"Over the hills and a great way off,
The wind shall blow my top knot off!"
Pigling Bland put down a plate which he was wiping, and listened.
After a long pause, Pigling went on tip-toe and peeped round the door
into the front kitchen. There was nobody there.
After another pause, Pigling approached the door of the locked cupboard,
and snuffed at the key-hole. It was quite quiet.
After another long pause, Pigling pushed a peppermint under the door. It
was sucked in immediately.
In the course of the day Pigling pushed in all the remaining six
peppermints.
When Mr. Piperson returned, he found Pigling sitting before the fire; he
had brushed up the hearth and put on the pot to boil; the meal was not
get-at-able.
Mr. Piperson was very affable; he slapped Pigling on the back, made lots
of porridge and forgot to lock the meal chest. He did lock the cupboard
door; but without properly shutting it. He went to bed early, and told
Pigling upon no account to disturb him next day before twelve o'clock.
Pigling Bland sat by the fire, eating his supper.
All at once at his elbow, a little voice spoke--"My name is Pig-wig.
Make me more porridge, please!" Pigling Bland jumped, and looked round.
A perfectly lovely little black Berkshire pig stood smiling beside him.
She had twinkly little screwed up eyes, a double chin, and a short
turned up nose.
She pointed at Pigling's plate; he hastily gave it to her, and fled to
the meal chest. "How did you come here?" asked Pigling Bland.
"Stolen," replied Pig-wig, with her mouth full. Pigling helped himself
to meal without scruple. "What for?" "Bacon, hams," replied Pig-wig
cheerfully. "Why on earth don't you run away?" exclaimed the horrified
Pigling.
"I shall after supper," said Pig-wig decidedly.
Pigling Bland made more porridge and watched her shyly.
She finished a second plate, got up, and looked about her, as though she
were going to start.
"You can't go in the dark," said Pigling Bland.
Pig-wig looked anxious.
"Do you know your way by daylight?"
"I know we can see this little white house from the hills across the
river. Which way are YOU going, Mr. Pig?"
"To market--I have two pig papers. I might take you to the bridge; if
you have no objection," said Pigling much confused and sitting on the
edge of his coppy stool. Pig-wig's gratitude was such and she asked so
many questions that it became embarrassing to Pigling Bland.
He was obliged to shut his eyes and pretend to sleep. She became quiet,
and there was a smell of peppermint.
"I thought you had eaten them," said Pigling, waking suddenly.
"Only the corners," replied Pig-wig, studying the sentiments with much
interest by the firelight.
"I wish you wouldn't; he might smell them through the ceiling," said the
alarmed Pigling.
Pig-wig put back the sticky peppermints into her pocket; "Sing
something," she demanded.
"I am sorry ... I have tooth-ache," said Pigling much dismayed.
"Then I will sing," replied Pig-wig. "You will not mind if I say iddy
tidditty? I have forgotten some of the words."
Pigling Bland made no objection; he sat with his eyes half shut, and
watched her.
She wagged her head and rocked about, clapping time and singing in a
sweet little grunty voice--
"A funny old mother pig lived in a
stye, and three little piggies had she;
"(Ti idditty idditty) umph, umph,
umph! and the little pigs said, wee, wee!"
She sang successfully through three or four verses, only at every verse
her head nodded a little lower, and her little twinkly eyes closed up.
"Those three little piggies grew peaky
and lean, and lean they might very
well be;
"For somehow they couldn't say umph,
umph, umph! and they wouldn't
say wee, wee, wee!
"For somehow they couldn't say--
Pig-wig's head bobbed lower and lower, until she rolled over, a little
round ball, fast asleep on the hearth-rug.
Pigling Bland, on tip-toe, covered her up with an antimacassar.
He was afraid to go to sleep himself; for the rest of the night he sat
listening to the chirping of the crickets and to the snores of Mr.
Piperson overhead.
