Once upon a time there was an old pig called Aunt Pettitoes. She had eight of a family: four little girl pigs, called Cross-patch, Suck-suck, Yock-yock and Spot; and four little boy pigs, called Alexander, Pigling Bland, Chin-chin and Stumpy. Stumpy had had an accident to his tail.
The eight little pigs had very fine appetites—“Yus, yus, yus! they eat and indeed they do eat!” said Aunt Pettitoes, looking at her family with pride. Suddenly there were fearful squeals; Alexander had squeezed inside the hoops of the pig trough and stuck. Aunt Pettitoes and I dragged him out by the hind legs.
Chin-chin was already in disgrace; it was washing day, and he had eaten a piece of soap. And presently in a basket of clean clothes, we found another dirty little pig—“Tchut, tut, tut! whichever is this?” grunted Aunt Pettitoes.
Now all the pig family are pink, or pink with black spots, but this pig child was smutty black all over; when it had been popped into a tub, it proved to be Yock-yock.
I went into the garden; there I found Cross-patch and Suck-suck rooting up carrots. I whipped them myself and led them out by the ears. Cross-patch tried to bite me.
“Aunt Pettitoes, Aunt Pettitoes! you are a worthy person, but your family is not well brought up. Every one of them has been in mischief except Spot and Pigling Bland.”
“Yus, yus!” sighed Aunt Pettitoes. “And they drink bucketfuls of milk; I shall have to get another cow! Good little Spot shall stay at home to do the housework; but the others must go. Four little boy pigs and four little girl pigs are too many altogether. Yus, yus, yus,” said Aunt Pettitoes, “there will be more to eat without them.”
So Chin-chin and Suck-suck went away in a wheelbarrow, and Stumpy, Yock-yock and Cross-patch rode away in a cart.
And the other two little boy pigs, Pigling Bland and Alexander, went to market. We brushed their coats, we curled their tails and washed their little faces, and wished them good-bye in the yard.
Aunt Pettitoes wiped her eyes with a large pocket-handkerchief, then she wiped Pigling Bland's nose and shed tears; then she wiped Alexander's nose and shed tears; then she passed the handkerchief to Spot. Aunt Pettitoes sighed and grunted, and addressed those little pigs as follows—
“Now Pigling Bland, son Pigling Bland, you must go to market. Take your brother Alexander by the hand. Mind your Sunday clothes, and remember to blow your nose”—(Aunt Pettitoes passed round the handkerchief again)—“beware of traps, hen roosts, bacon and eggs; always walk upon your hind legs.” Pigling Bland, who was a sedate little pig, looked solemnly at his mother, a tear trickled down his cheek.
Aunt Pettitoes turned to the other—“Now son Alexander take the hand”—
“Wee, wee, wee!” giggled Alexander—
“take the hand of your brother Pigling Bland, you must go to market. Mind—”
“Wee, wee, wee!” interrupted Alexander again.
“You put me out,” said Aunt Pettitoes—“Observe sign-posts and milestones; do not gobble herring bones—”
“And remember,” said I impressively, “if you once cross the county boundary you cannot come back. Alexander, you are not attending. Here are two licences permitting two pigs to go to market in Lancashire. Attend, Alexander. I have had no end of trouble in getting these papers from the policeman.” Pigling Bland listened gravely; Alexander was hopelessly volatile.
I pinned the papers, for safety, inside their waistcoat pockets; Aunt Pettitoes gave to each a little bundle, and eight conversation peppermints with appropriate moral sentiments in screws of paper. Then they started.
Pigling Bland and Alexander trotted along steadily for a mile; at least Pigling Bland did. Alexander made the road half as long again by skipping from side to side. He danced about and pinched his brother, singing—
“This pig went to market,
this pig stayed at home,
This pig had a bit of meat—”
“Let's see what they have given us for dinner, Pigling?”
Pigling Bland and Alexander sat down and untied their bundles. Alexander gobbled up his dinner in no time; he had already eaten all his own peppermints—“Give me one of yours, please, Pigling?”
“But I wish to preserve them for emergencies,” said Pigling Bland doubtfully. Alexander went into squeals of laughter. Then he pricked Pigling with the pin that had fastened his pig paper; and when Pigling slapped him he dropped the pin, and tried to take Pigling's pin, and the papers got mixed up. Pigling Bland reproved Alexander.
But presently they made it up again, and trotted away together, singing—
“Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
stole a pig and away he ran!
