Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her; he had heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny.
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He went back towards the tool-shed, but suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe—scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch.
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Peter scuttered underneath the bushes. But presently, as nothing happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheelbarrow and peeped over.
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The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions.
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His back was turned towards Peter, and beyond him was the gate!
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Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow; and started running as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some black-currant bushes.
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Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate, and was safe at last in the wood outside the garden.
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Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scare-crow to frighten the blackbirds.
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Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to the big fir-tree.
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He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit-hole and shut his eyes.
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His mother was busy cooking; she wondered what he had done with his clothes.
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It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a fortnight!
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I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.
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His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter!
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'One table-spoonful to be taken at bed-time.'
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But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.
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