The Conceited Pig

THE CONCEITED PIG.

THE CONCEITED PIG.

WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS BY HARRISON WEIR, ENGRAVED ON WOOD.

LONDON: JOHN AND CHARLES MOZLEY, 6, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1868.

THE CONCEITED PIG.

One cold November evening several little pigs were lying very comfortably in their sty, and keeping themselves warm by burying their noses under the straw, when one who had been routing about very uneasily for some time gave a loud grunt all at once, and seemed to be very much frightened. His mother, the old sow, who was stretched in one corner of the sty fast asleep, opened her little brown eyes, and asked in a very angry voice what was the matter. Several of the little pigs answered at once that it was only Wilful who was making such a noise that nobody could go to sleep.

“Hush, hush, hush!” cried Wilful, as soon as his brothers were silent; “hush! do not you hear a great cracking and noise the other side of the yard? I am quite sure that the stables are on fire. Had not we better all go and help to put it out directly?”

“Nonsense and stuff, you foolish little fellow!” exclaimed his mother; “you are always fancying something or other is the matter, and wanting to poke your nose into things that don’t concern you. I cannot hear any noise at all, and I beg you will be quiet, and let me go to sleep again.”

The little pig did not dare answer his mother, so he lay quite still for a minute or two, hoping that he should hear the same noise again. And presently he did hear it, louder than before, and there could be no doubt that more than usual was going on about the premises. He looked round to see what his mother would say now; but she had fallen fast asleep again, and two or three of his brothers were snoring very loud. His little brother Fatsides was lying close to him, and Wilful thought by the twinkling of his eyes that he was not really asleep; so he gave him a kick, and said in a very low voice, for fear his mother should hear him, “Fatsides, Fatsides, do you hear? there is that strange noise come back that I heard before. Do just listen. What can it be?”

“Oh, I dare say it is nothing but the horses in the stable, or that wretched old Hector rattling his everlasting chain,” answered Fatsides. “You know the other night when you woke us all up it turned out to be nothing but Buttercup rubbing her horns against the crib.”

“Ah, very likely,” interrupted Wilful; “but this is a very different thing. There, just hear that strange popping sound; depend upon it, either the stables are on fire, or there are a number of those frightful great blue butchers killing and carrying off all the cows. I am determined, at any rate, that I will go and see what is the matter.”

“Oh, pray do not go!” exclaimed little Fatsides. “How do you know that one of the great blue butchers may not get hold of you and carry you off?”

“I should like to see them!” said Wilful. “No, no; I have lived long enough in the world to be wiser than that, too. The blue butchers will never catch me, I can tell you; clever as they think themselves, they will find that they have met with their match at last!”

“Well, I know you are very clever,” rejoined his brother, who was getting very sleepy, “and so I suppose you must have your own way. But I do not see how you are to get out, for you know Bob always shuts the door the last thing.”

“Ah, very likely,” said Wilful; “but the door does not fasten tight, and I can push it open with very little trouble whenever I like. The other morning, before any of you were awake, I went out to desire Cock-a-doodle not to crow so loud, because I thought it would disturb my mother, and nobody knew anything about it; and Cock-a-doodle, by the way, behaved so extremely ill that I have taken no notice of him ever since. Poor fellow! I suppose I must give him a kind word to-morrow; for my friend Miss Peck tells me that he seemed sadly out of spirits, and she was certain he was a good deal cut up about it, for she had seen him skulking behind the faggot pile all by himself, and though he pretended to be picking up an insect when he saw her, she was sure that he had really retired there to mourn over his misconduct. I wish that Miss Peck were here now, that I might have her opinion about this dreadful noise. It is really worse than ever. What do you think I had better do, Fatsides?”

But Fatsides made no answer; he had fallen asleep whilst Wilful was talking, and all the others were snoring away as happily as possible. Wilful saw it was of no use to try to make any of them go out with him into the yard; and to go out he was determined, come what would of it, for he had one of those inquisitive and restless dispositions that cannot be satisfied without prying into everything. He lay quite still, however, for a minute or two, to make sure of his mother’s being asleep; and then rustling carefully through the straw, he pushed hard against the door of the sty, which opened suddenly with such a loud creak as made the old sow give a great grunt, and half open one of her eyes. Wilful himself nearly jumped out of his skin, but recovering himself directly, he set off and ran as fast as he could along one side of the yard, without thinking where he was going, till he was stopped by coming against some great rough thing that lay in his way. The stars were shining brightly up in the sky, and by their light Wilful could just see that it was Jack, the old donkey, who was stretched out on the straw close to the cart-shed, dozing away an hour or two to shorten the night. He opened his eyes when Wilful ran up against him, and asked rather drowsily what was the matter.

