket on a low shelf, and glanced with satisfaction at the fresh white curtains, the quilt-covered bed, the old oak dresser, and the faded landscape prints on the wall. She had looked forward to staying with Miss Tolliver in Anvil Cottage, but Belle Green was an acceptable substitute.
    Mr. and Mrs. Crook, however, were another matter. Mathilda Crook, a narrow, middle-aged woman with a ferret-like nose and sharp eyes, was disconcertingly curious about Beatrix’s plans. And George Crook, as Beatrix discovered when they all sat down to supper together in the large, comfortable kitchen, seemed to have something against her, although she couldn’t think what. He scowled fiercely at her and muttered something into his black mustache. Charles Hotchkiss, Mr. Crook’s forge helper, was as surly as his employer, but Edward Horsley, the other boarder, was nicer, and managed a shy smile and a handshake as they were introduced.
    For supper, Mrs. Crook had made a tatie pot, a large oven-baked dish made of lamb, black pudding, and potatoes, served with pickled cabbage, mashed turnips, and fresh bread. Despite Beatrix’s weariness, she ate with a greater appetite than she did at home, where meals were a trial, especially when her mother was cross and her father preoccupied. Tonight, the supper-table conversation mostly consisted of speculation about poor Miss Tolliver’s will (which had not yet been found), the tale of a cow that had strayed from High Green Gate Farm, and the news that the ferry would be out of service tomorrow for a repair to its steam boiler, and that anyone who wanted to go to Windermere should have to go round by Ambleside. The idea that there was a lake between her and London rather comforted Beatrix. If her parents demanded that she return home, she could plead the extra travel occasioned by the repair of the ferry.
    Mrs. Crook also managed to put a few questions to Beatrix, sometimes unsubtly concealed, sometimes asked straight out. What had made her think to buy Hill Top Farm? What did she plan to do with the place? Would she be living there? What about the Jennings family? Would they be staying on? Beatrix didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t want to answer, either. She was glad when the uncomfortable meal was over and she could escape upstairs.
    In her room, Beatrix settled her animals for the night, stroking Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, tickling the rabbits’ ears, and dropping a kiss on the end of Tom’s twinkling nose.
    “I know that some of you don’t enjoy traveling,” she whispered to them, “but I’m very glad you’re with me. I’ve wanted this so much—the farm at Hill Top, I mean—but now that I almost have it, I’m afraid I’ll lose it, the way I lost . . .” She stopped and stood quietly for a moment, stroking the little mouse. “You understand, don’t you, Tom? You lost someone you