“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 Tit-mouse – 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.

“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. And here’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 tail-coat with no tail belonging to Squirrel Nutkin; and a very much shrunk blue jacket belonging to Peter Rabbit; and a petticoat, not marked, that had gone lost in the washing – 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, and very very wrinkly with the soapsuds; and all through her gown and her cap, there were hair-pins sticking wrong end out; so that Lucie didn’t like to sit too near her.

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

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

Then away down the hill trotted Lucie and Mrs. Tiggy-winkle with the bundles of clothes!

All the way down the path little animals came out of the fern to meet them; 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 and birds 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 was nothing left to carry except Lucie’s one little bundle.

Lucie scrambled up the stile with the bundle in her hand; and then she turned 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 or for the washing bill!

She was running running running 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 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!)



The End

FOR JOAN, TO READ TO BABY



Pussy-cat sits by the fire —

How should she be fair?

In walks the little dog —

Says “Pussy are you there?

How do you do Mistress Pussy?

Mistress Pussy, how do you do?”

“I thank you kindly little dog,

I fare as well as you!”

—OLD RHYME

The Tale of

the Pie and the Patty-Pan



( 1905 )

Once upon a time there was a Pussy-cat called Ribby, who invited a little dog called Duchess, to tea.

“Come in good time, my dear Duchess,” said Ribby’s letter, “and we will have something so very very nice. I am baking it in a pie-dish – a pie-dish with a pink rim. You never tasted anything so good! And you shall eat it all! I will eat muffins, my dear Duchess!” wrote Ribby.

THE INVITATION

Duchess read the letter and wrote an answer: “I will come with much pleasure at a quarter past four. But it is very strange. I was just going to invite you to come here, to supper, my dear Ribby, to eat something most delicious.

“I will come very punctually, my dear Ribby,” wrote Duchess; and then at the end she added – “I hope it isn’t mouse?”

And then she thought that did not look quite polite; so she scratched out “isn’t mouse” and changed it to “I hope it will be fine,” and she gave her letter to the postman.

But she thought a great deal about Ribby’s pie, and she read Ribby’s letter over and over again.

“I am dreadfully afraid it will be mouse!” said Duchess to herself – “I really couldn’t, couldn’t eat mouse pie. And I shall have to eat it, because it is a party. And my pie was going to be veal and ham. A pink and white pie-dish! and so is mine; just like Ribby’s dishes; they were both bought at Tabitha Twitchit’s.”

Duchess went into her larder and took a pie off a shelf and looked at it.

“It is all ready to put into the oven. Such lovely pie-crust; and I put in a little tin patty-pan to hold up the crust; and I made a hole in the middle with a fork to let out the steam – Oh I do wish I could eat my own pie, instead of a pie made of mouse!”

Duchess considered and considered and read Ribby’s letter again —

“A pink and white pie-dish – and you shall eat it all. ‘You’ means me – then Ribby is not going to even taste the pie herself? A pink and white pie-dish! Ribby is sure to go out to buy the muffins… Oh what a good idea! Why shouldn’t I rush along and put my pie into Ribby’s oven when Ribby isn’t there?”

Duchess was quite delighted with her own cleverness!