A mother pig and her three little pigs lived together in a wood very
happily all through the long summertime, but towards autumn the mother
pig called her little ones to her and said, “My dear little pigs,
the time has come for you to go out into the world and seek your own
fortunes. You will each want to build a little house to live in, but do
not build them of straw or leaves; straws are brittle and leaves are
frail. Build your houses of bricks, for then you will always have a
safe place to live in; you can go in and lock the door, and nothing can
harm you.” She then bade the little pigs farewell, and away they ran
out into the world to make their fortunes.
The first little pig had not gone far when he met a man with a load of
straw. The straw looked so warm, and smelled so good that the little
pig quite forgot what his mother had told him.
“Please, Mr. Man,” said the little pig, “give me enough straw to build
a house to keep me warm through the long winter.”
The man did not say no. He gave the little pig all the straw he wanted,
and then he drove on.
The little pig built himself a house of straw, and it was so warm and
cosy that he was quite delighted with it. “How much better,” said he
“than a house of cold hard bricks.”
So he lay there snug and warm, and presently the old wolf knocked at
the door.
“Piggy-wig, piggy-wig, let me in!” he cried.
“I won’t, by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin,” answered the pig.
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”
The little pig laughed aloud, for he felt very safe in his snug straw
house.
“Well, then huff, and then puff, and then blow my house in!” he cried.
Well, the old wolf _did_ huff and puff, and he _did_ blow the house in,
for it was only made of straw, and then he ate up the pig.
The second little pig when he left the forest ran along and ran along
and presently he met a man with a great load of leaves.
“Oh, kind Mr. Man, please give me some leaves to build me a little
house for the winter time,” cried the piggy.
The man was willing to do this. He gave the pig all the leaves he
wanted, and then he went on his way.
The pig built himself a house of leaves and it was even snugger and
warmer than the straw house had been. “How silly my mother was,” said
the pig, “to tell me to build a brick house. What could be warmer and
cosier and safer than this.” And he snuggled down among the leaves and
was very happy.
Presently along came the great wolf, and he stopped and knocked at the
door.
“Piggy-wig, piggy-wig, let me in!” he cried.
“I won’t, by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!”
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”
The little pig laughed when he heard that, for the walls were thick,
and he felt secure.
“Well, then huff, and then puff, and then _blow_ my house in.”
So the wolf huffed, and he puffed, and he _did_ blow the house in, and
he ate up the little pig that was inside of it.
Now the third little pig was the smallest pig of all, but he was a very
wise little pig, and he meant to do exactly as his mother had told him
to do. After he left the forest he met a man driving a wagon-load of
straw, but he did not ask for any of it. He met the man with the load
of leaves, but he did not ask for any of it. He met a man with a load
of bricks, and _then_ he stopped and begged so prettily for enough
bricks to build himself a little house that the man could not refuse
him.
The pig took the bricks and built himself a little red house with them,
and it was not an easy task either. When it was done it was not so soft
as the little straw house, and it was not so warm as the little leaf
house, but it was a very _safe_ little house.
Presently the old wolf came along and knocked at the door—rat-tat-tat!
“Piggy-wig, piggy-wig, let me in,” he called.
“I won’t, by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin.”
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”
“Well, then huff, and then puff, and then blow my house in,” answered
the pig.
So the old wolf huffed and he puffed, and he _puffed and he huffed_,
and he +HUFFED AND HE PUFFED+ till he almost split his sides, and
he just _couldn’t_ blow the house in, and the little pig laughed to
himself as he sat safe and comfortable inside there.
The old wolf saw there was nothing to be done by blowing, so he sat
down and thought and thought. Then he said, “Piggy-wig, I know where
there is a field of fine turnips.”
“Where?” asked the little pig.
“Open the door and I will tell you.”
No, the little pig could hear quite well with the door closed.
“It is just up the road three fields away,” said the wolf, “and if you
would like to have some I will come for you at six o’clock to-morrow
morning, and we will go and dig them up together.”
“At six o’clock!” said the little pig. “Very well.”
Then the old wolf trotted off home, licking his lips, and he was well
content, for he thought he would have pig for breakfast the next day.
But the next morning the little pig was up and astir by five o’clock.
Off he trotted to the turnip field and gathered a whole bagful of
turnips and was home again before the old wolf thought of coming.
At six o’clock the old wolf knocked at the door.
“Are you ready to go for the turnips, Piggy?” he cried.
“Ready!” answered the pig. “Why I was up and off to the field an
hour ago and I have all the turnips I want, and I’m boiling them for
breakfast.”
“That’s what you did!” said the wolf. And then he thought a bit.
“Piggy, do you like fine ripe apples?” he asked.
