Pigling Bland was shocked, there was little hope of sleeping in Market Town, and to-morrow 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 allby 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 knotoff!"
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 doorinto the front kitchen.There was nobody there.
After another pause, Pigling approached the door of the locked cupboard, and snuffed at the key- hole.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 notget-at-able.
