“Here they are–a lot of them. Oh, dear, I wish we’d brought the coop along so we wouldn’t have to go back.” Jane parted the tall grass and discovered five of the fugitives huddled together. They were much livelier than the first ones and showed symptoms of bolting if the girls approached nearer.
“I’ll go back for it,” said Katy. “I’ll go through the short grass and I won’t be afraid.”
Chicken Little and Gertie watched and waited.
“Isn’t that little white one with the pink ears and curly tail cunning? I didn’t suppose pigs could be so pretty.”
“They are only pretty when they are weenties. As soon as they grow old enough to root in the mud, they are horrid.”
136When Katy returned they anchored the red wagon with the chicken coop and the two captured piglets as close to the slough as possible. All three crept upon the pig cache cautiously.
“Pick out which one you’ll grab, for they are going to run sure,” Chicken Little admonished.
They made a dash and each got a pig, but, alas, the two free ones made a dash also–a break for liberty worthy of an Indian. They selected routes immediately in front of, and immediately behind Chicken Little, whose attention was absorbed with trying to hold a squealing, squirming pig. The result was disastrous to all concerned. Pig No. 1 tripped her up neatly and she sat down hastily and unexpectedly upon Pig No. 2, who gave one agonized squeal, in which the pig in her arms joined. Fortunately, her victim did not get her whole weight or there would have been one pig the less in this vale of tears. Chicken Little squashed him down gently into some two inches of oozy mud and water. It splashed in all directions, baptizing Katy and Gertie and the fleeing pig as well as completing the ruin of Jane’s pink gingham frock, fresh that morning.
The sight of her amazed and disgusted face generously decorated with mud, was too much for Katy. She giggled till the tears stood in her eyes. Chicken Little was indignant.
137“I guess you wouldn’t think it was so funny, if it was you,” she replied with dignity. Dignity did not become her tout ensemble. Katy went off into fresh screams of mirth. Chicken Little had stood about all she could that afternoon. Her face flamed with wrath, and, gathering up the struggling pig in her arms, she hurled it at Katy, as the only missile within reach. Piggy just missed Katy’s head, tumbling harmlessly into the ooze. Chicken Little was instantly remorseful, not on Katy’s account but on Piggy’s.