The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle - Beatrix Potter [0]
As a child Beatrix Potter had known a charming old Scottish country washerwoman called Kitty MacDonald. In The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle the heroine, Lucie, meets a similar small, round, twinkly-eyed washerwoman; but this one has prickles under her cap and does the laundry for some surprising customers.
www.peterrabbit.com
FOR THE
REAL LITTLE LUCIE
OF NEWLANDS
ONCE UPON A TIME there was a little girl called Lucie, 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 Lucie came into the farm-yard crying — oh, she did cry so! “I’ve lost my pocket-handkin! Three handkins and a pinny! Have you seen them, Tabby Kitten?”
THE kitten went on washing her white paws; so Lucie 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 Lucie asked Cock Robin sitting on a twig.
Cock Robin looked sideways at Lucie with his bright black eye, and he flew over a stile and away.
Lucie 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 hill-side she thought she saw some white things spread upon the grass.
LUCIE scrambled up the hill as fast as her short legs would carry her; she ran along a steep path-way — 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 hill-side.
Some one 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 foot-marks of a very small person.
Lucie 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 clothes pins — but no pocket-handkerchiefs!
But there was something else — a door! straight into the hill; and inside it some one was singing —
“Lily-white and clean, oh!
With little frills between, oh!
Smooth and hot — red rusty spot
Never here be seen, oh!”
LUCIE knocked — once — twice, and interrupted the song. A little frightened voice called out “Who’s that?”
Lucie 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 Lucie’s head nearly touched it; and the pots and pans were small, and so was everything there.
THERE was a nice hot singey smell; and at the table, with an iron in her hand, stood a very stout short person staring anxiously at Lucie.
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 Lucie had yellow curls — that little person had PRICKLES!
“WHO are you?” said Lucie. “Have you seen my pocket-handkins?”
The little person made a bob-curtsey — “Oh yes, if you please’m; my name is Mrs. Tiggy-winkle; oh yes if you please’m, I’m an excellent clear-starcher!” And she took something out of a clothes-basket, and spread it on the ironing-blanket.
“WHAT’S that thing?” said Lucie — “that’s not my pocket-handkin?”
“Oh no, if you please’m; that’s a little scarlet waist-coat belonging to Cock Robin!”
And she ironed it and folded it, and put it on