The Tale of Pigling Bland Page #2

								

time, followed by a damp subdued
little pig. I disposed of Alexander in
the neighborhood; he did fairly
well when he had settled down.

Pigling Bland went on alone
dejectedly; he came to cross roads and
a sign-post--"To Market-town 5
miles," "Over the Hills, 4 miles,"
"To Pettitoes Farm, 3 miles."

Pigling Bland was shocked, there
was little hope of sleeping in Market
Town, and tomorrow was the
hiring fair; it was deplorable to
think how much time had been
wasted by the frivolity of Alexander.

He glanced wistfully along the
road towards the hills, and then set
off walking obediently the other
way, buttoning up his coat against
the rain. He had never wanted to
go; and the idea of standing all by
himself in a crowded market, to be
stared at, pushed, and hired by
some big strange farmer was very
disagreeable--

"I wish I could have a little garden
and grow potatoes," said Pigling
Bland.

He put his cold hand in his
pocket and felt his paper, he put his
other hand in his other pocket and
felt another paper--Alexander's!
Pigling squealed; then ran back
frantically, hoping to overtake
Alexander and the policeman.

He took a wrong turn--several
wrong turns, and was quite lost.

It grew dark, the wind whistled,
the trees creaked and groaned.

Pigling Bland became frightened
and cried "Wee, wee, wee! I can't
find my way home!"

After an hour's wandering he got
out of the wood; the moon shone
through the clouds, and Pigling
Bland saw a country that was new
to him.

The road crossed a moor; below
was a wide valley with a river twinkling
in the moonlight, and beyond
--in misty distance--lay the hills.

He saw a small wooden hut,
made his way to it, and crept inside
--"I am afraid it IS a hen house,
but what can I do?" said Pigling
Bland, wet and cold and quite tired
out.

"Bacon and eggs, bacon and
eggs!" clucked a hen on a perch.

"Trap, trap, trap! cackle, cackle,
cackle!" scolded the disturbed
cockerel. "To market, to market!
jiggettyjig!" clucked a broody white
hen roosting next to him. Pigling
Bland, much alarmed, determined
to leave at daybreak. In the meantime,
he and the hens fell asleep.

In less than an hour they were all
awakened. The owner, Mr. Peter
Thomas Piperson, came with a lantern
and a hamper to catch six
fowls to take to market in the
morning.

He grabbed the white hen roosting
next to the cock; then his eye
fell upon Pigling Bland, squeezed
up in a corner. He made a singular
remark--"Hallo, here's another!"
--seized Pigling by the scruff of the
neck, and dropped him into the
hamper. Then he dropped in five
more dirty, kicking, cackling hens
upon the top of Pigling Bland.

The hamper containing six fowls
and a young pig was no light
weight; it was taken down hill,
unsteadily, with jerks. Pigling,
although nearly scratched to pieces,
contrived to hide the papers and
peppermints inside his clothes.

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