For

The Real little Lucie
of NEWLANDS

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 hillside she thought she saw some white things spread upon the grass.

Lucie scrambled up the hill as fast as her stout 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!