Peter Thomas Piperson.
Pigling Bland slept like a top. In the morning Mr. Piperson made more porridge; the
weather was warmer. He looked to see how much meal was left in the chest, and seemed dissatisfied — “You’ll
likely be moving on again?” said he to Pigling Bland.
Before Pigling could reply, a neighbour, who was giving Mr. Piperson and the hens a
lift, whistled from the gate. Mr. Piperson hurried out with the hamper, enjoining Pigling to shut the door
behind him and not meddle with nought; or “I’ll come back and skin ye!” said Mr. Piperson.
It crossed Pigling’s mind that if he had asked for
a lift, too, he might still have been in time for market.
But he distrusted Peter Thomas.
After finishing breakfast at his leisure, Pigling had a look round the cottage;
everything was locked up. He found some potato peelings in a bucket in the back kitchen. Pigling ate the
peel, and washed up the porridge plates in the bucket. He sang while he worked —
“Tom with his pipe made such a noise,
He called up all the girls and boys —
And they all ran to hear him play,
‘Over the hills and far away!’ ”
Suddenly a little smothered voice chimed in —
“Over the hills and a great way off,
The wind shall blow my top knot off!”
Pigling Bland put down a plate which he was wiping, and listened.
After a long pause, Pigling went on tip-toe and peeped round the door into the front
kitchen. There was nobody there.
After another pause, Pigling approached the door of the locked cupboard, and snuffed
at the keyhole. It was quite quiet.
After another long pause, Pigling pushed a peppermint under the door. It was sucked in
immediately.
In the course of the day Pigling pushed in all his remaining six peppermints.
When Mr. Piperson returned, he found Pigling sitting before the fire; he had brushed
up the hearth and put on the pot to boil; the meal was not get-at-able.
Mr. Piperson was very affable; he slapped Pigling on the back, made lots of porridge
and forgot to lock the meal chest. He did lock the cupboard door; but without properly shutting it. He went
to bed early, and told Pigling upon no account to disturb him next day before twelve o’clock.
Pigling Bland sat by the fire, eating his supper.
All at once at his elbow, a little voice spoke — “My name is Pig-wig. Make me more
porridge, please!” Pigling Bland jumped, and looked round.
A perfectly lovely little black Berkshire pig stood smiling beside him. She had
twinkly little screwed up eyes, a double chin, and a short turned up nose.
She pointed at Pigling’s plate; he hastily gave it to her, and fled to the meal chest
— “How did you come here?” asked Pigling Bland.
“Stolen,” replied Pig-wig, with her mouth full. Pigling helped himself to meal without
scruple. “What for?” “Bacon, hams,” replied Pig-wig cheerfully. “Why on earth don’t you run away?” exclaimed
the horrified Pigling.
“I shall after supper,” said Pig-wig decidedly.
Pigling Bland made more porridge and watched her shyly.
She finished a second plate, got up, and looked about her, as though she were going to
start.
“You can’t go in the dark,” said Pigling Bland.
Pig-wig looked anxious.
“Do you know your way by daylight?”
“I know we can see this little white house from the hills across the river. Which way
are you going, Mr. Pig?”
“To market — I have two pig papers. I might take you to the bridge; if you have no
objection,” said Pigling, much confused and sitting on the edge of his coppy stool. Pig-wig’s gratitude was
such and she asked so many questions that it became embarrassing to Pigling Bland.
He was obliged to shut his eyes and pretend to sleep. She became quiet, and there was
a smell of peppermint.
“I thought you had eaten them,” said Pigling, waking suddenly.
“Only the corners,” replied Pig-wig, studying the sentiments with much interest by the
firelight.
“I wish you wouldn’t; he might smell them through the ceiling,” said the alarmed
Pigling.
Pig-wig put back the sticky peppermints into her pocket. “Sing something,” she
demanded.
“I am sorry… I have toothache,” said Pigling, much dismayed.
“Then I will sing,” replied Pig-wig. “You will not mind if I say iddy tidditty? I have
forgotten some of the words.”
Pigling Bland made no objection; he sat with his eyes half shut, and watched
her.
She wagged her head and rocked about, clapping time and singing in a sweet little
grunty voice —
“A funny old mother pig lived in a stye,
and three little piggies had she;
(Ti idditty idditty) umph, umph, umph!
and the little pigs said, wee, wee!”
She sang successfully through three or four verses, only at every verse her head
nodded a little lower, and her little twinkly eyes closed up —
“Those three little piggies grew
peaky and lean,
and lean they might very well be;
For somehow they couldn’t say
umph, umph, umph!
and they wouldn’t say wee, wee, wee!
For somehow they couldn’t say —”
Pig-wig’s head bobbed lower and lower, until she rolled over, a little round ball,
fast asleep on the hearth-rug.
Pigling Bland, on tip-toe, covered her up with an antimacassar.
He was afraid to go to sleep himself; for the rest of the night he sat listening to
the chirping of the crickets and to the snores of Mr.
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