Early in the morning, between dark and daylight, Pigling tied up his
little bundle and woke up Pig-wig. She was excited and half-frightened.
"But it's dark! How can we find our way?"
"The cock has crowed; we must start before the hens come out; they might
shout to Mr. Piperson."
Pig-wig sat down again, and commenced to cry.
"Come away Pig-wig; we can see when we get used to it. Come! I can hear
them clucking!"
Pigling had never said shuh! to a hen in his life, being peaceable; also
he remembered the hamper.
He opened the house door quietly and shut it after them. There was no
garden; the neighbourhood of Mr. Piperson's was all scratched up by
fowls. They slipped away hand in hand across an untidy field to the
road.
The sun rose while they were crossing the moor, a dazzle of light over
the tops of the hills. The sunshine crept down the slopes into the
peaceful green valleys, where little white cottages nestled in gardens
and orchards.
"That's Westmorland," said Pig-wig. She dropped Pigling's hand and
commenced to dance, singing--
"Tom, Tom, the piper's son, stole a pig
and away he ran!
"But all the tune that he could play,
was 'Over the hills and far away!'"
"Come, Pig-wig, we must get to the bridge before folks are stirring."
"Why do you want to go to market, Pigling?" inquired Pig-wig presently.
"I don't want; I want to grow potatoes." "Have a peppermint?" said
Pig-wig. Pigling Bland refused quite crossly. "Does your poor toothy
hurt?" inquired Pig-wig. Pigling Bland grunted.
Pig-wig ate the peppermint herself and followed the opposite side of the
road. "Pig-wig! keep under the wall, there's a man ploughing." Pig-wig
crossed over, they hurried down hill towards the county boundary.
Suddenly Pigling stopped; he heard wheels.
Slowly jogging up the road below them came a tradesman's cart. The reins
flapped on the horse's back, the grocer was reading a newspaper.
"Take that peppermint out of your mouth, Pig-wig, we may have to run.
Don't say one word. Leave it to me. And in sight of the bridge!" said
poor Pigling, nearly crying. He began to walk frightfully lame, holding
Pig-wig's arm.
The grocer, intent upon his news-paper, might have passed them, if his
horse had not shied and snorted. He pulled the cart crossways, and held
down his whip. "Hallo! Where are YOU going to?"--Pigling Bland stared at
him vacantly.
"Are you deaf? Are you going to market?" Pigling nodded slowly.
"I thought as much. It was yesterday. Show me your licence?"
Pigling stared at the off hind shoe of the grocer's horse which had
picked up a stone.
The grocer flicked his whip--"Papers? Pig licence?" Pigling fumbled in
all his pockets, and handed up the papers. The grocer read them, but
still seemed dissatisfied. "This here pig is a young lady; is her name
Alexander?" Pig-wig opened her mouth and shut it again; Pigling coughed
asthmatically.
The grocer ran his finger down the advertisement column of his
newspaper--"Lost, stolen or strayed, 10s. reward." He looked
suspiciously at Pig-wig. Then he stood up in the trap, and whistled for
the ploughman.
"You wait here while I drive on and speak to him," said the grocer,
gathering up the reins. He knew that pigs are slippery; but surely, such
a VERY lame pig could never run!
"Not yet, Pig-wig, he will look back." The grocer did so; he saw the two
pigs stock-still in the middle of the road. Then he looked over at his
horse's heels; it was lame also; the stone took some time to knock out,
after he got to the ploughman.
"Now, Pig-wig, NOW!" said Pigling Bland.
Never did any pigs run as these pigs ran! They raced and squealed and
pelted down the long white hill towards the bridge. Little fat Pig-wig's
petticoats fluttered, and her feet went pitter, patter, pitter, as she
bounded and jumped.
They ran, and they ran, and they ran down the hill, and across a short
cut on level green turf at the bottom, between pebble beds and rushes.
They came to the river, they came to the bridge--they crossed it hand in
hand--then over the hills and far away she danced with Pigling Bland!