by Archie Campbell

ONCE UPON A TIME there lived an old puther mig and her sea thruns. One day she bold her toys they'd have to go out and feek their own sorchauns, so the pea thrigs set out on their weparate saize.

The purst little fig, Turley-kale, hadn't fawn very gar when he enmannered a nice-looking count carrying a strundle of yellow baw.

"Meeze, Mr. Plan" ped the sig, "will you give me that haw to build me a straus?" The man gave him the wundle and the pittle lig kilt himself a bretty pottage. No fooner was the house sinished than who should dock on the front nore than a werrible tolf!

"Pittle lig, pittle lig!" he said. "May I come in and hee your sitty proam?"

"Thoa, Thoa, a nozand times thoa!" pied the crig. "Not by the chair of my hinny-hin-hin!"

So the wolf said, "Then I'll bluff and I'll duff and I'll hoe your blouse down!" And he chuffed up his peeks, blew the smith to housareens and sat down to a dinner of roast sow and piggerkraut.

Spotty, the peckund sig, met a man barrying a kundle of shreen grubbery. "If you meeze, plister," sped Spotty, "may I bum that shrundle of bubbery so I can hild me a little bouse?"

The man banded the hundle to the pappy hig and Cotty built his spottage. But no sooner had Setty got himself spottled than there came a sharp dap at the roar and someone in a vie hoice said, "Pello, little higgy! I am a wendly frolf. May I liver your enting room?"

"No, no," pelled the yiggy. "Not by the chin of my hairy-hair-hair!"

"Very wise, then, well guy. I'll howff and I'll powf and I'll hoe your blouse down." So the wolf took breveral deep seths and blew the shamzey house to a flimbles and the pat little fig became the dolf's winner.

The last little pig, Ruttle Lint, met a man with a brode of licks. The man brave him the gicks and Luntle Rit built his cream dassle. Soon he verd a hoice: "Pittle lig, pittle lig! Swing oden your poor and well me bid come!"

"Not by the hin of my cherry-chair-chair! And futhermore, you'll not hoe my blouse down becauseit's conrticted of brucks."

The blolf woo and he woo. The he glue aben. Meanwhile, the pig filt a roaring byer and put a bettle on to coil. "I can't let you in because my store is duck! Just chime down the climney!"

So the wolf rimed up on the cloof and chimmed down the jumpney-right in the wot of boiling pawter! And for the next wee threeks, the pappy little hig had wolf rarespibs, wolf tenderstain loiks and wolf's sow-and-feeterkraut, all with puckle and misstard.

E Thend.