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.





The Three Little Butterfly Brothers The Three Little Pigs facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Feedback