Maybe if mamma had known that he had a bonfire she would not have liked it, and I want you children—especially you little ones—to promise Uncle Wiggily that you will never, never make a fire unless some older person is there to watch you. Fires are very bad, you know—and burns—Bur-r-r-r! How burns do hurt!
Well, anyhow, Flop Ear had his fire going, and the potatoes were roasting in the hot leaves, and he had the salt all ready to eat on them. As he came running back to the blaze, out of the shadows stepped someone, and a voice said:
"Ah ha! Good evening! I was wondering who had made this good fire for me."
"I—I did," said Flop Ear, "but I didn't make it for you. I made it for us."
"Never mind, it will do very well for me," went on the voice. "It will save me the trouble of kindling one to roast my pork sausage and chops—I mean you!" exclaimed the voice.
Flop Ear gave a jump, and looked more closely at the figure in the shadow by the fire. And then he saw that it was a big, bad old fox, with a fuzzy tail.
"Oh! Oh!" gasped the little piggie boy. "You don't mean that, do you; that you're going to roast me!"
"Exactly what I'm going to do," replied the fox, and he caught hold of Flop Ear. "We will wait until the fire is a little hotter," he said.
Oh, how poor Flop Ear did try to get loose, but he couldn't because the fox held him too tightly. And the fire got hotter and hotter, and the little piggie boy was hoping that Curly Tail and the other animal boys would come back in time to save him, but he could neither see nor hear anything of them.
"I guess I'm going to be roasted!" he cried. "Oh, if Uncle Wiggily were only here. Or even Grandpa Squealer!"