But the nurse said – “I will set a mouse-trap!”
So that is the story of the two Bad Mice, – but they were not so very very naughty after all, because Tom Thumb paid for everything he broke.
He found a crooked sixpence under the hearthrug; and upon Christmas Eve, he and Hunca Munca stuffed it into one of the stockings of Lucinda and Jane.
And very early every morning – before anybody is awake – Hunca Munca comes with her dust-pan and her broom to sweep the Dollies’ house!
The End
for
THE REAL LITTLE LUCIE
OF NEWLANDS
The Tale of
Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle
( 1905 )
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 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 Jenny Wren; 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 went twinkle, 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 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 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 the smell.”