But all the tune that he could play,
was ‘Over the hills and far away!’”
“What's that, young sirs? Stole a pig? Where are your licences?” said the policeman. They had nearly run against him round a corner. Pigling Bland pulled out his paper; Alexander, after fumbling, handed over something crumply—
“To 2 1/2 oz. conversation sweeties at three farthings—What's this? This ain't a licence?” Alexander's nose lengthened visibly, he had lost it. “I had one, indeed I had, Mr. Policeman!”
“It's not likely they let you start without. I am passing the farm. You may walk with me.”
“Can I come back too?” inquired Pigling Bland.
“I see no reason, young sir; your paper is all right.”
Pigling Bland did not like going on alone, and it was beginning to rain. But it is unwise to argue with the police; he gave his brother a peppermint, and watched him out of sight.
To conclude the adventures of Alexander—the policeman sauntered up to the house about tea-time, followed by a damp subdued little pig. I disposed of Alexander in the neighbourhood; he did fairly well when he had settled down.
Pigling Bland went on alone dejectedly; he came to cross-roads and a sign-post—“To Market Town, 5 miles”, “Over the Hills, 4 miles”, “To Pettitoes Farm, 3 miles”.
Pigling Bland was shocked, there was little hope of sleeping in Market Town, and tomorrow was the hiring fair; it was deplorable to think how much time had been wasted by the frivolity of Alexander. He glanced wistfully along the road towards the hills, and then set off walking obediently the other way, buttoning up his coat against the rain. He had never wanted to go; and the idea of standing all by himself in a crowded market, to be stared at, pushed, and hired by some big strange farmer was very disagreeable—
“I wish I could have a little garden and grow potatoes,” said Pigling Bland. He put his cold hand in his pocket and felt his paper, he put his other hand in his other pocket and felt another paper—Alexander's! Pigling squealed; then ran back frantically, hoping to overtake Alexander and the policeman. He took a wrong turn—several wrong turns, and was quite lost.
It grew dark, the wind whistled, the trees creaked and groaned.
Pigling Bland became frightened and cried “Wee, wee, wee! I can't find my way home!” After an hour's wandering he got out of the wood; the moon shone through the clouds, and Pigling Bland saw a country that was new to him. The road crossed a moor; below was a wide valley with a river twinkling in the moonlight, and beyond, in misty distance, lay the hills.
He saw a small wooden hut, made his way to it, and crept inside—“I am afraid it is a hen house, but what can I do?” said Pigling Bland, wet and cold and quite tired out.
“Bacon and eggs, bacon and eggs!” clucked a hen on a perch.
“Trap, trap, trap! cackle, cackle, cackle!” scolded the disturbed cockerel. “To market, to market! jiggetty jig!” clucked a broody white hen roosting next to him. Pigling Bland, much alarmed, determined to leave at daybreak. In the meantime, he and the hens fell asleep.
In less than an hour they were all awakened. The owner, Mr. Peter Thomas Piperson, came with a lantern and a hamper to catch six fowls to take to market in the morning. He grabbed the white hen roosting next to the cock; then his eye fell upon Pigling Bland, squeezed up in a corner. He made a singular remark—“Hallo, here's another!”—seized Pigling by the scruff of the neck, and dropped him into the hamper. Then he dropped in five more dirty, kicking, cackling hens upon the top of Pigling Bland.
The hamper containing six fowls and a young pig was no light weight; it was taken down hill, unsteadily, with jerks. Pigling, although nearly scratched to pieces, contrived to hide the papers and peppermints inside his clothes.
At last the hamper was bumped down upon a kitchen floor, the lid was opened, and Pigling was lifted out. He looked up, blinking, and saw an offensively ugly elderly man, grinning from ear to ear.
“This one's come of himself, whatever,” said Mr. Piperson, turning Pigling's pockets inside out. He pushed the hamper into a corner, threw a sack over it to keep the hens quiet, put a pot on the fire, and unlaced his boots.
Pigling Bland drew forward a coppy stool, and sat on the edge of it, shyly warming his hands. Mr. Piperson pulled off a boot and threw it against the wainscot at the further end of the kitchen. There was a smothered noise—“Shut up!” said Mr. Piperson. Pigling Bland warmed his hands, and eyed him.
Mr. Piperson pulled off the other boot and flung it after the first, there was again a curious noise—“Be quiet, will ye?” said Mr. Piperson. Pigling Bland sat on the very edge of the coppy stool.
