had yellow curls--that little person had PRICKLES!

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"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.

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"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.

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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.

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Mrs. Tiggy-winkle's nose went sniffle, sniffle, snuffle, and her eyes went
twinkle, twinkle; and she fetched another hot iron from the fire.

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"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.

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"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.

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"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.

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"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.

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"And what are you dipping into the basin of starch?"

"They're little dicky shirt-fronts belonging to Tom Titmouse--most
terrible particular!" said Mrs. Tiggy-winkle. "Now I've finished my
ironing; I'm going to air some clothes."

[Illustration]

"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?" as