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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!"
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