Yes, the pig was very fond of apples.
“Then I can tell you where to find some.”
“Where is that?”
“Over beyond the hill in the squire’s orchard, and if you will play me
no tricks I will come for you at five o’clock to-morrow, and we will go
together, and gather some.”
Very well; the pig would be ready.
So the wolf trotted off home, and this time he was very sure that he
would have a nice fat little piggy for breakfast the next morning.
The little pig got up at four o’clock the next day, and off he started
for the orchard as fast as his four little feet would carry him. But
the way was long, and the tree was hard to climb, and while he was
still up among the branches gathering apples the old wolf came trotting
into the orchard. The little pig was very much frightened, but he kept
very still and hoped, up among the leaves, the wolf would not see him.
The wolf peered about, first up one tree and then up another, and
finally he spied the piggy up among the branches.
“Why did you not wait for me?”
“Oh, I knew you would be along presently.”
“How soon are you coming down?”
“When I have picked a few more apples.”
The old wolf sat down at the foot of the tree, and the pig sat up among
the branches crunching apples and smacking his lips.
“Are they good?” asked the wolf looking up; and his mouth watered.
Yes, they were very good.
“Could you not throw one down to me?”
Yes, the little pig could do that.
He picked the biggest, reddest apple he could, and then he threw it,
but he threw it far off, and in such a way that it went bounding and
rolling down the hill slope. The wolf bounded down the hill after it,
and while he was catching it, the little pig climbed down the tree and
ran safely home with his basketful of apples.
When the old wolf found the pig had tricked him again he was very
angry. He was more determined than ever that he would catch the little
pig. He trotted off to the little red house and knocked at the door.
“Did you get all the apples you wanted?” asked the wolf.
Yes, the little pig had all he wanted, and he was very much obliged to
the wolf for telling him about the orchard.
“Listen, Piggy, there’s to be a fine fair over in the town to-morrow,”
said the wolf. “Wouldn’t you like to go?”
Yes, the little pig would like very much to go.
“Very well,” said the wolf. “Then I will come for you at half-past
three to-morrow, and we will go together.”
“Very well,” said the little pig. But long before half-past three the
next day, piggy was off to the fair, and he took four bright silver
pieces with him, for he wanted to buy himself a butter-churn. It did
not take him long to buy the churn, and then he started home again,
carrying it on his back.
But the wolf had learned a thing or two about the little pig’s tricks.
He, too, started off to the fair long before half-past three, and so
it was that the little pig was scarcely half-way home, and had just
reached the top of a high hill, when he saw the wolf come trotting up
the hill directly toward him. The little pig was terrified. He looked
all around but he could not see any place to hide. He decided the
best thing he could do was to get inside the churn. So he put it down
and crept inside it. But the hill was very steep, and no sooner was
the piggy inside the churn than it began to roll down the hill slope
bumpety-bumpety-bump, over rocks and stones, leaping and bounding like
a live thing. The little pig did not know what was happening to him.
He began to squeal at the top of his voice.
The old wolf was half-way up the hill when he heard the noise. He
looked up, and there was a great round thing coming bounding over the
rocks straight at him, and squeaking and squeaking as it came. He gave
one look and his hair bristled with fear, and with a howl he turned
tail and ran home as fast as he could. He never stopped till he was
safe inside his house, and had shut and locked the door behind him.
There he crouched, trembling and wondering what would happen. But
nothing happened, and all was quiet, so after awhile the wolf ventured
out and ran over to the pig’s house.
“Piggy, Piggy! Are you in there?”
Yes, the little pig was sitting by the fire roasting apples.
“Then, listen while I tell you what happened to me on the way to the
fair.” Then the wolf put his nose close to the crack of the door, and
told the little pig all about the great round squealing thing that had
chased him down the hill.
The little pig laughed and laughed. “And I can tell you exactly what
the great squealing thing was; it was a churn I had bought at the fair,
and I was inside it.”
[Illustration]
When the old wolf heard this he was so furious that he determined to
have the little pig whether or no, even if he had to climb up on the
roof and down the chimney to get him. He stuck his sharp nails in
between the bricks of the house and climbed right up the side of it and
onto the roof. Then he climbed up on the chimney and slid down it into
the fire-place.
But the little pig had heard what he was doing, and was ready for him.
He had a great pot of boiling water on the fire, and when he heard the
wolf slipping and scrabbling down the chimney he took the lid off the
kettle, and plump! the old wolf fell right into the boiling water. Then
the little pig clapped the lid tight down over him, and that was the
end of the wolf.
But the little pig lived on in peace and plenty forever after, and if
any other wolf ever came along to bother him I never heard of it.
[Illustration]