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Check out children's author Rick Walton's books. |
| These stories provided by children's author Rick Walton's Online Library. |
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The Three Little Pigs |
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THERE WAS ONCE UPON a time a pig who lived with her three children in a 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 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 was soft and thick.
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 would shake her head sadly, and say, 'Ah, Browny, some day you will be sorry you did not obey your old mother.' But no words of advice or warning could cure Browny of his bad habits.
Whitey was a clever little pig, but she was greedy. She was always looking forward to her dinner, and when the farm girl carried the pails across the yard, Whitey would 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 bits for herself. Her mother often told her that some day she would suffer for being so greedy.
Blacky was a good, nice little pig, neither dirty nor greedy. He had dainty ways (for a pig) and his skin was always as smooth and shining as black satin. He was much more clever than Browny or Whitey. His mother's heart would swell with pride when she heard the farmer's friends say that some day the little black fellow would be a prize pig.
Now the time came when the mother pig called the three little pigs round her and said, `My children, I feel I am growing old and weak and shall not live long. Before I die I should like to build a house for each of you. Now, Browny, what sort of 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 a sad voice, fox she was disappointed with Browny's choice.
`A house of cabbage,' answered Whitey, her mouth full, for she was grubbing for some potato parings.
`Foolish, foolish child!' said the mother pig, quite distressed. `And you, Blacky,' turning to her youngest, `what sort of house shall I order for you?'
`A house of brick please, Mother; it will be warm in winter, cool in summer, and safe all the year round.'
`That is a sensible little pig,' replied his mother. `I will see that the three houses are made ready at once. And now, one last piece of advice. You have heard me talk of our old enemy, the fox. When he hears I am dead, he is sure to try and 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.'
The little pigs promised, and a short time afterward the old pig died.
Browny was delighted with his soft mud walls and with the clay floor, which soon looked like nothing but a big mud pie 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.
`I am a friend come to call on you,' answered the voice.
`No, no,' replied Browny, `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 roughly in his natural voice. `We shall soon see who is master here.' And he 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.
The next day, as Whitey was munching a few leaves of cabbage from her house, the fox stole up to her door. He began speaking to her in the same gentle voice he had feigned with Browny. It frightened her very much when he said:
`I am a friend come to visit you and 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. 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 whimper. She wished she had not been such a greedy little pig and had chosen 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 walls and carried the trembling, shivering Whitey off to his den.
Next day the fox started off for Blacky's house. But when he reached the brick house, he found the door bolted and barred. In his sly manner he began:
`Do let me in, dear Blacky. I have brought you a present of some eggs I picked up in a farmyard on my way here.'
`No, no, Master Fox,' replied Blacky, `I am not going to open my door to you. I know your cunning ways.'
The fox was so angry he dashed against the wall and tried to knock it down. But it was strong and well-built, and though the fox scraped and tore at the bricks with his paws, he only hurt himself. At last he had to give it up and limp away with his forepaws bleeding and sore.
'Never mind!' he cried as he went off. `I'll catch you another day, see if I don't. Won't I grind your bones to powder when I have you in my den.' And he snarled fiercely and showed his teeth.
Next day Blacky had to go to the town to do some marketing and buy a big kettle. As he was walking home, he heard steps stealthily creeping after him. For a moment his heart stood still with fear. 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 snatched the lid off the kettle and jumped in. Coiling himself round, he lay quite snug in the bottom of the kettle, while with his foreleg he managed to put the lid on so he was entirely hidden. With a little kick he started the kettle off, and down the hill it rolled full tilt. All the fox saw was a very large black kettle spinning over the ground at a great pace. But the kettle stopped close to the little brick house, and a moment later Blacky jumped out and ran inside. He barred and bolted the door and put the shutter up over the window.
`Oho!' exclaimed the fox. `You think you will escape me that way, do you? We shall soon see about that, my friend: Very quietly he prowled round the house.
Blacky filled the kettle with water, put it on the fire and sat down quietly. Just as the kettle began to sing he heard a soft, muffled patter, patter, patter overhead. The next moment the fox's head and forepaws were seen coming down the chimney. With a yelp the fox fell into the boiling water and that was the end of him.
As soon as he was sure their wicked enemy could do them no further harm, Blacky started off to rescue Browny and Whitey. He heard piteous grunts and squeals from his poor brother and sister in the den. When they saw Blacky appear their joy knew no bounds. He quickly found a sharp stone and cut them loose. Then all three started off together for Blacky's house, where they lived happily ever after. Browny 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.
(from The Green Fairy Book , by Andrew Lang)
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