FOR
W. M. L. W.
THE LITTLE GIRL
WHO HAD THE DOLL’S HOUSE
The Tale of
Two Bad Mice
( 1904 )
Once upon a time there was a very beautiful doll’s-house; it was red brick with white windows, and it had real muslin curtains and a front door and a chimney.
It belonged to two Dolls called Lucinda and Jane; at least, it belonged to Lucinda, but she never ordered meals.
Jane was the Cook; but she never did any cooking, because the dinner had been bought ready-made, in a box full of shavings.
There were two red lobsters and a ham, a fish, a pudding, and some pears and oranges.
They would not come off the plates, but they were extremely beautiful.
One morning Lucinda and Jane had gone out for a drive in the doll’s perambulator. There was no one in the nursery, and it was very quiet. Presently there was a little scuffling, scratching noise in a corner near the fire-place, where there was a hole under the skirting-board.
Tom Thumb put out his head for a moment, and then popped it in again.
Tom Thumb was a mouse.
A minute afterwards, Hunca Munca, his wife, put her head out, too; and when she saw that there was no one in the nursery, she ventured out on the oilcloth under the coal-box.
The doll’s-house stood at the other side of the fire-place. Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca went cautiously across the hearthrug. They pushed the front door – it was not fast.
Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca went upstairs and peeped into the dining-room. Then they squeaked with joy!
Such a lovely dinner was laid out upon the table! There were tin spoons, and lead knives and forks, and two dolly-chairs – all so convenient!
Tom Thumb set to work at once to carve the ham. It was a beautiful shiny yellow, streaked with red.
The knife crumpled up and hurt him; he put his finger in his mouth.
“It is not boiled enough; it is hard. You have a try, Hunca Munca.”
Hunca Munca stood up in her chair, and chopped at the ham with another lead knife.
“It’s as hard as the hams at the cheesemonger’s,” said Hunca Munca.
The ham broke off the plate with a jerk, and rolled under the table.
“Let it alone,” said Tom Thumb; “give me some fish, Hunca Munca!”
Hunca Munca tried every tin spoon in turn; the fish was glued to the dish.
Then Tom Thumb lost his temper. He put the ham in the middle of the floor, and hit it with the tongs and with the shovel – bang, bang, smash, smash!
The ham flew all into pieces, for underneath the shiny paint it was made of nothing but plaster!
Then there was no end to the rage and disappointment of Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca. They broke up the pudding, the lobsters, the pears and the oranges.
As the fish would not come off the plate, they put it into the red-hot crinkly paper fire in the kitchen; but it would not burn either.
Tom Thumb went up the kitchen chimney and looked out at the top – there was no soot.
While Tom Thumb was up the chimney, Hunca Munca had another disappointment. She found some tiny canisters upon the dresser, labelled – Rice – Coffee – Sago – but when she turned them upside down, there was nothing inside except red and blue beads.
Then those mice set to work to do all the mischief they could – especially Tom Thumb! He took Jane’s clothes out of the chest of drawers in her bedroom, and he threw them out of the top floor window.
But Hunca Munca had a frugal mind. After pulling half the feathers out of Lucinda’s bolster, she remembered that she herself was in want of a feather bed.
With Tom Thumb’s assistance she carried the bolster downstairs, and across the hearthrug. It was difficult to squeeze the bolster into the mouse-hole; but they managed it somehow.
Then Hunca Munca went back and fetched a chair, a book-case, a bird-cage, and several small odds and ends. The book-case and the bird-cage refused to go into the mouse-hole.
Hunca Munca left them behind the coal-box, and went to fetch a cradle.
Hunca Munca was just returning with another chair, when suddenly there was a noise of talking outside upon the landing. The mice rushed back to their hole, and the dolls came into the nursery.
What a sight met the eyes of Jane and Lucinda!
Lucinda sat upon the upset kitchen stove and stared; and Jane leant against the kitchen dresser and smiled – but neither of them made any remark.
The book-case and the bird-cage were rescued from under the coal-box – but Hunca Munca has got the cradle, and some of Lucinda’s clothes.
She also has some useful pots and pans, and several other things.
The little girl that the doll’s-house belonged to, said – “I will get a doll dressed like a policeman!”
But the nurse said – “I will set a mouse-trap!”
So that is the story of the two Bad Mice, – but they were not so very very naughty after all, because Tom Thumb paid for everything he broke.
He found a crooked sixpence under the hearthrug; and upon Christmas Eve, he and Hunca Munca stuffed it into one of the stockings of Lucinda and Jane.
And very early every morning – before anybody is awake – Hunca Munca comes with her dust-pan and her broom to sweep the Dollies’ house!
The End
for
THE REAL LITTLE LUCIE
OF NEWLANDS
The Tale of
Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle
( 1905 )
Once upon a time there was a little girl called Lucie, who lived at a farm called Little-town. She was a good little girl – only she was always losing her pocket-handkerchiefs!
One day little Lucie came into the farm-yard 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; so Lucie asked a speckled hen —
“Sally Henny-penny, have you found three pocket-handkins?”
But the speckled hen ran into a barn, clucking —
“I go barefoot, barefoot, barefoot!”
And then Lucie asked Cock Robin sitting on a twig.
Cock Robin looked sideways at Lucie with his bright black eye, and he flew over a stile and away.
Lucie climbed upon the stile and looked up at the hill behind Little-town – a hill that goes up – up – into the clouds as though it had no top!
And a great way up the hill-side she thought she saw some white things spread upon the grass.
Lucie scrambled up the hill as fast as her short legs would carry her; she ran along a steep path-way – up and up – until Little-town was right away down below – she could have dropped a pebble down the chimney!
Presently she came to a spring, bubbling out from the hill-side.
Some one had stood a tin can upon a stone to catch the water – but the water was already running over, for the can was no bigger than an egg-cup! And where the sand upon the path was wet – there were foot-marks of a very small person.
Lucie ran on, and on.
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!”
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.
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!
“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 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.
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 them herself.”