Mother's Nursery Tales - Cover

Mother's Nursery Tales

Copyright© 2024 by Katharine Pyle

The Little Old Woman and Her Pig

One time a little old woman was sweeping her room, and she found in the corner a bright silver shilling. “There!” said the old woman, “Now I can buy that little pig I have been wanting for such a long time.”

She finished her sweeping in a hurry and put on her bonnet and her shawl and started off to market to buy her pig, and she carried a tin pail with her so she could gather blackberries along the way.

The bushes were fairly loaded down with berries, so it did not take her long to fill her pail, and after that she got to market in no time.

At first she could not find just the pig she wanted. Some were too little and some were too big; some were too fat and some were too thin. But at last she found just exactly the right pig; it was round and pink and it had one black ear, and the curliest tail there was in the market. She paid just exactly a shilling for it, and then she tied a rope around its hind leg and started home with it, driving it before her, and carrying the pail of blackberries on her arm.

At first all went well. The little pig trotted quietly along, and the sun shone, and the birds sang, and the little white clouds floated across the sky. But presently they came to a stile, and the pig did not want to go over it. Now, there was no way to go round, and no way to get home except over this stile.

“Go on, piggy,” said the old woman, shaking the rope. But piggy wouldn’t go on. The old woman tried to drive him, and he wouldn’t go, and then she tried to lead him, and then she coaxed him and talked to him, but he just wouldn’t go over the stile.

At last the old woman quite lost patience with him. She saw a dog trotting along the road, and she called to him. “Here! here, good dog; come and bite piggy, for I can’t make pig go over the stile, and at this rate I won’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

The dog stopped and looked at her and looked at the pig, but he would not bite it.

Close by a stick lay in the road, and the woman called to it (and she was quite cross by this time). “Stick, stick, beat dog; dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and at this rate I shan’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

THE PIG WOULD NOT GO OVER THE STILE

But the stick wouldn’t. It lay there quietly in the road just as though she hadn’t spoken to it.

Over in the field a fire was burning, and the old woman called to it, “Fire, fire, burn stick; stick won’t beat dog, dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and at this rate I won’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

But the fire wouldn’t.

Then the old woman called to a brook near by, “Water, water, quench fire; fire won’t burn stick, stick won’t beat dog, dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and I shan’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

But the brook wouldn’t.

She saw an ox over in the field. “Ox, ox,” she cried, “drink water; water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn stick, stick won’t beat dog, dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and I shan’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

But the ox wouldn’t.

She saw a butcher riding along the road, and she called to him “Butcher, butcher, kill ox; ox won’t drink water, water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn stick, stick won’t beat dog, dog won’t bite pig, pig won’t go over the stile, and I won’t get home till midnight with my pail of fine ripe blackberries.”

But the butcher wouldn’t.

 
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