Mr. Piperson fetched meal from a chest and made porridge. It seemed to Pigling that something at the further end of the kitchen was taking a suppressed interest in the cooking, but he was too hungry to be troubled by noises.
Mr. Piperson poured out three platefuls: for himself, for Pigling, and a third—after glaring at Pigling—he put away with much scuffling, and locked up. Pigling Bland ate his supper discreetly.
After supper Mr. Piperson consulted an almanac, and felt Pigling's ribs; it was too late in the season for curing bacon, and he grudged his meal. Besides, the hens had seen this pig. He looked at the small remains of a flitch, and then looked undecidedly at Pigling. “You may sleep on the rug,” said Mr. Peter Thomas Piperson.
Pigling Bland slept like a top. In the morning Mr. Piperson made more porridge; the weather was warmer. He looked to see how much meal was left in the chest, and seemed dissatisfied—“You'll likely be moving on again?” said he to Pigling Bland.
Before Pigling could reply, a neighbour, who was giving Mr. Piperson and the hens a lift, whistled from the gate. Mr. Piperson hurried out with the hamper, enjoining Pigling to shut the door behind him and not meddle with nought; or “I'll come back and skin ye!” said Mr. Piperson.
It crossed Pigling's mind that if he had asked for a lift, too, he might still have been in time for market. But he distrusted Peter Thomas.
After finishing breakfast at his leisure, Pigling had a look round the cottage; everything was locked up. He found some potato peelings in a bucket in the back kitchen. Pigling ate the peel, and washed up the 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 voice chimed in—
“Over the hills and a great way off,
The wind shall blow my top knot off!”
Pigling Bland put down a plate which he was wiping, and listened.
After a long pause, Pigling went on tip-toe and peeped round the door into the front kitchen. There was nobody there.
After another pause, Pigling approached the door of the locked cupboard, and snuffed at the keyhole. It was quite quiet.
After another long pause, Pigling pushed a peppermint under the door. It was sucked in immediately.
In the course of the day Pigling pushed in all the remaining six peppermints.
When Mr. Piperson returned, he found Pigling sitting before the fire; he had brushed up the hearth and put on the pot to boil; the meal was not get-at-able.
Mr. Piperson was very affable; he slapped Pigling on the back, made lots of porridge and forgot to lock the meal chest. He did lock the cupboard door; but without properly shutting it. He went to bed early, and told Pigling upon no account to disturb him next day before twelve o'clock.
Pigling Bland sat by the fire, eating his supper. All at once at his elbow, a little voice spoke—“My name is Pig-wig. Make me more porridge, please!” Pigling Bland jumped, and looked round.
A perfectly lovely little black Berkshire pig stood smiling beside him. She had twinkly little screwed up eyes, a double chin, and a short turned up nose. She pointed at Pigling's plate; he hastily gave it to her, and fled to the meal chest—“How did you come here?” asked Pigling Bland.
“Stolen,” replied Pig-wig, with her mouth full. Pigling helped himself to meal without scruple.
“What for?”
“Bacon, hams,” replied Pig-wig cheerfully.
“Why on earth don't you run away?” exclaimed the horrified Pigling.
“I shall after supper,” said Pig-wig decidedly.
Pigling Bland made more porridge and watched her shyly. She finished a second plate, got up, and looked about her, as though she were going to start.
“You can't go in the dark,” said Pigling Bland.
Pig-wig looked anxious.
“Do you know your way by daylight?”
“I know we can see this little white house from the hills across the river. Which way are you going, Mr. Pig?”
“To market—I have two pig papers. I might take you to the bridge; if you have no objection,” said Pigling much confused and sitting on the edge of his coppy stool. Pig-wig's gratitude was such and she asked so many questions that it became embarrassing to Pigling Bland. He was obliged to shut his eyes and pretend to sleep. She became quiet, and there was a smell of peppermint.
“I thought you had eaten them,” said Pigling, waking suddenly.
“Only the corners,” replied Pig-wig, studying the sentiments with much interest by the firelight.
“I wish you wouldn't; he might smell them through the ceiling,” said the alarmed Pigling.
Pig-wig put back the sticky peppermints into her pocket; “Sing something,” she demanded.
“I am sorry . . . I have toothache,” said Pigling much dismayed.
“Then I will sing,” replied Pig-wig. “You will not mind if I say iddy tidditty? I have forgotten some of the words.”
