"Bacon and eggs, bacon andeggs!" clucked a hen on a perch."Trap, trap, trap! cackle, cackle,cackle!" scolded the disturbedcockerel. "To market, to market!jiggettyjig!" clucked a broody whitehen roosting next to him. PiglingBland, much alarmed, determinedto leave at daybreak. In the meantime,he and the hens fell asleep.In less than an hour they were allawakened. The owner, Mr. PeterThomas Piperson, came with a lanternand a hamper to catch sixfowls to take to market in themorning.He grabbed the white hen roostingnext to the cock; then his eyefell upon Pigling Bland, squeezedup in a corner. He made a singularremark—"Hallo, here's another!"—seized Pigling by the scruff of theneck, and dropped him into thehamper. Then he dropped in fivemore dirty, kicking, cackling hensupon the top of Pigling Bland.The hamper containing six fowlsand a young pig was no lightweight; it was taken down hill,unsteadily, with jerks. Pigling,although nearly scratched to pieces,contrived to hide the papers andpeppermints inside his clothes.At last the hamper was bumpeddown upon a kitchen floor, the lidwas opened, and Pigling was liftedout. He looked up, blinking, andsaw an offensively ugly elderlyman, grinning from ear to ear."This one's come of himself,whatever," said Mr. Piperson, turningPigling's pockets inside out. Hepushed the hamper into a corner,threw a sack over it to keep thehens quiet, put a pot on the fire,and unlaced his boots.Pigling Bland drew forward acoppy stool, and sat on the edge ofit, shyly warming his hands. Mr.Piperson pulled off a boot andthrew it against the wainscot at thefurther end of the kitchen. Therewas a smothered noise—"Shutup!" said Mr. Piperson. PiglingBland warmed his hands, and eyedhim.Mr. Piperson pulled off the otherboot and flung it after the first,there was again a curious noise—"Be quiet, will ye?" said Mr. Piperson.Pigling Bland sat on the veryedge of the coppy stool.Mr. Piperson fetched meal froma chest and made porridge, itseemed to Pigling that somethingat the further end of the kitchenwas taking a suppressed interest inthe cooking; but he was too hungryto be troubled by noises.Mr. Piperson poured out threeplatefuls: for himself, for Pigling,and a third-after glaring at Pigling—he put away with much scuffling,and locked up. Pigling Blandate his supper discreetly.After supper Mr. Piperson consultedan almanac, and felt Pigling'sribs; it was too late in theseason for curing bacon, and hegrudged his meal. Besides, the henshad seen this pig.He looked at the small remainsof a flitch [side of bacon], and thenlooked undecidedly at Pigling. "Youmay sleep on the rug," said Mr.Peter Thomas Piperson.Pigling Bland slept like a top. Inthe morning Mr. Piperson mademore porridge; the weather waswarmer. He looked how muchmeal was left in the chest, andseemed dissatisfied—"You'll likelybe moving on again?" said he toPigling Bland.Before Pigling could reply, aneighbor, who was giving Mr. Pipersonand the hens a lift, whistledfrom the gate. Mr. Piperson hurriedout with the hamper, enjoiningPigling to shut the door behind himand not meddle with nought; or"I'll come back and skin ye!" saidMr. Piperson.It crossed Pigling's mind that ifHE had asked for a lift, too, hemight still have been in time formarket.But he distrusted Peter Thomas.After finishing breakfast at hisleisure, Pigling had a look roundthe cottage; everything was lockedup. He found some potato peelingsin a bucket in the back kitchen.Pigling ate the peel, and washed upthe 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 voicechimed in—"Over the hills and a great way off,The wind shall blow my top knotoff."Pigling Bland put down a platewhich he was wiping, and listened.After a long pause, Pigling wenton tiptoe and peeped round thedoor into the front kitchen; therewas nobody there.After another pause, Piglingapproached the door of the lockedcupboard, and snuffed at the keyhole.It was quite quiet.After another long pause, Piglingpushed a peppermint under thedoor. It was sucked in immediately.In the course of the day Piglingpushed in all his remaining sixpeppermints.When Mr. Piperson returned, hefound Pigling sitting before the fire;he had brushed up the hearth andput on the pot to boil; the meal wasnot get-at-able.Mr. Piperson was very affable; heslapped Pigling on the back, madelots of porridge and forgot to lockthe meal chest. He did lock thecupboard door; but without properlyshutting it. He went to bed early,and told Pigling upon no accountto disturb him next day beforetwelve o'clock.Pigling Bland sat by the fire,eating his supper.
