I told my story first, as mammas usually do; and it was all about a naughty little pig, who did not mind his mother when she bade him stay in the sty, but crawled through a hole in the wall.
Of course this pig got into the garden, and was whipped by the farmer, and bitten by the dog, and had all sorts of unpleasant things happen to him, till he was glad to get back again to the sty.
"Now I'll tell you a pig story," said Birdie, with a very wise look.
"Once there was a big mother-pig, and she had lots of children-pigs. One was spotted, and his name was Spotty; one's tail curled, and he was Curly; another was white, and he was Whitey; another was Browny; and another was Greeny."
"Oh, dear! The idea of a green pig!" said I.
But Birdie's eyes were fixed on the floor. He was too busy thinking of his story to notice my remark.

License information: nan
MPAA: PG
Go to source: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/28140/28140-h/28140-h.htm#Page_180