Pigling Bland made no objection; he sat with his eyes half shut, and watched her. She wagged her head and rocked about, clapping time and singing in a 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 through three or four verses, only at every verse her head nodded a little lower, and her little twinkly eyes closed up—
“Those three little piggies grew peaky and lean,
and lean they might very well be;
For somehow they couldn't say umph, umph, umph!
and they wouldn't say wee, wee, wee!
For somehow they couldn't say—”
Pig-wig's head bobbed lower and lower, until she rolled over, a little round ball, fast asleep on the hearthrug.
Pigling Bland, on tip-toe, covered her up with an antimacassar. He was afraid to go to sleep himself; for the rest of the night he sat listening to the chirping of the crickets and to the snores of Mr. Piperson overhead.
Early in the morning, between dark and daylight, Pigling tied up his little bundle and woke up Pig-wig. She was excited and half-frightened. But it's dark! How can we find our way?”
“The cock has crowed; we must start before the hens come out; they might shout to Mr. Piperson.”
Pig-wig sat down again, and commenced to cry.
“Come away Pig-wig; we can see when we get used to it. Come! I can hear them clucking!”
Pigling had never said shuh! to a hen in his life, being peaceable; also he remembered the hamper. He opened the house door quietly and shut it after them. There was no garden; the neighbourhood of Mr. Piperson's was all scratched up by fowls. They slipped away hand in hand across an untidy field to the road.
The sun rose while they were crossing the moor, a dazzle of light over the tops of the hills. The sunshine crept down the slopes into the peaceful green valleys, where little white cottages nestled in gardens and orchards.
“That's Westmorland,” said Pig-wig. She dropped Pigling's hand and commenced to dance, singing—
“Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
stole a pig and away he ran!
“But all the tune that he could play,
was ‘Over the hills and far away!’”
“Come, Pig-wig, we must get to the bridge before folks are stirring.”
“Why do you want to go to market, Pigling?” inquired Pig-wig presently.
“I don't want; I want to grow potatoes.”
“Have a peppermint?” said Pig-wig. Pigling Bland refused quite crossly.
“Does your poor toothy hurt?” inquired Pig-wig. Pigling Bland grunted.
Pig-wig ate the peppermint herself, and followed the opposite side of the road. “Pig-wig! keep under the wall, there's a man ploughing.” Pig-wig crossed over, they hurried down hill towards the county boundary.
Suddenly Pigling stopped; he heard wheels.
Slowly jogging up the road below them came a tradesman's cart. The reins flapped on the horse's back, the grocer was reading a newspaper.
“Take that peppermint out of your mouth, Pig-wig, we may have to run. Don't say one word. Leave it to 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 his newspaper, might have passed them, if his horse had not shied and snorted. He pulled the cart crossways, and held down his whip. “Hallo! Where are you going to?”—Pigling Bland stared at him vacantly.
“Are you deaf? Are you going to market?” Pigling nodded slowly.
“I thought as much. It was yesterday. Show me your licence?”
Pigling stared at the off hind shoe of the grocer's horse which had picked up a stone.
The grocer flicked his whip—“Papers? Pig licence?” Pigling fumbled in all his pockets, and handed up the papers. The grocer read them, but still seemed dissatisfied. “This here pig, is a young lady; is her name Alexander?” Pig-wig opened her mouth and shut it again; Pigling coughed asthmatically.
The grocer ran his finger down the advertisement column of his newspaper—“Lost, stolen or strayed, Ios. reward”; He looked suspiciously at Pig-wig. Then he stood up in the trap, and whistled for the ploughman.
“You wait here while I drive on and speak to him,” said the grocer, gathering up the reins. He knew that pigs are slippery; but surely, such a very lame pig could never run!
“Not yet, Pig-wig, he will look back.” The grocer did so; he saw the two pigs stock-still in the middle of the road. Then he looked over at his horse's heels; it was lame also; the stone took some time to knock out, after he got to the ploughman.
“Now, Pig-wig, now!” said Pigling Bland.
Never did any pigs run as these pigs ran! They raced and squealed and pelted down the long white hill towards the bridge. Little fat Pig-wig's petticoats fluttered, and her feet went pitter, patter, pitter, as she bounded and jumped.
They ran, and they ran, and they ran down the hill, and across a short cut on level green turf at the bottom, between pebble beds and rushes.
They came to the river, they came to the bridge—they crossed it hand in hand—then over the hills and far away she danced with Pigling Bland!
