The Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time there were three little pigs who had grown just big enough to build houses of their very own. Their mother waved them down the lane and called after them, "Build well, my dears, and look out for the wolf!"

The first little pig met a farmer with a cart of golden straw, and traded for armfuls of it. Straw is soft and quick, and the first little pig was in a hurry to be done. By lunchtime he had a straw house, and by five past lunchtime he was napping in it.

The second little pig met a woodsman with a bundle of sticks, and traded for the lot. Sticks are quick too, if you don't fuss about corners. By suppertime she had a stick house with a crooked little chimney, and she was rather proud of the crooked part.

The third little pig met a builder with a load of bricks. Bricks are not quick. The third little pig mixed and stacked and measured, day after day, until her arms ached and her nose was smudged with mortar. Her brother and sister called through her window, "Come and play!" And she called back, "When the roof is on!"

At last the brick house stood square and snug, with a red door, a round window, and a chimney that went straight up. And that was lucky. Because down the lane, sniffing the air, came the wolf.

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The wolf came first to the straw house and knocked at the door, rat-a-tat.

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in!"

"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!" squeaked the first little pig.

"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in!"

And he huffed, and he puffed, and WHOOSH! The straw house flew apart like a dandelion, and the first little pig ran squealing down the lane, fast as his trotters could take him, all the way to the stick house.

The wolf came to the stick house and knocked, rat-a-tat-tat.

"Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in!"

"Not by the hairs of our chinny chin chins!" called the two little pigs together.

"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in!"

And he huffed, and he puffed, and he huffed again, and CRACKETY-WHOOSH! Down came the sticks, crooked chimney and all, and the two little pigs ran squealing down the lane to the brick house, where the red door opened just in time and shut just after.

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The wolf came to the brick house. He knocked very politely, for a wolf.

"Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in!"

"Not by the hairs of our chinny chin chins!" called all three little pigs, and the third one added, "and this house has proper corners!"

"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll BLOW your house in!"

So he huffed, and he puffed. The house stood still. He puffed, and he huffed. The round window did not so much as rattle. He took the deepest breath any wolf has ever taken, so deep that his ears touched his shoulders, and he blew until his cheeks went from grey to pink to plum.

The brick house stood exactly where it was.

"Right," wheezed the wolf, who was now quite dizzy. "The chimney, then."

Now, the third little pig had sharp ears, and she heard his claws go scritch-scratch on the roof tiles. Quick as a wink she dragged the big washtub to the hearth, full to the brim with cold, cold washing water and a mountain of soap bubbles.

Down the chimney came the wolf, whoosh, and SPLASH! Into the tub he went, bottom first, in a cloud of bubbles. He shot straight up through the suds, out the door, and down the lane, dripping and sneezing, with a bubble on the tip of his tail, and he did not stop until he was three hills away.

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They say he lives out there still, huffing and puffing at dandelions, which is the only blowing he is good at.

As for the three little pigs, they had cocoa that night in the snug brick kitchen. And in the spring, the third little pig taught the other two about bricks, and they built two more houses beside hers, each with a red door, so the lane became a street, and the street was called Chinny Chin Lane, and everyone on it slept soundly. Even, far away, the wolf.