The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle

Once upon a time there was a little girl called Lucie, who lived on a farm called Little-town. She was a good little girl, but she was always losing her pocket-handkerchiefs. One day, Lucie came into the farmyard 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 and said nothing. Lucie asked the speckled hen, and the hen said nothing. She asked Cock Robin sitting on a twig, and he flew over a stile and away. So Lucie climbed up the hill behind the farm — a hill that goes up and up into the clouds as though it had no top at all.

A great way up the hillside, Lucie saw some white things spread upon the grass. Tiny little clothes, hung out to dry in the sunshine. She scrambled up further, and there she found a very small door, set into the side of the hill. It was not a rabbit-hole; it was a proper little door, with a knocker and a doorstep and a small brass bell. Lucie knocked — tap, tap, tap. A small, frightened voice called out: "Who's that?" Lucie opened the door, and what do you think she found inside?

There, in a warm little kitchen, stood a very stout, short person. She wore a print gown, a striped petticoat, and a white frilled cap upon her head. Her little black nose went sniffle, sniffle, snuffle, and her eyes went twinkle, twinkle. "Oh, yes, if you please'm," she said, bobbing a curtsey. "My name is Mrs. Tiggy-winkle. Oh, yes, if you please'm, I'm an excellent clear-starcher!" And she was ironing. The kitchen was tiny and hot, with a fire and a boiler, and a clothes-horse hung with garments of every description. There were tiny waistcoats and little blue jackets and one-and-a-half pairs of stockings. Mrs. Tiggy-winkle's hands were very, very wrinkly with the soap-suds, and she kept rubbing them on her apron.

Mrs. Tiggy-winkle held up one thing after another, and explained to whom each belonged. "This is a pair of stockings belonging to Sally Henny-penny — look how she's worn the heels out with scratching in the yard!" "And this red handkerchief belongs to old Mrs. Rabbit — it did so smell of onions! I had to wash it separately; I can't get out the smell." "Those are woolly coats belonging to the little lambs at Skelghyl. And here are mittens belonging to Tabby Kitten — she washes them herself, I only have to iron them." "There's my pocket-handkin!" cried Lucie. "And there's my pinny!" Mrs. Tiggy-winkle ironed it and goffered it and shook out the frills, most beautifully.

When all the ironing was finished, they bundled up the clean clothes and set off down the hill together, with Lucie carrying her own small bundle and Mrs. Tiggy-winkle carrying the rest upon her back in an enormous basket. They stopped at every door and every burrow, and Mrs. Tiggy-winkle delivered each item to its proper owner. The robin got his little red waistcoat. The lambs got their woolly coats. Sally Henny-penny got her stockings. All the little animals and birds were so very much obliged to dear Mrs. Tiggy-winkle.

At the bottom of the hill, they came to the stile. Lucie scrambled up with her bundle, and then she turned to say "Thank you" and "Good night." But what a very odd thing! Mrs. Tiggy-winkle had not waited for thanks or for the washing bill. She was running, running, running back up the hill — and where was her white frilled 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 Lucie had been dreaming upon the hillside. But if that were so, how do you explain the three clean pocket-handkerchiefs and the pinny, pinned with a silver safety-pin? Besides, I have seen that door into the hill myself, and it is not a rabbit-hole.