The Tale of Pigling Bland

The Great Big Treasury of Beatrix Potter

by Beatrix Potter

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 wheel-barrow, 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 signposts 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 licenses
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 licenses?" said
the policeman. They had
nearly run
against him round a corner. Pigling
Bland pulled
out his paper; Alexander,
after fumbling, handed over

something scrumply--

"To 2 1/2 oz. conversation sweeties
at three
farthings"--"What's this?
this ain't a license?" 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
neighborhood; 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!
jiggettyjig!"
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 [side of bacon],
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 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
neighbor, 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 tiptoe 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 his 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 cup-
board 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 day-
light?"

"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 tooth-
ache," 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
hearth-rug.

Pigling Bland, on tiptoe, 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 neighborhood of
Mr. Piperson's was
all scratched up
by fowls. They slipped away hand
in hand
across an untidy field to
the road.
"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

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--

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
license?"

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 license?" 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, 10S. 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 mid-

dle 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!