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, has YOU found three pocket-handkins?"

But the speckled hen ran into a barn, clucking--

"I go barefoot, barefoot, barefoot!"

AND then Lucie asked c.o.c.k Robin sitting on a twig.

c.o.c.k 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 gra.s.s.

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 gra.s.s 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 ap.r.o.n 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 p.r.i.c.kLES!

"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 c.o.c.k 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."

"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 iron them; 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 d.i.c.ky shirt- fronts belonging to Tom t.i.tmouse --most terrible particular!"

said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle.

"Now I've finished my ironing; I'm going to air some clothes."

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