So the Pancake did that.
“Ouf, ouf,” said the pig, and swallowed the Pancake at one gulp; and then, as the poor Pancake could go no farther, why—this story can go no farther either.
The Death of Chanticleer
Once on a time there was a cock and a hen, who walked out into the field and scratched, and scraped, and scrabbled. All at once Chanticleer found a burr of hop, and Partlet found a barley-corn; and they said they would make malt and brew Yule ale.
“Oh, I pluck barley, and I malt malt, and I brew ale, and the ale is good,” cackled Dame Partlet.
“Is the wort strong enough?” crew Chanticleer; and as he crowed he flew up on the edge of the cask, and tried to have a taste; but just as he bent over to drink a drop he took to flapping his wings, and so he fell head over heels into the cask and was drowned. When Dame Partlet saw that, she clean lost her wits, and flew up into the chimney-corner, and fell a-screaming and screeching out. “Harm in the house! harm in the house!” she screeched out all in a breath, and there was no stopping her.
“What ails you, Dame Partlet, that you sit there sobbing and sighing?” said the handquern.
“Why not,” said Dame Partlet, “when Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself, and lies dead? That’s why I sigh and sob.”
“Well, if I can do naught else, I will grind and groan,” said the handquern; and so it fell to grinding as fast as it could.
When the chair heard that it said: