One warm bright day in autumn, when the whole world was changing to brown
and red and gold, a little squealing pig was sent by his mother to bring
home some beechnuts to Piggikin, the baby.
“They’re dropping now, tender and sweet, in the wood,” said Mother Sow.
“Off with you and get some.” So
With a run and a squeal
Away went the pig,
With an odd little reel.
Now, on the way he passed a boy and a girl sitting by the roadside, with
their backs to him. And the boy was saying to the girl,
“A long time ago when pigs had wings
And pups grew in the tree-tops,
In that good time donkeys brayed in rhyme
And fiddles danced the barn hops”—
“That’s very strange,” said the pig; “can it be true? I’ll ask the old
witch owl about it. I’d like a pair of wings; I’d fly high, I can tell
you.” So
With a run and a squeal
Away went the pig,
With an odd little reel;
and he left the path to the wood to make for a barn half a mile off,
where the old witch owl lived.
On the way he met a pup whose father had told him to guard the kennel
while he himself went in search of a bone. The pup was rolling on the
ground in the sunshine.
“O roly-poly pup,” called out the pig, “what do you think I heard this
morning?”
“What?” said the roly-poly pup, running away from the kennel.
“A long time ago when pigs had wings
And pups grew in the tree-tops,
In that good time
Donkeys brayed in rhyme
And fiddles danced the barn hops.”
“That’s very strange,” said the pup; “can it be true? We’ll ask the old
witch owl about it. I’d like to grow in a tree-top. I’d see farther than
my nose, I can tell you.” So
With a run and a squeal
Away went the pig with an odd little reel
And the roly-poly pup followed after.
Well, on the way they met a donkey kicking his heels to get rid of the
pack on his back. And they called out to him, “O kicking, kicking donkey,
what do you think we heard this very morning?”
“What?” said the kicking, kicking donkey, as he kicked the pack from his
back.
“A long time ago when pigs had wings
And pups grew in the tree-tops,
In that good time donkeys brayed in rhyme
And fiddles danced the barn hops.”
“That’s very strange,” said the donkey; “can it be true? We’ll ask the
old witch owl about it. I’d like to bray in rhyme. I’d bring down the
house, I can tell you.” So
With a run and a squeal
Away went the pig with an odd little reel,
And the roly-poly pup and the kicking, kicking donkey followed after.
Halfway to the barn they met a fiddle lying near a bench. He was in
such a bad temper that he had broken the string that makes the sweetest
music. But the others were too full of their news to notice his ill
humor.
“O fiddle diddle,” they cried, “what do you think we heard this very
morning?”
“What?” snapped the fiddle, and he broke another string.
“A long time ago when pigs had wings
And pups grew in the tree-tops,
In that good time donkeys brayed in rhyme,
And fiddles danced the barn hops.”
“What nonsense!” growled the fiddle, in such an ugly tone that even the
donkey rose on his hind legs to cover his big ears with his forefeet.
“We’re going to ask the old witch owl about it,” said the pup. “Come
along and hear what she says.”
“Rr-r-r-r-zing, you silly thing,” snarled the fiddle, so fiercely that
without waiting for more,
With a run and a squeal
Away went the pig with an odd little reel,
And the roly-poly pup and the kicking, kicking donkey,
And the ill-tempered fiddle followed after.
He sneaked along, though, behind the others, and tripped often in his
broken strings, and this made his temper worse.
Well, the day was darkening into twilight when they reached the barn.
But they were so anxious to hear the old witch owl’s opinion that they
didn’t notice this. The old witch owl stood in a little round opening in
the front of the barn, high up near the pointed top where the weathercock
turns. She was looking out into the gathering darkness, planning her
voyage into the night.
“There she is,” squealed the pig in a whisper, getting behind the pup.
“Her ears are bigger than mine,” said the donkey, getting behind the pig.
But the fiddle pushed to the front and growled, “Rr-r-r-r-zing, you
silly thing, I’m not afraid of an old witch owl. I’ll ask the ridiculous
question.”
“Do, sweet fiddle,” whispered the little squealing pig and the roly-poly
pup and the kicking, kicking donkey, “how kind of you to have come.”
“Rr-r-r-r-zing, you silly thing, and you, and you; I came to please
myself.”
“Madame Witch Owl,” he growled, spoiling the music of the verse, “is it
true that
“A long time ago pigs had wings
And pups grew in the tree-tops,
In that good time donkeys brayed in rhyme,
And fiddles danced the barn hops?”
The old witch looked down at him. And her eyes glowed so much like two
round wheels of fire that the fiddle in secret fright burst another
string. But for all that he stared back at her. “Hoot-hoot-hoot,” she
cried, “wait till I’ve heard your betters. Let the pig stand forth and
the pup and the donkey.”
