“Oh, brother!  What has happened to you?” And there was the piggie’s little brother looking for him.

“Oh!” cried the pig boy who was tied to the fence by his tail.  “A bear caught me.  A big black bear!  He is going to eat me as soon as he comes back with the apple sauce.  Save me!”

“Indeed I will,” said the little brother.  And with his sharp teeth he gnawed through the grape vine string, and then his brother was free.  “Come on!” exclaimed the littlest pig.  “We must run home away from the bear!”

And they did, getting back to their house safely, and oh! how disappointed that bear was when he returned with the apples and found his pig dinner gone.  He was so peevish that he threw all the apples away.

And when Mrs. Twistytail saw her little boy she exclaimed: 

“Oh, my sakes alive!  How did you get that curl in your tail?”

“I—­I guess that was where the bear tied me to the fence,” said the piggie boy, and so it was.  His tail was all curled tight, like a little girl’s hair.  His mamma tried to take the curl out with a warm flatiron, but the kink stayed in the tail, and so Mr. Twistytail said: 

“I guess we’ll have to call our piggie boy by the name of Curly after this,” and so they did, and that’s how one piggie boy got the name of “Curly Twistytail.”

And in case the shells don’t all come off the eggs and leave the feathers sticking out for a sofa cushion, I’ll tell you next how the other little pig got his name.

STORY II

FLOPPY GETS HIS NAME

One day, oh, I guess it must have been about a week after Curly Twistytail, the little pig boy, had the adventure with the bear, and his brother rescued him, as I told you in the story before this one,—­one day Curly’s brother, who hadn’t any name as yet, said: 

“Oh, Curly, let’s go out for another walk, and maybe something will happen to us.”

“All right,” agreed Curly, “only I hope a bear doesn’t happen.  It’s no fun to think you’re going to be turned into roast pork and eaten with apple sauce,” for that is what the bear was going to do, you know.

So off the two little pig brothers started, and their mamma called after them: 

“Now, stay together.  Don’t go one on one path, and one on another, as you did before, and have trouble.  Stay together, and help one another.”

“We will!” they answered, and really they meant to, but, you see, little pigs sometimes forget, just as real children do.

On they went together.  Curly and his brother who hadn’t any name, except that sometimes people called him “Bub,” or maybe “Son,” or even “Hey, Johnnie!” though that wasn’t his real name at all.

Pretty soon, in about as long as it takes to eat a lollypop if you don’t hurry to get down to the stick part of it—­pretty soon the two piggie boys met Grandfather Squealer, who was the grandpapa of all the pigs in that part of the country.