“Seven,” said Flop, and then he asked the lady.

“What is your name?”

“Margaret,” she answered.  “Margaret More.”

“More what?” asked Flop.

“More pies, I guess,” laughed the pie lady as she whistled again, this time just like a canary trilling when it swings at the top of its cage in the sunshine.  Curly laughed, too, and then the lady went to the oven to take out the pie.

And, would you ever believe it if I didn’t tell you?  No, I’m sure you wouldn’t.  But, anyhow, all of a sudden, out from the bushes came a bad, fuzzy old wolf, and he stood in front of the bungalow, crying: 

“I smell apple pies!  I smell apple pies!  Also a little piggie boy!  Oh, what a fine lunch I am going to have!”

Well, Flop was so frightened that he couldn’t even walk, much less run, and all he could do was to squeal, “Oh dear!”

The pie lady heard him, and came running to the door of the bungalow.

“What is the matter?” she asked, and then she saw the wolf.

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed.  “What shall I do?”

“Nothing!” exclaimed the wolf, sticking out his red tongue.  “I’ll do all that’s necessary.  But first I’ll eat the apple pie, and then I’ll carry you and Flop off to my den!”

Well, when Flop heard that—­heard that the wolf was going to eat the lovely pie—­he became real brave, that little piggie boy did.

“You shan’t have that pie!” he cried.

Then the wolf, with a big jump, started for the bungalow to get the pie and the pie lady, but what do you think Flop did?  He just grabbed up the pan of apple peelings—­long, curling peelings they were—­and he threw them at the wolf!  Right at the bad creature’s legs he threw them, and the apple peelings tangled up in the wolf’s fur and in his tail, and his legs and paws, and head-over-heels he went, falling down on the ground and bumping his nose on a hard stone.

“Oh, wow!  Oh, woe is me!  Oh too-badness!” growled the wolf, and he ran away to his den to get some salve to put on his bumped nose, and so he didn’t get the pie lady, nor the pie, nor Flop, either, at least not that day.

Then the apple pie was done, and the pie lady whistled a nicer song than ever, and Curly and Uncle Wiggily came to the bungalow and they all ate pie and were as happy as happy could be.  But, as for the wolf, the less said about him the better.

So on the next page, in case the door-knob doesn’t tickle the dining room bread-board and make the sawdust come out of the breakfast oatmeal, I’ll tell you about the piggie boys and the jelly.

STORY XXI

THE PIGGIES AND THE JELLY

One day, when Curly and Flop, the two piggie boys, had been at Uncle Wiggly’s bungalow on Raccoon Island for some days, the old gentleman rabbit said to them: 

“Now, boys, I have to go down to the store, kept by Pop Goes the Weasle, to see about some butter and things for supper.  Will you be afraid to stay here alone?”