by
Katharine Pyle

A mother pig and her three little pigs lived together in a wood very happily all through the long summertime, but towards autumn the mother pig called her little ones to her and said, “My dear little pigs, the time has come for you to go out into the world and seek your own fortunes. You will each want to build a little house to live in, but do not build them of straw or leaves; straws are brittle and leaves are frail. Build your houses of bricks, for then you will always have a safe place to live in; you can go in and lock the door, and nothing can harm you.” She then bade the little pigs farewell, and away they ran out into the world to make their fortunes.

The first little pig had not gone far when he met a man with a load of straw. The straw looked so warm, and smelled so good that the little pig quite forgot what his mother had told him.

“Please, Mr. Man,” said the little pig, “give me enough straw to build a house to keep me warm through the long winter.”

The man did not say no. He gave the little pig all the straw he wanted, and then he drove on.

The little pig built himself a house of straw, and it was so warm and cosy that he was quite delighted with it. “How much better,” said he “than a house of cold hard bricks.”

So he lay there snug and warm, and presently the old wolf knocked at the door.

“Piggy-wig, piggy-wig, let me in!” he cried.

“I won’t, by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin,” answered the pig.

“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”

The little pig laughed aloud, for he felt very safe in his snug straw house.

“Well, then huff, and then puff, and then blow my house in!” he cried.

Well, the old wolf did huff and puff, and he did blow the house in, for it was only made of straw, and then he ate up the pig.

The second little pig when he left the forest ran along and ran along and presently he met a man with a great load of leaves.

“Oh, kind Mr. Man, please give me some leaves to build me a little house for the winter time,” cried the piggy.

The man was willing to do this. He gave the pig all the leaves he wanted, and then he went on his way.

The pig built himself a house of leaves and it was even snugger and warmer than the straw house had been. “How silly my mother was,” said the pig, “to tell me to build a brick house. What could be warmer and cosier and safer than this.” And he snuggled down among the leaves and was very happy.

Presently along came the great wolf, and he stopped and knocked at the door.

“Piggy-wig, piggy-wig, let me in!” he cried.

“I won’t, by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!”

“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”

The little pig laughed when he heard that, for the walls were thick, and he felt secure.

“Well, then huff, and then puff, and then blow my house in.”

So the wolf huffed, and he puffed, and he did blow the house in, and he ate up the little pig that was inside of it.

Now the third little pig was the smallest pig of all, but he was a very wise little pig, and he meant to do exactly as his mother had told him to do. After he left the forest he met a man driving a wagon-load of straw, but he did not ask for any of it. He met the man with the load of leaves, but he did not ask for any of it. He met a man with a load of bricks, and then he stopped and begged so prettily for enough bricks to build himself a little house that the man could not refuse him.

The pig took the bricks and built himself a little red house with them, and it was not an easy task either. When it was done it was not so soft as the little straw house, and it was not so warm as the little leaf house, but it was a very safe little house.

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.

“It is just up the road three fields away,” said the wolf, “and if you would like to have some I will come for you at six o’clock to-morrow morning, and we will go and dig them up together.”

“At six o’clock!” said the little pig. “Very well.”

Then the old wolf trotted off home, licking his lips, and he was well content, for he thought he would have pig for breakfast the next day.

But the next morning the little pig was up and astir by five o’clock. Off he trotted to the turnip field and gathered a whole bagful of turnips and was home again before the old wolf thought of coming.

At six o’clock the old wolf knocked at the door.

“Are you ready to go for the turnips, Piggy?” he cried.

“Ready!” answered the pig. “Why I was up and off to the field an hour ago and I have all the turnips I want, and I’m boiling them for breakfast.”

“That’s what you did!” said the wolf. And then he thought a bit. “Piggy, do you like fine ripe apples?” he asked.

Yes, the pig was very fond of apples.

“Then I can tell you where to find some.”

“Where is that?”

“Over beyond the hill in the squire’s orchard, and if you will play me no tricks I will come for you at five o’clock to-morrow, and we will go together, and gather some.”

Very well; the pig would be ready.

So the wolf trotted off home, and this time he was very sure that he would have a nice fat little piggy for breakfast the next morning.