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When Curly Twistytail, the little pig boy, was digging away with his nose in the front yard, one day, hunting for lollypops, or maybe ice cream cones, under the grass, for all that I know; one day, I say, as he was rooting away, he heard his mamma calling: "Oh, Curly; Oh, Flop Ear! I want some one to go to the store for me."
Twistytail said: "I guess we'll have to call our piggie boy by the name of Curly after this," and so they did, and that's how one piggie boy got the name of "Curly Twistytail." And in case the shells don't all come off the eggs and leave the feathers sticking out for a sofa cushion, I'll tell you next how the other little pig got his name.
"Yes, and may I?" asked Curly, as he spun around on his front paws like a top under a Christmas tree. "And if you have any money left, mamma, after getting your bonnet, maybe you will buy us each a hot ice cream soda." "Oh you boys!" cried Mrs. Twistytail with a laugh. "No, I am afraid I can't take you two with me, for it is Baby Pinky's turn.
Twistytail go out," said the blue- nosed baboon, "and then I knew you were here alone. So in I came, here I am, and now this is the end of you!" "Oh, please don't hurt me!" cried Baby Pinky, but that savage baboon, rubbing his blue nose with the end of his tail for he had a red tail that baboon, I say, made a jump for Pinky. "Oh!" she cried, as she leaped out of the way.
"I must get right to work and hang out the sheets and pillow-cases so the sun will make them nice and white." So she hurried through with the breakfast of sour milk with corn meal and sugar cakes, and as soon as Mr. Twistytail had gone to the factory, where he helped make sausage for buckwheat cakes, Mrs. Twistytail said: "Now, children, do you want to help me wash?"
The tree was too big for him to jump down and he couldn't climb very well. He thought he would have to stay up there forever, maybe. But he didn't. Pretty soon Sammie Littletail's stomach ache was all better and Mrs. Twistytail came home. The first things she saw were the clothes hanging out on the line that is, all but the pillow-case that had taken Curly up in the tall tree.
"Merry Christmas!" grunted Grandpa Squealer, and Mr. and Mrs. Twistytail and the children. And from the outside the house all their animal friends shouted the happy words, and the horns blew, and the bells rang, and it was Christmas at last.
Have we wood to chop or water to bring in?" "Oh, neither one," said Mrs. Twistytail, with a smile, as she shook the crumbs off the tablecloth, for the family had just finished dinner. "I mean we have so many things yet to get for Christmas.
Twistytail got so interested talking to the duck lady about a new way to make a tight dress loose that she forgot all about the spool of thread. "Well, mamma is staying quite a long time," said Baby Pinky after a bit, as she sat by the window. "I hope nothing has happened to her."
Twistytail she was the mamma pig. And there were two little boy pigs, and for a time they didn't have any names, as their papa and mamma were so busy that they couldn't think what to call them. So they just said "Here sonny!" or "Hi, Bubby," whenever they wanted them to come in, or eat their dinner.
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