THE END
從前,有一只上了年紀的母豬,叫作蹄子阿姨,她家里有八個孩子,其中有四只小母豬,分別是暴脾氣、吸吸、笑笑和點點,另外四只小公豬,分別是亞歷山大、平平、下巴頦和禿尾巴。禿尾巴的尾巴曾經(jīng)發(fā)生過一些事故。
這八只小豬的胃口都很好?!皢褑褑?,他們吃啊吃,他們真的是吃個不停!”蹄子阿姨驕傲地看著她的孩子們。這時突然傳來了一陣恐怖的尖叫聲,亞歷山大鉆進了豬食槽的鐵環(huán)里,被卡在那里了。蹄子阿姨和我抓著他的后腿才把他拉了出來。
下巴頦總是做丟臉的事情,洗衣日那天,他吃掉了一塊肥皂。不一會兒,我們在一籃子干凈的衣服中,發(fā)現(xiàn)了另一只臟兮兮的小豬。“喲喲喲!這到底是哪個呀?”蹄子阿姨嘟囔道。
整個家里的小豬都是粉色的,或是粉色帶黑色斑點的,但這只小豬全身都是黑乎乎的,等把這只小豬放進浴桶里洗過后發(fā)現(xiàn),這是笑笑。
我走進了菜園,發(fā)現(xiàn)暴脾氣和吸吸把胡蘿卜都拔出來了,我打了她們一頓,拎著她們的耳朵把她們揪出了菜園。暴脾氣還想咬我。
“蹄子阿姨,蹄子阿姨!你是個值得尊敬的人,可是你的孩子卻沒有良好的教養(yǎng)。他們每個都調(diào)皮搗蛋,只有點點和平平還不錯?!?/p>
“是啊,是啊?!碧阕影⒁虈@了口氣,“而且他們喝了好多桶牛奶,我不得不再養(yǎng)一頭奶牛才行!乖乖的小點點要留在家做家務(wù),其他的都必須離開。四只小公豬和四只小母豬如果都湊在一起,實在太多了。是啊,是啊,是啊,”蹄子阿姨說,“如果沒有他們,食物就會很充足了?!?/p>
所以下巴頦和吸吸坐在一輛獨輪車里離開了,禿尾巴、笑笑和暴脾氣乘著一輛馬車走了。
剩下的兩只小公豬,平平和亞歷山大,要去集市了。我們刷了他們的皮毛,把他們的尾巴繞得更卷翹一些,洗干凈他們的小臉,在院子中和他們道別。
蹄子阿姨用一塊很大的手帕擦著眼淚,然后她擦了擦小豬平平的鼻涕,又流下了眼淚;接著她又擦了擦亞歷山大的鼻涕,眼淚又流下來了。然后她把手帕遞給了點點。蹄子阿姨嘆了一口氣,咕嚕著,對小豬們說出了下面的話:
“小豬平平,我的兒子小豬平平,你必須要去集市。牽著你的弟弟亞歷山大的手。注意別弄臟你禮拜天的好衣服,記得擦鼻涕——”蹄子阿姨又把手絹遞給他們倆,“小心陷阱,小心雞窩,小心咸肉和雞蛋,要一直用你的后腿走路?!毙∝i平平是一只安靜的小豬,他神情肅穆地看著自己的母親,一滴眼淚從他的臉頰上滑落。
蹄子阿姨開始對另一個兒子說話:“我的兒子亞歷山大,拉著——”
“喂,喂,喂!”亞歷山大咯咯笑了起來。
“拉著你的哥哥平平的手,你必須去集市。注意——”
“喂,喂,喂!”亞歷山大又打斷了媽媽的話。
“你沒好好聽我說話!”蹄子阿姨說,“注意看路標和里程碑,不要吃到鯡魚刺——”
“另外記住,”我強調(diào),“你們只要過了村子的分界線,就回不來了。亞歷山大,你沒有認真聽。這里有兩張允許兩只豬去往蘭開夏集市的許可證。聽著,亞歷山大。我去警察局弄這些證件可并不容易,我可不想再去一次?!毙∝i平平嚴肅地聽著,而亞歷山大則不可救藥地跑著神。
為了保險,我把證件用別針別在了他們的馬甲口袋里。蹄子阿姨給每只小豬一個小包袱,八顆薄荷糖,以及寫在一卷紙上的行為規(guī)范。然后,他們便出發(fā)了。
小豬平平和亞歷山大快步前進,走了一英里遠,至少平平走了一英里。亞歷山大有半里路都是不停地從路一邊跳到另一邊。他手舞足蹈,不停地捏他的哥哥,還唱著歌:
這只小豬去集市,
這只小豬家中留,
這只小豬吃肉肉——
“看看他們給咱們準備了什么飯,平平?”