All at once at his elbow, a littlevoice spoke—"My name is Pig-wig.Make me more porridge, please!"Pigling Bland jumped, and lookedround.A perfectly lovely little blackBerkshire pig stood smiling besidehim. She had twinkly little screwedup eyes, a double chin, and a shortturned up nose.She pointed at Pigling's plate; hehastily gave it to her, and fled tothe meal chest—"How did youcome here?" asked Pigling Bland."Stolen," replied Pig-wig, withher mouth full. Pigling helped himselfto meal without scruple. "Whatfor?" "Bacon, hams," replied Pig-wig cheerfully. "Why on earth don'tyou run away?" exclaimed thehorrified Pigling."I shall after supper," said Pig-wig decidedly.Pigling Bland made more porridgeand watched her shyly.She finished a second plate, gotup, and looked about her, asthough she were going to start."You can't go in the dark," saidPigling Bland.Pig-wig looked anxious."Do you know your way by day-light?""I know we can see this littlewhite house from the hills acrossthe river. Which way areyougoing,Mr. Pig?""To market—I have two pigpapers. I might take you to the bridge;if you have no objection," saidPigling much confused and sittingon the edge of his coppy stool. Pig-wig's gratitude was such and sheasked so many questions that itbecame embarrassing to PiglingBland.He was obliged to shut his eyesand pretend to sleep. She becamequiet, and there was a smell ofpeppermint."I thought you had eaten them?"said Pigling, waking suddenly."Only the corners," replied Pig-wig, studying the sentiments withmuch interest by the firelight."I wish you wouldn't; he mightsmell them through the ceiling,"said the alarmed Pigling.Pig-wig put back the stickypeppermints into her pocket; "Singsomething," she demanded."I am sorry. . . I have tooth-ache," said Pigling much dismayed."Then I will sing," replied Pig-wig, "You will not mind if I sayiddy tidditty? I have forgotten someof the words."Pigling Bland made no objection;he sat with his eyes half shut, andwatched her.She wagged her head and rockedabout, clapping time and singing ina 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 throughthree or four verses, only at everyverse her head nodded a littlelower, and her little twinkly eyesclosed up—"Those three little piggies grew peakyand lean, and lean they might verywell be;"For somehow they couldn't say umph,umph, umph! and they wouldn'tsay wee, wee, wee!"For somehow they couldn't say—
Pig-wig's head bobbed lower andlower, until she rolled over, a littleround ball, fast asleep on thehearth-rug.Pigling Bland, on tiptoe, coveredher up with an antimacassar.He was afraid to go to sleep himself;for the rest of the night he satlistening to the chirping of thecrickets and to the snores of Mr.Piperson overhead.Early in the morning, betweendark and daylight, Pigling tied uphis little bundle and woke up Pig-wig. She was excited and half-frightened. "But it's dark! How canwe find our way?""The cock has crowed; we muststart before the hens come out; theymight shout to Mr. Piperson."Pig-wig sat down again, andcommenced to cry.
"Come away Pig-wig; we can seewhen we get used to it. Come! I canhear them clucking!"Pigling had never said shuh! to ahen in his life, being peaceable;also he remembered the hamper.He opened the house door quietlyand shut it after them. There wasno garden; the neighborhood ofMr. Piperson's was all scratched upby fowls. They slipped away handin hand across an untidy field tothe road."Tom, Tom the piper's son, stole a pigand away he ran!"But all the tune that he could play, was`Over the hills and far away!'"
