Three little pigs came to the edge of a wide field where the grass bent in long silver lines. They had grown enough to make homes of their own, and each carried a bundle. The first pig carried an armful of straw that smelled of summer, while the second dragged a neat stack of sticks behind him with a cord of rushes. The third pig came more slowly, pulling a handcart full of bricks that knocked together with a heavy sound.
The sun was still high when the first pig tied his straw into walls and pressed more straw across the roof. "It will do," he said, brushing bits from his nose. The second pig leaned sticks one against another, crossed them, and bound them tight. His house stood taller than the first, and he stepped back to look at it with pleasure. The third pig laid one brick, then another, and spread mortar between them with a flat trowel. His work went on so slowly that evening had begun before the walls reached his shoulders.
As the first pig was setting a little stool inside his straw house, a wolf came over the field. He was lean and gray, and he stopped at the door with his paws together as if he had come on an ordinary errand. "Little pig, little pig, let me come in," said the wolf. The first pig stood behind his straw latch and simply said, "No." Then the wolf drew in a long breath. …
6 chapters
