Bab Bab 10 · THE THREE LITTLE PIGS

. THE THREE LITTLE PIGS

There was once upon a time a pig who lived with her three children on

a large, comfortable, old-fashioned farmyard. The eldest of the little

pigs was called Browny, the second Whitey, and the youngest and best

looking Blacky. Now Browny was a very dirty little pig, and I am sorry

to say spent most of his time rolling and wallowing about in the mud.

He was never so happy as on a wet day, when the mud in the farmyard got

soft, and thick, and slab. Then he would steal away from his mother’s

side, and finding the muddiest place in the yard, would roll about in it

and thoroughly enjoy himself. His mother often found fault with him for

this, and would shake her head sadly and say: ‘Ah, Browny! some day you

will be sorry that you did not obey your old mother.’ But no words of

advice or warning could cure Browny of his bad habits.

Whitey was quite a clever little pig, but she was greedy. She was always

thinking of her food, and looking forward to her dinner; and when the

farm girl was seen carrying the pails across the yard, she would rise

up on her hind legs and dance and caper with excitement. As soon as the

food was poured into the trough she jostled Blacky and Browny out of the

way in her eagerness to get the best and biggest bits for herself. Her

mother often scolded her for her selfishness, and told her that some day

she would suffer for being so greedy and grabbing.

Blacky was a good, nice little pig, neither dirty nor greedy. He had

nice dainty ways (for a pig), and his skin was always as smooth and

shining as black satin. He was much cleverer than Browny and Whitey, and

his mother’s heart used to swell with pride when she heard the farmer’s

friends say to each other that some day the little black fellow would be

a prize pig.

Now the time came when the mother pig felt old and feeble and near her

end. One day she called the three little pigs round her and said:

‘My children, I feel that I am growing odd and weak, and that I shall

not live long. Before I die I should like to build a house for each

of you, as this dear old sty in which we have lived so happily will

be given to a new family of pigs, and you will have to turn out. Now,

Browny, what sort of a house would you like to have?’

‘A house of mud,’ replied Browny, looking longingly at a wet puddle in

the corner of the yard.

‘And you, Whitey?’ said the mother pig in rather a sad voice, for she

was disappointed that Browny had made so foolish a choice.

‘A house of cabbage,’ answered Whitey, with a mouth full, and scarcely

raising her snout out of the trough in which she was grubbing for some

potato-parings.

‘Foolish, foolish child!’ said the mother pig, looking quite distressed.

‘And you, Blacky?’ turning to her youngest son, ‘what sort of a house

shall I order for you?’

‘A house of brick, please mother, as it will be warm in winter, and cool

in summer, and safe all the year round.’

‘That is a sensible little pig,’ replied his mother, looking fondly at

him. ‘I will see that the three houses are got ready at once. And now

one last piece of advice. You have heard me talk of our old enemy the

fox. When he hears that I am dead, he is sure to try and get hold of

you, to carry you off to his den. He is very sly and will no doubt

disguise himself, and pretend to be a friend, but you must promise me

not to let him enter your houses on any pretext whatever.’

And the little pigs readily promised, for they had always had a great

fear of the fox, of whom they had heard many terrible tales. A short

time afterwards the old pig died, and the little pigs went to live in

their own houses.

Browny was quite delighted with his soft mud walls and with the clay

floor, which soon looked like nothing but a big mud pie. But that was

what Browny enjoyed, and he was as happy as possible, rolling about all

day and making himself in such a mess. One day, as he was lying half

asleep in the mud, he heard a soft knock at his door, and a gentle voice

said:

‘May I come in, Master Browny? I want to see your beautiful new house.’

‘Who are you?’ said Browny, starting up in great fright, for though the

voice sounded gentle, he felt sure it was a feigned voice, and he feared

it was the fox.

‘I am a friend come to call on you,’ answered the voice.

‘No, no,’ replied Browny, ‘I don’t believe you are a friend. You are the

wicked fox, against whom our mother warned us. I won’t let you in.’

‘Oho! is that the way you answer me?’ said the fox, speaking very

roughly in his natural voice. ‘We shall soon see who is master here,’

and with his paws he set to work and scraped a large hole in the soft

mud walls. A moment later he had jumped through it, and catching Browny

by the neck, flung him on his shoulders and trotted off with him to his

den.

