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"Oh, how dreadful!" cried Uncle Wiggily, "but maybe he won't come to-day." "Oh, yes, he will," said the first little pig. "It's that way in the book, and the wolf has to come." "Well, if he does," said Uncle Wiggily, "maybe I can save you from him." "Oh, I hope you can!" grunted Grunter. "It is no fun to be chased by a wolf."
What is the matter with you two piggie boys?" asked Uncle Wiggily, as he took down from the sideboard his red, white and blue barber-pole striped rheumatism crutch that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk. "What's the trouble, Grunter and Squeaker?" asked the rabbit gentleman. "We are lonesome for our brother," said the two little piggie boys No. 1 and No. 2.
Pots and pans are balanced against pails and churns, cows against horses, a slip of bog against a gravel-pit, or a patch of meadow against a bit of a quarry; a little lime-kiln sometimes burns stronger than the flame of Cupid the doves of Venus herself are but crows in comparison with a good flock of geese and a love-sick sigh less touching than the healthy grunt of a good pig; indeed, the last-named gentleman is a most useful agent in this traffic, for when matters are nearly poised, the balance is often adjusted by a grunter or two thrown into either scale.
Then Uncle Wiggily and Grunter came out of the snow-bank and were safe, and Uncle Wiggily took Grunter home to the rabbit house to stay until Mother Goose came, some time afterward, to get the first little pig boy. "Thank you very much, Uncle Wiggily," said Mother Goose, "for being kind to one of my friends." "Pray don't mention it.
"Yes, it is cozy enough," spoke Grunter, "but wait until the bad wolf comes. Oh, dear!" "Maybe he won't come," said the rabbit, hopeful like. "Yes, he will!" cried Grunter. "Here he comes now." And, surely enough, looking out of the window, the piggie boy and Uncle Wiggily saw a bad wolf running over the snow toward them. The wolf knocked on the door of the straw house and cried: "Little pig!
"I listened to that chronic grunter tell me his troubles for a while, then I turned to the young man on the other side, who was one of them shrewd-eyed business men; and I hadn't been settin' there five minutes before I knowed that he had asked to set by me and that he had schemes. Tried to git me interested in some business venture where they would be able to pay about eight hundred per cent.
Oh, custard cake!" howled the wolf. "This isn't in the Mother Goose book at all. Not a single pig did I get! Oh, my nose! Ouch!" Then he ran away, and Uncle Wiggily and Twisty-Tail could come safely out of the brick house, which they did, hurrying home to the bunny house where Grunter and Squeaker were, to get something to eat.
But when the wolf looked he couldn't see Grunter or Uncle Wiggily at all, because they were hiding in the snow-bank. "Well, well!" howled the wolf. "This isn't like the book at all! Where is that little pig?" But the wolf could not find Grunter, and soon the bad creature went away, fearing to catch cold in his eyes.
Now a window at the side of the house opened and a queer head appeared. It was white and hairy and had a long snout and little round eyes. The ears were hidden by a blue sunbonnet tied under the chin. "Oh; it's a pig!" exclaimed Woot. "Pardon me; I am Mrs. Squealina Swyne, wife of Professor Grunter Swyne, and this is our home," said the one in the window. "What do you want?"
Uncle Wiggily didn't say anything about having saved Grunter, for he wanted to surprise Squeaker, so the rabbit gentleman just twinkled his nose again and asked: "May I have the pleasure of helping you build your house of wood?" "Indeed you may, thank you," said Squeaker. "I suppose the old wolf will be along soon, so we had better hurry to get the house finished."
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