"Come Pig-wig, we must get tothe bridge before folks are stirring.""Why do you want to go tomarket, Pigling?" inquired Pig-wig.The sun rose while they werecrossing the moor, a dazzle of lightover the tops of the hills. The sunshinecrept down the slopes intothe peaceful green valleys, wherelittle white cottages nestled ingardens and orchards."That's Westmorland," said Pig-wig. She dropped Pigling's handand commenced to dance, singing—presently. "I don't want; I want togrow potatoes." "Have a peppermint?"said Pig-wig. Pigling Blandrefused quite crossly. "Does yourpoor toothy hurt?" inquired Pig-wig. Pigling Bland grunted.Pig-wig ate the peppermint herself,and followed the opposite sideof the road. "Pig-wig! keep underthe wall, there's a man ploughing."Pig-wig crossed over, they hurrieddown hill towards the countyboundary.Suddenly Pigling stopped; heheard wheels.Slowly jogging up the road belowthem came a tradesman's cart. Thereins flapped on the horse's back,the grocer was reading a newspaper."Take that peppermint out ofyour mouth, Pig-wig, we may haveto run. Don't say one word. Leave itto me. And in sight of the bridge!"said poor Pigling, nearly crying.He began to walk frightfully lame,holding Pig-wig's arm.The grocer, intent upon hisnewspaper, might have passedthem, if his horse had not shiedand snorted. He pulled the cartcrossways, and held down hiswhip. "Hallo? Where are you goingto?"—Pigling Bland stared at himvacantly."Are you deaf? Are you going tomarket?" Pigling nodded slowly."I thought as much. It wasyesterday. Show me your license?"Pigling stared at the off hindshoe of the grocer's horse whichhad picked up a stone.The grocer flicked his whip—"Papers? Pig license?" Pigling fumbledin all his pockets, and handedup the papers. The grocer readthem, but still seemed dissatisfied."This here pig is a young lady; isher name Alexander?" Pig-wigopened her mouth and shut itagain; Pigling coughed asthmatically.The grocer ran his finger downthe advertisement column of hisnewspaper—"Lost, stolen orstrayed, 10S. reward;" he lookedsuspiciously at Pig-wig. Then hestood up in the trap, and whistledfor the ploughman."You wait here while I drive onand speak to him," said the grocer,gathering up the reins. He knewthat pigs are slippery; but surely,such a VERY lame pig could neverrun!"Not yet, Pig-wig, he will lookback." The grocer did so; he saw thetwo pigs stock-still in the middleof the road. Then he looked over athis horse's heels; it was lame also;the stone took some time to knockout, after he got to the ploughman."Now, Pig-wig, NOW!" saidPigling Bland.Never did any pigs run as thesepigs ran! They raced and squealedand pelted down the long white hilltowards the bridge. Little fat Pig-wig's petticoats fluttered, and herfeet went pitter, patter, pitter, asshe bounded and jumped.They ran, and they ran, and theyran down the hill, and across ashort cut on level green turf at thebottom, between pebble beds andrushes.They came to the river, theycame to the bridge—they crossed ithand in hand—then over the hillsand far away she danced with PiglingBland!
[DedicatedWith very kind regards to old Mr. John Taylor,Who "thinks he might pass as a dormouse,"(Three years in bed and never a grumble!).]
Once upon a time there wasa village shop. The name overthe window was "Ginger andPickles."It was a little small shopjust the right size for Dolls—Lucinda and Jane Doll-cookalways bought their groceriesat Ginger and Pickles.The counter inside was aconvenient height for rabbits.Ginger and Pickles sold redspotty pocket handkerchiefs ata penny three farthings.They also sold sugar, andsnuff and galoshes.In fact, although it wassuch a small shop it soldnearly everything—except afew things that you want ina hurry—like bootlaces, hair-pins and mutton chops.Ginger and Pickles were thepeople who kept the shop.Ginger was a yellow tomcat,and Pickles was a terrier.The rabbits were always alittle bit afraid of Pickles.
The shop was also patronizedby mice—only the micewere rather afraid of Ginger.Ginger usually requestedPickles to serve them, becausehe said it made his mouthwater."I cannot bear," said he, "tosee them going out at the doorcarrying their little parcels.""I have the same feelingabout rats," replied Pickles,"but it would never do to eatour customers; they wouldleave us and go to TabithaTwitchit's.""On the contrary, theywould go nowhere," repliedGinger gloomily.(Tabitha Twitchit kept theonly other shop in the village.She did not give credit.)But there is no money inwhat is called the "till."Ginger and Pickles gaveunlimited credit.Now the meaning of"credit" is this—when a customerbuys a bar of soap, insteadof the customer pullingout a purse and paying for it—she says she will pay anothertime.And Pickles makes a lowbow and says, "With pleasure,madam," and it is writtendown in a book.The customers come againand again, and buy quantities,in spite of being afraid ofGinger and Pickles.
