n her eagerness to get the best and biggest bits for herself. Her
mother often scolded her for her selfishness, and told her that some day
she would suffer for being so greedy and grabbing.

Blacky was a good, nice little pig, neither dirty nor greedy. He had
nice dainty ways (for a pig), and his skin was always as smooth and
shining as black satin. He was much cleverer than Browny and Whitey, and
his mother's heart used to swell with pride when she heard the farmer's
friends say to each other that some day the little black fellow would be
a prize pig.

Now the time came when the mother pig felt old and feeble and near her
end. One day she called the three little pigs round her and said:

'My children, I feel that I am growing old and weak, and that I shall
not live long. Before I die I should like to build a house for each of
you, as this dear old sty in which we have lived so happily will be
given to a new family of pigs, and you will have to turn out. Now,
Browny, what sort of a house would you like to have?'

'A house of mud,' replied Browny, looking longingly at a wet puddle in
the corner of the yard.

'And you, Whitey?' said the mother pig in rather a sad voice, for she
was disappointed that Browny had made so foolish a choice.

'A house of cabbage,' answered Whitey, with a mouth full, and scarcely
raising her snout out of the trough in which she was grubbing for some
potato-parings.

'Foolish, foolish child!' said the mother pig, looking quite distressed,
'And you, Blacky?' turning to her youngest son, 'what sort of a house
shall I order for you?'

'A house of brick, please mother, as it will be warm in winter, and cool
in summer, and safe all the year round.'

'That is a sensible little pig,' replied his mother, looking fondly at
him. 'I will see that the three houses are got ready at once. And now
one last piece of advice. You have heard me talk of our old enemy the
fox. When he hears that I am dead, he is sure to try and get hold of
you, to carry you off to his den. He is very sly and will no doubt
disguise himself, and pretend to be a friend, but you must promise me
not to let him enter your houses on any pretext whatever.'

And the little pigs readily promised, for they had always had a great
fear of the fox, of whom they had heard many terrible tales. A short
time afterwards the old pig died, and the little pigs went to live in
their own houses.

Browny was quite delighted with his soft mud wal