“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 by 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.

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 then herself.” 
“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 Tits-mouse —­most terrible particular!” said Mrs. Tiddy-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 mole-skin waist coat; and a red tail-coat with no tail belonging to Squirrel Nutkin; and a very much shrunk jacket belonging to Peter Rabbit; and a petticoat, not marked, that had gone lost in the washing —­and at last the basket was empty!