平平和亞歷山大坐在地上,解開了包袱。亞歷山大立刻就把自己的飯狼吞虎咽地吃完了。他還吃光了他的薄荷糖?!敖o我一顆糖吧,求求你了,平平?!?/p>
“但我想留著在緊急情況時用?!逼狡竭t疑地說。亞歷山大尖聲笑了起來,然后他用固定他許可證的別針刺平平,平平揮手打他時,他把別針弄掉了,就想要搶平平的別針,兩份證件混在了一起。平平訓(xùn)斥了亞歷山大。
不過,不一會兒,他們就和好了,又一起小跑著向前走。他們邊走邊唱:
湯姆,湯姆,吹笛人的兒子,
他偷了一只豬,然后跑掉了!
但是他會吹的調(diào)子只有一首,
《在山的那邊遙遠的地方》!
“說什么?年輕的先生們?偷了一只豬?你們的許可證呢?”警察說。在一個拐彎的地方他們差一點兒就撞到他身上。平平拿出了自己的證件,亞歷山大摸索了一陣后,遞出了一個皺巴巴的東西——
“兩盎司半糖果,花費三法尋?!@是什么?這可不是許可證。”亞歷山大的臉垮了下來,他把許可證給弄丟了?!拔矣幸环菰S可證的,我真有的,警察先生?!?/p>
“看上去你出門的時候他們的確是讓你帶了。我要經(jīng)過農(nóng)場。你可以跟著我走?!?/p>
“我也能回去嗎?”平平問。
“我覺得你沒必要,年輕的先生。你的許可證沒問題?!?/p>
平平并不愿意獨自上路,而且天也開始下雨了。但是和警察爭執(zhí)并不明智,他給了弟弟一顆薄荷糖,目送他走出了自己的視線。
簡單介紹下亞歷山大的經(jīng)歷——警察大約在下午茶的時候悠閑地走進了我們的房子,后面跟著一只濕漉漉、沮喪的小豬。我把亞歷山大處理給了鄰居,他安頓下來之后過得很好。
平平垂頭喪氣地獨自前行,他走到十字路口,看到了一個路標——“去集市鎮(zhèn)五英里;翻山四英里;去蹄子農(nóng)場三英里。”
平平很吃驚,今天晚上到達集市鎮(zhèn)的希望微乎其微,而明天就是雇傭集市了。一想到亞歷山大的玩鬧浪費了多少時間,他的心情就更糟了。他惆悵地望了望通往山里的那條路,然后便乖乖地走上了另一條路。他扣緊了外套,以抵御雨水。他從來都不想去,一想到自己獨自站在一個擁擠的集市中,被別人審視,推搡,被某個陌生的大個子農(nóng)夫雇走,他真的非常難過。
“我希望自己能有個小菜園,種些土豆?!逼狡秸f。他把涼涼的手插入口袋,摸到了自己的許可證,他把另一只手放入了另一個口袋,摸到了另一張許可證——那是亞歷山大的!平平尖叫了起來,然后瘋狂地往回跑,希望能追上亞歷山大和警察。但是他拐錯了一個彎,又拐錯了好幾個彎,最后徹底迷路了。
天越來越黑,風(fēng)在低吟,樹枝搖曳,吱嘎作響。
平平越來越害怕,哭了起來。“喂,喂,喂,我找不到回家的路了!”經(jīng)過一個小時的游蕩后,他終于離開了森林,月光穿過云層照射了下來,一個從沒有見過的村子出現(xiàn)在平平眼前。一條路穿過一片荒原,下面是一條寬闊的山谷,有一條小河在月光下閃爍著波光,而在遠處——朦朧的遠方——是群山。
他看到一座小木屋,便走了過去,偷偷摸摸地進了屋?!拔液軗?dān)心這里是個雞窩,不過我還能怎么辦呢?”平平說,他渾身濕漉漉的,很冷,而且實在累壞了。
“咸肉和雞蛋,咸肉和雞蛋!”一只母雞在棲息處上叫道。
