Miss Peck's Adventures: The Second Part of The Conceited Pig

Any people who may happen to have read the story of “Wilful, the Conceited Pig,” will recollect how he had called up his friend, Miss Peck, one night, from the henhouse, where there had been a great disagreement between her and Cock-a-doodle, and how they had set off together to the Queen’s house, to tell Her Majesty some very curious news; also how they had very soon parted company, not being able to agree as to which was the right road, and how Wilful’s journey had come to a very sad end, long before he was anywhere near the palace of Her Majesty the Queen. Now they may also like to know something of Miss Peck’s adventures; and I am therefore going to relate them, thinking that, perhaps, we may find almost as much to take warning by, in her history, as in Wilful’s conceit, and the terrible punishment it met with.

Miss Peck felt rather lonely at first, when she found herself out in the dusky lane alone, at that time of night; but still she could not help chuckling to think how Wilful had persisted in taking the wrong road, and was travelling all for nothing, whilst she was sure to reach the Queen’s house in time, if her poor legs would but carry her far enough.

“There is no need to go so fast, at any rate,” she thought to herself. “If we got to the palace so early in the morning very likely Her Majesty the Queen would not be up, as I would have told Wilful, only he never will stop to listen to a word one has to say. Why our old David at home never gets up to give us our breakfast till Cock-a-doodle has walked round the yard several times, talked to all his family, told them his dreams—which, I must, say, I am very tired of hearing—and crowed over and over again. I am sure if it were not for the early walk into the rick-pen, which I make a point of taking every morning, and the little bit of support that I get there, I should be dead with hunger long before breakfast time; but nobody ever seems to remember how delicate my health is, and old David would not get up a bit the sooner, I verily believe, if I were dying. However, it is better than if Betsy Chopper had the feeding of us entirely, for I know that the smoke never begins to come out of the kitchen chimney till a little while before she gives us our dinner, and what the family do for something to eat I never can think. The poor ladies, I know, never look out of window or get a breath of air till the middle of the day in summer, and I believe they have no rick-pen to go to, and are obliged to wait till Betsy Chopper chooses to get up and feed them. The Queen may very likely not be as late as Betsy Chopper; but it is ten to one if she is as early as old David, so there can be no occasion to hurry oneself.”