The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle

The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle

Project Gutenberg's The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, by Beatrix Potter
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle
Author: Beatrix Potter
Release Date: April 21, 2004 [EBook #12103]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALE
OF MRS. TIGGY-WINKLE ***

Produced by Kathie Sanchez, Lauren Rouse, Marie Rouse, Kathy
Rouse, Michael Sanchez, and Matthew Sanchez

THE TALE OF MRS. TIGGY-WINKLE
BY BEATRIX POTTER
Author of "The Tale of Peter Rabbit", &c.
1905

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 hillside she thought she saw some white things
spread upon the grass.
LUCIE scrambled up the hill as fast as her stout 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 by 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