The next day, as Whitey was munching a few leaves of cabbage out of the

corner of her house, the fox stole up to her door, determined to carry

her off to join her brother in his den. He began speaking to her in

the same feigned gentle voice in which he had spoken to Browny; but it

frightened her very much when he said:

‘I am a friend come to visit you, and to have some of your good cabbage

for my dinner.’

‘Please don’t touch it,’ cried Whitey in great distress. ‘The cabbages

are the walls of my house, and if you eat them you will make a hole, and

the wind and rain will come in and give me a cold. Do go away; I am sure

you are not a friend, but our wicked enemy the fox.’ And poor Whitey

began to whine and to whimper, and to wish that she had not been such

a greedy little pig, and had chosen a more solid material than cabbages

for her house. But it was too late now, and in another minute the

fox had eaten his way through the cabbage walls, and had caught the

trembling, shivering Whitey, and carried her off to his den.

The next day the fox started off for Blacky’s house, because he had made

up his mind that he would get the three little pigs together in his den,

and then kill them, and invite all his friends to a feast. But when he

reached the brick house, he found that the door was bolted and barred,

so in his sly manner he began, ‘Do let me in, dear Blacky. I have

brought you a present of some eggs that I picked up in a farmyard on my

way here.’

‘No, no, Mister Fox,’ replied Blacky, ‘I am not going to open my door

to you. I know your cunning ways. You have carried off poor Browny and

Whitey, but you are not going to get me.’

At this the fox was so angry that he dashed with all his force against

the wall, and tried to knock it down. But it was too strong and

well-built; and though the fox scraped and tore at the bricks with his

paws he only hurt himself, and at last he had to give it up, and limp

away with his fore-paws all bleeding and sore.

‘Never mind!’ he cried angrily as he went off, ‘I’ll catch you another

day, see if I don’t, and won’t I grind your bones to powder when I have

got you in my den!’ and he snarled fiercely and showed his teeth.

Next day Blacky had to go into the neighbouring town to do some

marketing and to buy a big kettle. As he was walking home with it slung

over his shoulder, he heard a sound of steps stealthily creeping after

him. For a moment his heart stood still with fear, and then a happy

thought came to him. He had just reached the top of a hill, and could

see his own little house nestling at the foot of it among the trees.

In a moment he had snatched the lid off the kettle and had jumped in

himself. Coiling himself round he lay quite snug in the bottom of the

kettle, while with his fore-leg he managed to put the lid on, so that he

was entirely hidden. With a little kick from the inside he started the

kettle off, and down the hill it rolled full tilt; and when the fox came

up, all that he saw was a large black kettle spinning over the ground

at a great pace. Very much disappointed, he was just going to turn away,

when he saw the kettle stop close to the little brick house, and in a

moment later Blacky jumped out of it and escaped with the kettle into

the house, when he barred and bolted the door, and put the shutter up

over the window.

‘Oho!’ exclaimed the fox to himself, ‘you think you will escape me that

way, do you? We shall soon see about that, my friend,’ and very quietly

and stealthily he prowled round the house looking for some way to climb

on to the roof.

In the meantime Blacky had filled the kettle with water, and having put

it on the fire, sat down quietly waiting for it to boil. Just as the

kettle was beginning to sing, and steam to come out of the spout,

he heard a sound like a soft, muffled step, patter, patter, patter

overhead, and the next moment the fox’s head and fore-paws were seen

coming down the chimney. But Blacky very wisely had not put the lid

on the kettle, and, with a yelp of pain, the fox fell into the boiling

water, and before he could escape, Blacky had popped the lid on, and the

fox was scalded to death.

As soon as he was sure that their wicked enemy was really dead, and

could do them no further harm, Blacky started off to rescue Browny and

Whitey. As he approached the den he heard piteous grunts and squeals

from his poor little brother and sister who lived in constant terror of

the fox killing and eating them. But when they saw Blacky appear at the

entrance to the den their joy knew no bounds. He quickly found a sharp

stone and cut the cords by which they were tied to a stake in the

ground, and then all three started off together for Blacky’s house,

where they lived happily ever after; and Browny quite gave up rolling

in the mud, and Whitey ceased to be greedy, for they never forgot how

nearly these faults had brought them to an untimely end.