The customers came incrowds every day and boughtquantities, especially thetoffee customers. But there wasalways no money; they neverpaid for as much as a penny-worth of peppermints.But the sales were enormous,ten times as large asTabitha Twitchit's.As there was always nomoney, Ginger and Pickleswere obliged to eat their owngoods.Pickles ate biscuits and Gingerate a dried haddock.They ate them by candle-light after the shop wasclosed.
"It is very uncomfortable, Iam afraid I shall be summoned.I have tried in vain toget a license upon credit at thePost Office;" said Pickles."The place is full of policemen.I met one as I was cominghome."Let us send in the billagain to Samuel Whiskers,Ginger, he owes 22/9 forbacon.""I do not believe that heintends to pay at all," repliedGinger.When it came to Jan. 1stthere was still no money, andPickles was unable to buy adog license."It is very unpleasant, I amafraid of the police," saidPickles."It is your own fault forbeing a terrier;Ido notrequire a license, and neitherdoes Kep, the Collie dog."
"And I feel sure that AnnaMaria pockets things—"Where are all the creamcrackers?""You have eaten them yourself."replied Ginger.Ginger and Pickles retiredinto the back parlor.They did accounts. Theyadded up sums and sums, andsums."Samuel Whiskers has runup a bill as long as his tail; hehas had an ounce and three-quarters of snuff since October."What is seven pounds ofbutter at 1/3, and a stick ofsealing wax and fourmatches?""Send in all the bills againto everybody `with compliments,'"replied Ginger.
Pickles nearly had a fit, hebarked and he barked andmade little rushes."Bite him, Pickles! bitehim!" spluttered Ginger behinda sugar barrel, "he's onlya German doll!"The policeman went onwriting in his notebook; twicehe put his pencil in his mouth,and once he dipped it in thetreacle.Pickles barked till he washoarse. But still the policemantook no notice. He had beadeyes, and his helmet wassewed on with stitches.After a time they heard anoise in the shop, as if somethinghad been pushed in atthe door. They came out of theback parlor. There was anenvelope lying on the counter,and a policeman writing in anotebook!
At length on his last littlerush—Pickles found that theshop was empty. The policemanhad disappeared.But the envelope remained."Do you think that he hasgone to fetch a real live policeman?I am afraid it is a summons,"said Pickles."No," replied Ginger, whohad opened the envelope, "it isthe rates and taxes, 3 pounds 1911 3/4." [pounds are British money,the 19 is schillings, and then pence]"This is the last straw," saidPickles, "let us close the shop."They put up the shutters,and left. But they have notremoved from the neighborhood.In fact some peoplewish they had gone further.
Ginger is living in the warren[game preserve for rabbits].I do not know whatoccupation he pursues; helooks stout and comfortable.Pickles is at present a game-keeper.
After a time Mr. JohnDormouse and his daughterbegan to sell peppermints andcandles.But they did not keep "self-fitting sixes"; and it takes fivemice to carry one seven inchcandle.The closing of the shopcaused great inconvenience.Tabitha Twitchit immediatelyraised the price of everythinga halfpenny; and she continuedto refuse to give credit.
Of course there are thetradesmen's carts—the butcher,the fishman and TimothyBaker.But a person cannot live on"seed wigs" and sponge cakeand butter buns—not evenwhen the sponge cake is asgood as Timothy's!
And Miss Dormouse refusedto take back the ends whenthey were brought back to herwith complaints.And when Mr. JohnDormouse was complained to, hestayed in bed, and would saynothing but "very snug;"which is not the way to carryon a retail business.Besides—the candles whichthey sell behave very strangelyin warm weather.So everybody was pleasedwhen Sally Henny Penny sentout a printed poster to saythat she was going to reopenthe shop—"Henny's OpeningSale! Grand cooperative Jumble!Penny's penny prices!Come buy, come try, comebuy!"The poster really was most'ticing.
There was a rush upon theopening day. The shop wascrammed with customers,and there were crowds ofmice upon the biscuit cannisters.Sally Henny Penny getsrather flustered when she triesto count out change, and sheinsists on being paid cash; butshe is quite harmless.And she has laid in aremarkable assortment ofbargains.There is something toplease everybody.