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Updated: April 30, 2025
But he could not find Squeaker or Uncle Wiggily either, and finally the wolf's nose became so cold from sniffing the ice that he had to go home to warm it, and so Uncle Wiggily and Squeaker were safe. "Oh, I don't know how to thank you," said the second little piggie boy as the rabbit gentleman took him home to Mother Goose, after having left the jam tarts at the home of the Wagtail goats.
"Where are we going?" asked Squeaker, as he followed the rabbit gentleman over the cracked and broken boards, which were all that was left of the house. "We are going to the little cabin that I made out of cakes of ice, behind your wooden house," said Uncle Wiggily. "I put the jam tarts in it, but there is also room for us, and we can hide there until the bad wolf goes off."
There were stories of the landlady in whose house she lodged, and the woman who lived up-stairs. She had two fellows; one she called Squeaker she didn't care for him; and another called Harry, and she did care for him; but the landlady's daughter called him a s , because he seldom gave her anything, and always had a bath in the morning. "How can a girl be respectable under such circumstances?"
The gluttony of Swine is put before us, as an example to the young." "Or girl," suggested Mr. Hubble. "Of course, or girl, Mr. Hubble," assented Mr. Wopsle, rather irritably, "but there is no girl present." "Besides," said Mr. Pumblechook, turning sharp on me, "think what you've got to be grateful for. If you'd been born a Squeaker "
"Well, that isn't the way it is in the book," said the second little pig. "But " "No matter!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Hurry!" So he and Squeaker hid in the ice cabin back of the blown-down house, and when the bad wolf came poking along among the broken boards, to get the little pig, he couldn't find him.
Something must be wrong with him, Santa Claus." Then Santa Claus would put on his glasses, stroke his long, white beard and look at the Calico Clown. "Humph! I should say he wouldn't squeak!" the old gentleman would remark. "You have his squeaker in upside down! That would never do for some little boy or girl to find on Christmas morning! Take the squeaker out and put it in right."
He gently stooped, took up a broad blade of grass, laid it between the edges of his thumbs, then blowing through this simple squeaker he made a short, shrill bleat, a fair imitation of a Fawn's cry for the mother, and the Deer, though a long way off, came bounding toward him. He snatched his gun, meaning to kill her, but the movement caught her eye. She stopped.
"I met your brother Grunter yesterday, and helped him build his straw house." "That was kind of you," spoke Squeaker. "I suppose the bad old wolf got him, though. Too bad! Well, it can't be helped, as it is that way in the book." Little pig!
"He was, if ever a child was," said my sister, most emphatically. Joe gave me some more gravy. "Well, but I mean a four-footed Squeaker," said Mr. Pumblechook. "If you had been born such, would you have been here now? Not you " "Unless in that form," said Mr. Wopsle, nodding towards the dish. "But I don't mean in that form, sir," returned Mr.
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.
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