Out came the little squealing pig, but not very far, so that the
roly-poly pup might catch him by the tail in case of need; and out came
the roly-poly pup, but not very far, so that the little squealing pig
might catch him by the tail in case of need; and out came the kicking,
kicking donkey, but not very far, so that he might get behind the pup and
the pig in case of need.
“Pig, pig,” said the old witch owl, “how did you hear this?”
And the little pig began in a squealing little voice to tell her how
Mother Sow had sent him to the wood to get some beechnuts for Piggikin,
the baby, and how he had heard the boy tell it to the girl, and how he
had set off to ask her about it.
“And Piggikin is still hungry for the beechnuts, is he?” asked the old
witch owl, looking beyond the little pig into the darkness.
“Yes,” said the little pig, in a very little voice.
“And Mother Sow is getting anxious as the night grows darker.”
“The night,” cried the little squealing pig and the roly-poly pup and
the kicking, kicking donkey, drawing nearer together. And they looked
fearfully over their shoulders as the shadows of the apple-tree near the
barn moved nearer to them.
When the old witch owl brought back her eyes from the darkness, she
looked at the roly-poly pup, and he went on to tell, in a very loud voice
to give himself courage, how his father had left him to guard the kennel,
but how when he heard the news he, too, set off to ask her about it.
“And the kennel is still unguarded, is it?” asked the old witch owl,
looking beyond the roly-poly pup into the darkness.
“Yes,” said the roly-poly pup, in a very small voice.
“And Father Dog is getting anxious as the night grows darker.”
“The night,” cried the roly-poly pup and the kicking, kicking donkey
and the little squealing pig, drawing nearer together. And they looked
fearfully over their shoulders as the shadows of the apple-tree near the
barn moved nearer to them.
When the old witch owl brought her eyes back from the darkness she looked
at the kicking, kicking donkey, and he straightway began to roar how his
master had given him a pack to carry, but how, when he heard the news, he
had kicked it off and set out to ask her about it.
When he finished he joined forepaws with the pig and the pup and danced
around the fiddle; the pig singing,
“O for a pair of wings to fly high,”
and the pup singing,
“O to grow in a tree-top and see farther than my nose,”
and the donkey singing,
“O to bray in rhyme and bring down the house.”
And then they all sang together,
“O for the time when pigs had wings
And pups grew in the tree-tops,
In that good time donkeys brayed in rhyme,
And fiddles danced the barn hops.”
The fiddle never even noticed them; he still stared at the old witch owl,
though he did not dare to say anything.
“You kicked off the pack, did you?” asked the old witch owl, turning the
full blaze of her eyes on the donkey.
“Yes,” he gasped, running behind the pup and the pig, and the pig tried
to catch the pup by the tail, and the pup tried to catch the pig by the
tail.
“Do you think,” she cried in a frightful voice, and her feathers stood
out straight around her, “that runaways and idlers will ever fly high or
see farther than their noses or bring music into the world? They bring
nothing but sorrow, sorrow to those that love them.” And suddenly the old
witch owl looked out into the night and called,
“Hoo-oo-oo-oo. Is it you-oo-oo? Is it you-oo-oo?”
Immediately out of the night walked the mother of the squealing pig and
the father of the roly-poly pup and the master of the kicking, kicking
donkey. And into the sky came the moon. And into the moonlight trooped
crowds of boys and girls from the land of dreams, led by the boy and girl
the little pig had passed in the morning, more and more of them, till
they surrounded the barn and covered the shadows cast by the apple-tree.
The little squealing pig ran to his mother and the roly-poly pup ran to
his father and the kicking, kicking donkey ran to his master; and there
was great rejoicing. The donkey begged his master for a beating, saying
he richly deserved it, and so did the pup and the pig. But the grown-ups
said, “They’ll do better next time.”
When the dream children heard this they streamed out into the moonlight
back to their dreams, singing,
“The time will come again when pigs will have wings
And pups will grow in the tree-tops,
In that good time donkeys will bray in rhyme,
And fiddles will dance the barn hops.”
And lo and behold! when the fiddle heard them he felt his ill-humor
slipping away. And as the old witch owl looked at them his strings
mended themselves.
Dancing down the path and out into the moonlight after the children he
sounded his sweetest notes in time to their singing; and the little pig
and his mother and the roly-poly pup and his father and the donkey and
his master followed and took up the children’s song. To the very end of
it the fiddle danced and played his merriest. At the turn of the road he
looked back at the old witch owl and she was looking at him.
“The little pig’s news is good,” he cried,
“I’m off to spread it far and wide.”
And as she sailed off into the night he was sure she nodded at him.
And Piggikin got the nuts after all, though they were a day late.
—ANGELA M. KEYES