LONDON:
JOHN AND CHARLES MOZLEY,
6, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1868.
THE CONCEITED PIG.
One cold November evening several little pigs were lying very comfortably in their sty, and keeping themselves warm by burying their noses under the straw, when one who had been routing about very uneasily for some time gave a loud grunt all at once, and seemed to be very much frightened. His mother, the old sow, who was stretched in one corner of the sty fast asleep, opened her little brown eyes, and asked in a very angry voice what was the matter. Several of the little pigs answered at once that it was only Wilful who was making such a noise that nobody could go to sleep.
“Hush, hush, hush!” cried Wilful, as soon as his brothers were silent; “hush! do not you hear a great cracking and noise the other side of the yard? I am quite sure that the stables are on fire. Had not we better all go and help to put it out directly?”
“Nonsense and stuff, you foolish little fellow!” exclaimed his mother; “you are always fancying something or other is the matter, and wanting to poke your nose into things that don’t concern you. I cannot hear any noise at all, and I beg you will be quiet, and let me go to sleep again.”
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The little pig did not dare answer his mother, so he lay quite still for a minute or two, hoping that he should hear the same noise again. And presently he did hear it, louder than before, and there could be no doubt that more than usual was going on about the premises. He looked round to see what his mother would say now; but she had fallen fast asleep again, and two or three of his brothers were snoring very loud. His little brother Fatsides was lying close to him, and Wilful thought by the twinkling of his eyes that he was not really asleep; so he gave him a kick, and said in a very low voice, for fear his mother should hear him, “Fatsides, Fatsides, do you hear? there is that strange noise come back that I heard before. Do just listen. What can it be?”