Lucie ran on, and on. [Illustration] 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!" [Illustration] 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. [Illustration] 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! [Illustration] "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. [Illustration] "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. [Illustration] 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. [Illustration] Mrs. Tiggy-winkle's nose went sniffle, sniffle, snuffle, and her eyes went twinkle, twinkle; and she fetched another hot iron from the fire. [Illustration] "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. [Illustration] "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. [Illustration] "Why, there's another handkersniff--but it isn't mine; it's red?"