“陷阱!陷阱!陷阱!咯咯!咯咯!咯咯!”被打擾到的公雞斥責(zé)道?!叭ゼ?!去集市!咯咯嘰!”他旁邊一只正在抱窩的白母雞叫道。小豬平平被嚇壞了,決定天一亮就離開。漸漸地,他和母雞們都睡著了。
不到一個小時,他們都被吵醒了。雞窩的主人彼得·湯馬斯·派伯森先生提著一盞燈和一個大筐子,準備抓六只雞,第二天早晨帶去集市上賣。他抓住了公雞旁邊的白母雞,然后他的眼睛落到了縮在角落里的平平身上。他說了一句莫名其妙的話:“哈,這又是一只!”他抓住了平平的脖子,把他丟進了筐子里。然后他又抓住了五只臟兮兮的不停踢蹬亂叫的母雞,丟到了平平的身上。
筐子里面裝了六只雞和一只小豬,分量可不輕??鹱颖粠е律?,一路顛簸。盡管快被那些小母雞抓成碎片了,小豬平平盡量想辦法把他的證件和薄荷糖都藏到了衣服里面。
最后,筐子終于被重重地放在了一間廚房的地板上,蓋子被掀開來,小豬被抓了出來。他抬頭看去,眨著眼睛,看到了一個丑得出奇的老頭兒,正咧著大嘴笑。
“反正這只是自己送上門來的?!迸刹壬f著,把小豬的口袋翻了個底朝天。他把筐子推到角落里,扔了一個口袋蓋在上面,以便讓母雞們保持安靜,然后在爐火上放了一個水壺,接著便解開了他的靴子。
小豬平平拉過一張銅凳子,坐在邊緣上,害羞地烤著自己的手。派伯森先生脫下靴子,扔到了廚房另一邊的護墻板上。這時傳來了一個壓抑的聲音?!伴]嘴!”派伯森先生說。平平烤著手,看著他。
派伯森先生拽下另一只靴子,也像第一只那樣扔了出去。又傳來一聲奇怪的聲音。“安靜,好不好?”派伯森先生說。平平坐在銅凳的最邊緣處。
派伯森先生從一個箱子里拿出了玉米粉,又做了一些粥。平平覺得,就在廚房的另一端,有什么東西正強忍著對這些食物的興趣,但是他太餓了,沒有精力去想那些聲音的事兒了。
派伯森先生將三個盤子倒得滿滿的,他自己一份,平平一份,第三盤——瞪了平平一眼之后——拿走了,還鎖了起來。小豬平平戰(zhàn)戰(zhàn)兢兢地吃光了他的飯。
飯后,派伯森先生查了查日歷,摸了摸小豬平平的肋骨,現(xiàn)在這個季節(jié)腌咸肉的話已經(jīng)太晚了,他很舍不得自己的玉米粉。另外,那些母雞已經(jīng)看到這只小豬了。他看著自己剩下的熏豬肋肉不多了,然后又遲疑不決地看著小豬?!澳憧梢运谛〉靥荷稀!北说谩R斯·派伯森先生說。
小豬平平睡得很香。早晨,派伯森先生又做了些粥。天氣比昨天暖和多了。他看了看箱子里剩下的玉米粉,明顯很不滿意?!澳氵€會繼續(xù)走嗎?”他問平平。
還沒等平平回答,一個鄰居在大門口處吹口哨——派伯森先生要帶著母雞搭他的車。派伯森先生匆匆忙忙提起筐子,命令小豬在他走后關(guān)上門,不該動的不要動。不然,“我回來就扒了你的皮!”派伯森先生說。
平平突然靈機一動,如果他也請求搭車,也許他也能夠及時到達集市。但是他不相信彼得·湯馬斯。
慢悠悠地吃過早飯后,小豬平平四處查看了一下小屋。所有東西都被鎖起來了。他看到廚房后面的一個桶里面有一些土豆皮。平平吃掉了土豆皮,在桶里洗了盛粥用的盤子。他一邊干活一邊唱歌:
湯姆用他的笛子吹出了聲音,
引來了所有的男孩和女孩,
他們?nèi)寂軄砺犓葑?/p>
《在山的那邊遙遠的地方》!
突然間,有一個小小的、壓抑的聲音加入了進來:
在山的那邊很遠很遠的地方,
風(fēng)會把我的頭飾給吹跑!
