The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle Read online

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  THE TALE OFMRS. TIGGY-WINKLE

  BYBEATRIX POTTER

  _Author of"The Tale of Peter Rabbit", &c._

  FREDERICK WARNE

  FREDERICK WARNE

  Penguin Books Ltd, Harmondsworth, Middlesex, EnglandViking Penguin Inc., 40 West 23rd Street, New York, New York 10010, U.S.A. Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, AustraliaPenguin Books Canada Ltd, 2801 John Street, Markham, Ontario, Canada L3R 1B4 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand

  First published 1905 This impression 1986 Universal Copyright Notice: Copyright (C) Frederick Warne & Co., 1905 Copyright in all countries signatory to the Berne Convention

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reservedabove, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in orintroduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by anymeans (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise),without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and theabove publisher of this book.

  Printed and bound in Great Britain byWilliam Clowes Limited, Beccles and London

  _for_

  THE REAL LITTLE LUCIE OF NEWLANDS

  Once upon a time there was a little girl called Lucie, who lived at a farmcalled Little-town. She was a good little girl--only she was always losingher 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_ seenthem, 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 flewover a stile and away.

  Lucie climbed upon the stile and looked up at the hill behindLittle-town--a hill that goes up--up--into the clouds as though it had notop!

  And a great way up the hill-side she thought she saw some white thingsspread upon the grass.

  Lucie scrambled up the hill as fast as her stout legs would carry her; sheran along a steep path-way--up and up--until Little-town was right awaydown 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 thewater 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 therewere 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 insideit 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 frightenedvoice called out "Who's that?"

  Lucie opened the door: and what do you think there was inside the hill?--anice clean kitchen with a flagged floor and wooden beams--just like anyother farm kitchen. Only the ceiling was so low that Lucie's head nearlytouched it; and the pots and pans were small, and so was everythingthere.

  There was a nice hot singey smell; and at the table, with an iron in herhand stood a very stout short person staring anxiously at Lucie.

  Her print gown was tucked up, and she was wearing a large apron over herstriped petticoat. Her little black nose went sniffle, sniffle, snuffle,and her eyes went twinkle, twinkle; and underneath her cap--where Luciehad 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 nameis Mrs. Tiggy-winkle; oh, yes if you please'm, I'm an excellentclear-starcher!" And she took something out of a clothes-basket, andspread 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 toCock Robin!"

  And she ironed it and folded it, and put it on one side.

  Then she took something else off a clothes-horse--

  "That isn't my pinny?" said Lucie.

  "Oh no, if you please'm; that's a damask table-cloth belonging to JennyWren; look how it's stained with currant wine! It's very bad to wash!"said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle.

  Mrs. Tiggy-winkle's nose went sniffle, sniffle, snuffle, and her eyes wenttwinkle, twinkle; and she fetched another hot iron from the fire.

  "There's one of my pocket-handkins!" cried Lucie--"and there's my pinny!"

  Mrs. Tiggy-winkle ironed it, and goffered it, and shook out the frills.

  "Oh that _is_ lovely!" said Lucie.

  "And what are those long yellow things with fingers like gloves?"

  "Oh, that's a pair of stockings belonging to Sally Henny-penny--look howshe's worn the heels out with scratching in the yard! She'll very soon gobarefoot!" said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle.

  "Why, there's another handkersniff--but it isn't mine; it's red?"

  "Oh no, if you please'm; 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 thesmell."

  "There's another one of mine," said Lucie.

  "What are those funny little white things?"

  "That's a pair of mittens belonging to Tabby Kitten; I only have to ironthem; she washes them herself."

  "There's my last pocket-handkin!" said Lucie.

  "And what are you dipping into the basin of starch?"

  "They're little dicky shirt-fronts belonging to Tom Titmouse--mostterrible particular!" said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle. "Now I've finished myironing; I'm going to air some clothes."

  "What are these dear soft fluffy things?" said Lucie.

  "Oh those are woolly coats belonging to the little lambs at Skelghyl."

  "Will their jackets take off?" asked Lucie.

  "Oh yes, if you please'm; look at the sheep-mark on the shoulder. Andhere's one marked for Gatesgarth, and three that come from Little-town.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 waist-coat; and a red tailcoat with no tailbelonging to Squirrel Nutkin; and a very much shrunk blue jacket belongingto Peter Rabbit; and a petticoat, not marked, that had gone lost in thewashing--and at last the basket was empty!

  "Then Mrs. Tiggy-winkle made tea--a cup for herself and a cup for Lucie.They sat before the fire on a bench and looked sideways at one another.Mrs. Tiggy-winkle's hand, holding the tea-cup, was very very brown, andvery very wrinkly with the soap-suds; and all through her gown and hercap, there were _hair-pins_ sticking wrong end out; so that Lucie didn'tlike to sit too near her.

  When they had finished tea, they tied up the clothes in bundles; andLucie's pocket-handkerchiefs were folded up inside her clean pinny, andfastened with a silver safety-pin.

  And then they made up the fire with turf, and came out and locked thedoor, and hid the key under the door-sill.

  Then away down the hill t
rotted Lucie and Mrs. Tiggy-winkle with thebundles of clothes!

  All the way down the path little animals came out of the fern to meetthem; the very first that they met were Peter Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny!

  And she gave them their nice clean clothes; and all the little animals andbirds 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 wasnothing left to carry except Lucie's one little bundle.

  Lucie scrambled up the stile with the bundle in her hand; and then sheturned to say "Good-night," and to thank the washer-woman--But what a_very_ odd thing! Mrs. Tiggy-winkle had not waited either for thanks orfor the washing bill!

  She was running running running up the hill--and where was her whitefrilled 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 Lucie 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!)