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Updated: May 17, 2025
Miss Muffet fairly jumped off her tuffet, for she had never had a party in her life. "Who will invite the people?" "I will," said the spider. "But do you think any one will come if you invite them?" "Why not?" "Oh! I was just thinking; some people are such 'fraid-cats; and then, you know, once, one of your family invited the fly to walk into his parlor.
But not one of them forgot the kind grandmother who had taken such good care of them, and often they tell their children of the days when they lived with the old woman in a shoe and frightened the baker-man almost into fits with their wooden tomahawks. Little Miss Muffet Little Miss Muffet Little Miss Muffet Sat on a tuffet, Eating of curds and whey.
"No, Nurse Jane," answered the little girl, with a smile. "Are you Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?" Nurse Jane wanted to know. "I am not Mistress Mary," answered the little girl. "Then who are you?" Nurse Jane asked. "I am little Miss Muffet, if you please, and I have come to sit on a tuffet, and eat some curds and whey.
The names of the twelve directors who were elected are here given: Simon Alix, councillor and king's secretary; Pierre Aubert, councillor and king's secretary; Thomas Bonneau, Sieur du Plessis; Pierre Robineau, treasurer of cavalry; Raoul L'Huillier, merchant of Paris; Barthélemy Quentin, merchant of Paris; Jean Tuffet, merchant of Bordeaux; Gabriel Lattaignant, formerly mayor of Calais; Jean Rozée, merchant of Rouen; Simon Lemaistre, merchant of Rouen; Louis Hoüel, comptroller of saltworks at Brouage; Bonaventure Quentin, Sieur de Richebourg.
"Very well," said the spider, throwing into the waste-basket the letter he had just addressed to His Majesty the King of the Brobdingnags. At last the invitations were all written, and the kind old spider said, "Now lie down, my dear, on the tuffet and close your eyes, and I will make all the preparations and wake you in time for the party."
"Let's change the subject, Miss," said the spider, moving toward the further side of the tuffet. "This is Christmas Eve." "Yes," answered Miss Muffet wearily. "Sixty seconds make a minute; sixty minutes make an hour. Even Christmas Eve will come to an end some time; but what's the good? For then Christmas will come, and that will never get through." "What do you say to a party?"
As she sat on her tuffet counting up the seconds of Christmas Eve, and had already reached the sum of two thousand one hundred and seven, a strange thing happened. A visitor came and sat down beside her. You guess who he was? Yes an elderly, benevolent spider.
She first looked around for a place to sit down, and finally discovered a little grassy mound, which is called a tuffet in the country, and seated herself upon it. Then she tasted the curds and whey and found them very good. But while she was eating she chanced to look down at her feet, and there was a great black spider coming straight towards her.
I have thought of that myself, and have taken the trouble to ask several learned persons. They assure me that the most complete and satisfactory definition is, a tuffet is the kind of thing that Miss Muffet sat on. With this explanation I shall go on with my story.
Muffet, who wasn't quick at mental arithmetic, "but you'll see that there are quite a considerable number of seconds in Christmas Day quite enough for any growing child." So at Christmas time Mrs. Muffet would go out to visit the neighbors, leaving the little girl seated on a very uncomfortable tuffet, to meditate on the passage of time. Perhaps some of you would like to know what a tuffet is.
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