“My dear Sir,” said Wilful, “is it possible that you have been lying quietly here whilst such dreadful things are going on about the premises?”

“What things?” said Jack, opening his eyes rather wider.

“What things?” rejoined Wilful; “why, all this shooting, and stabbing, and burning, and butchering, that has been carrying on here ever since night-fall.”

“Carrying on where?” exclaimed Jack, who was completely puzzled and amazed at Wilful’s way of talking.

Now if there was any one creature in the world that Wilful had the least respect for, it was old Jack, who was indeed universally looked up to, and held to be a very knowing old fellow; but this proud young pig now quite lost his temper at what he thought Jack’s slowness and stupidity. He answered him, I am sorry to say, in a very impertinent manner, and ended by telling him that, though he was so much older, a clever young fellow like himself was worth two of him; and Miss Peck said one day, that if, she knew who, were not a donkey, he never would have worn those frightful long ears all his life!

Old Jack half shut up his eyes again, and took no more notice of this speech than by smiling contemptuously.

“I tell you what, old gentleman,” said Wilful, in a great rage, “I thought it my duty to come and tell you, as an old friend, that you will certainly be killed before to-morrow morning; but as you do not care about it, I shall go and tell the blue butchers that you are ready to be made nasty pork of immediately.”

Jack was very sleepy, but the idea of his becoming pork tickled his fancy so much, that he lifted up his head and laughed aloud. The sight of his great teeth glimmering in the starlight enraged Wilful more than ever, and seeing that nothing he said made the least impression, he scampered off, without another word, as fast as his legs could carry him. What to do next he could not determine; the great noise that he had heard seemed to have died away, and it had just crossed his mind whether it would not be better to go home again, when there came a tremendous cracking sound in the air above him, and something as bright as fire fell close to his feet, hissed along the ground for a second or two, and then disappeared.

“Goodness gracious!” exclaimed Wilful as soon as he had recovered his breath and his senses--for he was completely scared at first; “goodness gracious! as sure as I’m alive, the stars are all falling out of the sky. Something must be done directly; somebody must go and tell the Queen. Where is Miss Peck? I must speak to her first, and then I shall set off to the Queen’s house immediately.”

So saying, Wilful made the best of his way across the yard towards the hen-house, and succeeded after some time in finding the little sliding door, which, unfortunately, was shut. There was an open grating above, Wilful knew, but he could not reach it, so he had nothing for it but to scratch the door gently, and call Miss Peck as loud as he dared, without disturbing Cock-a-doodle. Now Miss Peck, luckily for Wilful, seldom slept well. She was subject to spasms in her left leg, which made her restless, and was besides apt to fancy that somebody else had got a warmer corner than she had, so that she was continually shifting her place.

Not seldom, indeed, the families who lodged on the lower perch were upset and terrified in the middle of the night by something coming flapping and tumbling over them, which turned out to be Miss Peck, who was “really very sorry to be any annoyance to them, but what with the chills which ran over her on account of her sleeping-place being so particularly exposed to draughts, and what with the incessant spasms in her poor left leg, she could not support herself a moment longer, if she died for it.” These accidents, of course, did not make Miss Peck a popular character; and at last a general agreement was made, that the next time Miss Peck fell off her perch, she should not be allowed to come up again, but should be kept on the hen-house floor all the night. Cock-a-doodle was at the bottom of this plot against the unfortunate Peck, and it was no great wonder that he wished to oblige her to turn over a new leaf; for whenever she fell off her sleeping-place, she always found herself too weak to get up again without assistance, and would never trust anyone to help her but her “dear friend Cock-a-doodle,” who was obliged to do it for peace and quietness’ sake.

Now it happened on the very night of which we are speaking, that Miss Peck had gone to bed in particularly ill-humour; for just as they were all entering the hen-house that afternoon, Cock-a-doodle had chosen to help that flaunting young creature, Miss Spangle, up the hen-house stairs instead of herself, though she had complained of a violent spasm just a moment before. Miss Peck therefore, being, as I have said, very much out of sorts, sat upon her perch with one eye shut, and the other scowling down upon Miss Spangle, who slept just beneath her; and her sufferings from cramp and chills were so uncommonly acute, that she could obtain no ease except by continually twitching her legs up and down, flapping her wings, shaking herself violently, and making a very unpleasant noise in her throat, as if she were choking. No one taking any notice of this uncomfortable state, though the slumbers of several of the neighbours were very much disturbed in consequence, Miss Peck grew more and more restless and spiteful; and seeing Miss Spangle in the full enjoyment of a delightful nap, she flung herself suddenly down upon her with such force as to push her off the perch, and send her rolling on the hen-house door. Miss Peck herself, though she tried hard to keep her balance, fell over on her back, and screamed violently, which woke Cock-a-doodle, who, of course, insisted on knowing what was the matter.