Presently the old wolf came along and knocked at the door—rat-tat-tat!
“Piggy-wig, piggy-wig, let me in,” he called.
“I won’t, by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin.”
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”
“Well, then huff, and then puff, and then blow my house in,” answered the pig.
So the old wolf huffed and he puffed, and he puffed and he huffed, and he HUFFED AND HE PUFFED till he almost split his sides, and he just couldn’t blow the house in, and the little pig laughed to himself as he sat safe and comfortable inside there.
The old wolf saw there was nothing to be done by blowing, so he sat down and thought and thought. Then he said, “Piggy-wig, I know where there is a field of fine turnips.”
“Where?” asked the little pig.
“Open the door and I will tell you.”
No, the little pig could hear quite well with the door closed.