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One cold November evening several little pigs were lying very comfortably in their sty, and keeping themselves warm by burying their noses under the straw, when one who had been routing about very uneasily for some time gave a loud grunt all at once, and seemed to be very much frightened. His mother, the old sow, who was stretched in one corner of the
sty fast asleep, opened her little brown eyes, and asked in a very angry voice what was the matter. Several of the little pigs answered at once that it was only Wilful who was making such a noise that nobody could go to sleep.
“Hush, hush, hush!” cried Wilful, as soon as his brothers were silent; “hush! do not you hear a great cracking and noise the other side of the yard? I am quite sure that the stables are on fire. Had not we better all go and help to put it out directly?”
“Nonsense and stuff, you foolish little fellow!” exclaimed his mother; “you are always fancying something or other is the matter, and wanting to poke your nose into things that don’t concern you. I cannot hear any noise at all, and I beg
you will be quiet, and let me go to sleep again.”