小豬平平放下正在擦著的盤子,仔細聽著。
過了好長一會兒,小豬平平踮著腳尖走過去,站在門口朝廚房的前面偷偷地看,那里什么人都沒有。
又過了一會兒,小豬平平走到被鎖著的櫥柜門那里,嗅了嗅鎖孔。這里也格外安靜。
又過了一會兒,小豬平平把一塊薄荷糖從門下面的縫隙中推了過去。糖很快就消失了。
那天,小豬平平把剩下的六塊糖都塞了過去。
等到派伯森先生回來的時候,他看到小豬坐在爐火前,小豬平平刷了灶臺,還在爐子上燒了壺水,只是平平拿不到玉米粉,所以做不了飯。
派伯森先生很友善,他拍了拍小豬的后背,做了很多粥,但忘了鎖上裝玉米粉的箱子。他的確給櫥柜的門上了鎖,但是卻沒有把門關(guān)嚴。他早早地就上床睡覺了,告訴小豬平平不管什么原因第二天也不要在十二點之前叫醒他。
小豬平平坐在爐火邊,吃著自己的晚餐。就在這時,就在他的胳膊肘邊,一個小小的聲音說:“我的名字叫小豬薇格,請給我再做點粥吧!”小豬平平跳了起來,環(huán)顧四周。
一只非??蓯鄣暮谏讼男∝i正笑瞇瞇地站在他身旁。那小豬有一雙閃閃發(fā)亮的瞇瞇眼,雙下巴,短短的小翹鼻。她指著小豬平平的盤子,平平急忙把盤子遞給了她,然后跑到了裝玉米粉的箱子邊?!澳闶窃趺磥淼竭@里的?”小豬平平問。
“被偷來的?!毙∝i薇格說,她的嘴里塞滿了東西。平平心安理得地從箱子里拿了玉米粉。
“為什么偷你來?”
“為了做咸肉、火腿唄?!毙∝i薇格肯定地說。
“你為什么不逃跑呢?”被嚇到的小豬平平問道。
“吃過飯后我就會跑的。”小豬薇格說。
小豬平平又做了些粥,害羞地看著她。她吃光了第二盤粥,站起身,看著周圍,像是準備馬上動身。
“你不能在夜里走?!毙∝i平平說。
小豬薇格似乎有些擔(dān)心。
“你白天的時候認識路嗎?”
“我知道我們能從河對岸的山上看到這座小白房子。你打算去哪里呢,豬先生?”
“去集市——我有兩張豬的許可證。我可以帶你到橋邊,如果你不反對的話?!逼狡秸f,他坐在銅凳的邊緣上,腦子一團亂。小豬薇格非常感激他,問了他許多問題,都讓平平開始不好意思了。他不得不閉上眼睛,假裝睡著了。小豬薇格也安靜了下來,空氣中傳來了薄荷糖的氣味。
“我以為你已經(jīng)把糖都吃了。”小豬平平突然醒了過來。
“只啃了點邊兒。”小豬薇格說,她就著爐火的光饒有興趣地研究著糖紙上的話。
“你最好別吃糖,他隔著天花板都能聞到糖的氣味?!毙∝i平平擔(dān)心地說。
小豬薇格把黏糊糊的糖放回了口袋里?!俺赘璋??!彼蟮?。
“抱歉——我牙疼?!毙∝i平平驚慌地說。
“那我來唱。”小豬薇格回說,“如果我唱‘嘀哩哩嘀’你不會介意吧?有些歌詞我已經(jīng)忘了?!?/p>
平平?jīng)]有反對,他半閉著眼睛坐著,看著她。她把腦袋搖來晃去,打著節(jié)拍,用甜美的、小小的咕噥聲唱道:
有一只古怪的豬媽媽,
住在一個豬圈里,
她有三只小豬娃,
嘀哩哩嘀哩哩,嗯嗯嗯
小豬們說:嗚喂!嗚喂!
小豬薇格成功地唱了三四小節(jié),只是每唱一小節(jié),她的頭就會更低一些。她閃光的小眼睛慢慢閉上了。
三只小豬長得瘦又弱,
他們瘦得實在太厲害,
因為他們不說嗯嗯嗯!
而且他們不說哼哼哼!
因為他們不說——
小豬薇格的頭越來越低,到最后她蜷成了一團,就像一個圓球一樣,很快就在壁爐前的地毯上睡著了。
小豬平平踮著腳,給她蓋上了一個椅子罩。他害怕自己也睡過去,那天晚上,他一直坐著,聽著蟋蟀的叫聲和樓上派伯森先生的呼嚕聲。
第二天一早,天剛蒙蒙亮,小豬平平便扎好了自己的小包袱,叫醒了小豬薇格。她很激動,又有點兒害怕?!暗爝€黑著呢!我們該怎么找到路呢?”
“公雞已經(jīng)叫過了。我
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