Well! he huffed and he puffed. He puffed and he huffed. And he huffed, huffed, and he puffed, puffed; but he could not blow the house down. At last he was so out of breath that he couldn't huff and he couldn't puff any more. So he thought a bit. Then he said:
"Little pig! I know where there is ever such a nice field of turnips."
"Do you," says little piggy, "and where may that be?"
"I'll show you," says the wolf; "if you will be ready at six o'clock to-morrow morning, I will call round for you, and we can go together to Farmer Smith's field and get turnips for dinner."
"Thank you kindly," says the little piggy. "I will be ready at six o'clock sharp."
But, you see, the little pig was not one to be taken in with chaff, so he got up at five, trotted off to Farmer Smith's field, rooted up the turnips, and was home eating them for breakfast when the wolf clattered at the door and cried:
"Little pig! Little pig! Aren't you ready?"
"Ready?" says the little piggy. "Why! what a sluggard you are! I've been to the field and come back again, and I'm having a nice potful of turnips for breakfast."
Then the wolf grew red with rage; but he was determined to eat little piggy, so he said, as if he didn't care:
"I'm glad you like them; but I know of something better than turnips."