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Once upon
a time...
There was 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 Pigs
from the Green Fairy Book
Story Edited
by Andrew Lang |
