Once upon a time,
There was a little girl called Lucy,
Who lived at a farm called Little Town.
She was a good little girl,
Only she was always losing her pocket handkerchiefs.
One day little Lucy came into the farmyard crying.
Oh,
She did cry so!
I've lost my pocket handkin!
Three handkins and a penny!
Have you seen them Tabby Kitten?
The kitten went on washing her white paws.
So Lucy asked a speckled hen.
Sally Henny Penny,
Have you found three pocket handkins?
But the speckled hen ran into a barn clucking.
I go barefoot,
Barefoot,
Barefoot!
And then Lucy asked Cock Robin sitting on a twig.
Cock Robin looked sideways at Lucy with his bright black eye.
And he flew over a stile and away.
Lucy climbed upon the stile and looked up at the hill behind Little Town.
A hill that goes up,
Up into the clouds,
As though it had no top.
And a great way up the hillside,
She thought she saw some white things spread upon the grass.
Lucy scrambled up the hill as fast as her stout legs would carry her.
She ran along a steep pathway,
Up and up,
Until Little Town was right away down below.
She could have dropped a pebble down the chimney.
Presently she came to a spring,
Bubbling out from the hillside.
Someone had stood a tin can upon a stone to catch the water.
But the water was already running over,
For the can was no bigger than an egg cup.
And where the sand upon the path was wet,
There were footmarks of a very small person.
Lucy ran on and on.
The path ended under a big rock.
The grass was short and green,
And there were clothes.
Props cut from bracken stems,
With lines of plaited rushes,
And a heap of tiny clothespins,
But no pocket handkerchiefs.
But there was something else.
A door,
Straight into the hill,
And inside it someone was singing,
Lily white and clean,
With little frills between.
Smooth and hot,
Red rusty spot,
Never here be seen.
Lucy knocked,
Once,
Twice,
And interrupted the song.
A little frightened voice called out,
Who's that?
Lucy opened the door,
And what do you think there was inside the hill?
A nice clean kitchen with a flagged floor and wooden beams,
Just like any other farm kitchen.
Only the ceiling was so low,
That Lucy's head nearly touched it,
And the pots and pans were small,
And so was everything there.
There was a nice hot singy smell,
And at the table,
With an iron in her hand,
Stood a very stout short person,
Staring anxiously at Lucy.
Her print gown was tucked up,
And she was wearing a large apron over her striped petticoat.
Her little black nose went sniffle sniffle snuffle,
And her eyes went twinkle twinkle,
And underneath her cap,
Where Lucy had yellow curls,
That little person had prickles.
Who are you?
Said Lucy.
Have you seen my pocket hankins?
The little person made a bob curtsy.
Oh yes,
If you please,
My name is Mrs Tiggy Winkle.
Oh yes,
If you please,
I'm an excellent clear starcher.
And she took something out of her clothes basket,
And spread it on the ironing blanket.
What's that thing?
Said Lucy.
That's not my pocket hankin.
Oh no,
If you please,
That's a little scarlet waistcoat belonging to Cock Robin.
And she ironed it,
And folded it,
And put it on one side.
Then she took something else off her clothes horse.
That isn't my penny,
Said Lucy.
Oh no,
If you please,
That's a damask tablecloth belonging to Jenny Wren.
Look how it's stained with current wine,
It's very bad to wash,
Said Mrs Tiggy Winkle.
Mrs Tiggy Winkle's nose went sniffle sniffle snuffle,
And her eyes went twinkle twinkle,
And she fetched another hot iron from the fire.
There's one of my pocket hankins,
Cried Lucy,
And there's my penny.
Mrs Tiggy Winkle ironed it,
And goffered it,
And shook out the frills.
Oh that is lovely,
Said Lucy.
And what are those long yellow things with fingers like gloves?
Oh that's a pair of stockings belonging to Sally Hennypenny.
Look how she's worn the heels out with scratching in the yard,
She'll very soon go barefoot,
Said Mrs Tiggy Winkle.
Why,
There's another hanker sniff,
But it isn't mine,
It's red.
Oh no,
If you please,
That one belongs to old Mrs Rabbit.
And it did so smell of onions.
I've had to wash it separately,
I can't get out the smell.
There's another one of mine,
Said Lucy.
What are those funny little white things?
That's a pair of mittens belonging to Tabby Kitten.
I only have to iron them,
She washes them herself.
That's my last pocket hankin,
Said Lucy.
And what are you dipping into that basin of starch?
They're little dicky shirt fronts belonging to Tom Titmouse.
Most terrible particular,
Said Mrs Tiggy Winkle.
Now I've finished my ironing,
I'm going to air some clothes.
What are those dear soft fluffy things,
Said Lucy.
Oh those are woolly coats belonging to the little lambs at Skelgill.
Will their jackets take off?
Asked Lucy.
Oh yes,
If you please.
Look at the sheep mark on the shoulder.
And here's one marked for Gatesgarth.
And three that come from Littletown.
They're always marked at washing,
Said Mrs Tiggy Winkle.
And she hung up all sorts and sizes of clothes.
Small brown coats of mice.
And one velvety black moleskin waistcoat.
And a red tail coat with no tail belonging to Squirrel Nutkin.
And a very much shrunk blue jacket belonging to Peter Rabbit.
And a petticoat,
Not marked,
That had gone lost in the washing.
And at last the basket was empty.
Then Mrs Tiggy Winkle made tea.
A cup for herself and a cup for Lucy.
They sat before the fire on a bench and looked sideways at each other.
Mrs Tiggy Winkle's hand,
Holding the teacup,
Was very,
Very brown and very,
Very wrinkly with the soap suds.
And all through her gown and her cap,
There were hairpins sticking wrong end out.
So that Lucy didn't like to sit too near her.
When they had finished tea they tied up the clothes in bundles.
And Lucy's pocket handkerchiefs were folded up inside her clean pinny and fastened with a silver safety pin.
And then they made up the fire with turf and came out and locked the door and hid the key under the door sill.
Then away down the hill trotted Lucy and Mrs Tiggy Winkle with the bundles of clothes.
All the way down the path,
Little animals came out of the fern to meet them.
The very first they met were Peter Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny.
And she gave them their nice clean clothes.
And all the little animals and birds were so very much obliged to dear Mrs Tiggy Winkle.
So that at the bottom of the hill when they came to the stile,
There was nothing left to carry except Lucy's one little bundle.
Lucy scrambled up the stile with the bundle in her hand.
And then she turned to say goodnight and to thank the washerwoman.
But what a very odd thing!
Mrs Tiggy Winkle had not waited either for thanks or for the washing bill.
She was running,
Running,
Running up the hill.
And where was her white frilled cap?
And her shawl?
And her gown?
And her petticoat?
And how small she had grown!
And how brown and covered with prickles!
Why,
Mrs Tiggy Winkle,
Was nothing but a hedgehog.
Now,
Some people say that little Lucy had been asleep upon the stile.
But then how could she have found three clean pocket handkins and a pinny pinned with a silver safety pin?
And besides,
I have seen that door into the back of the hill called Cat Bells.
And besides,
I am very well acquainted with dear Mrs Tiggy Winkle.
The End
