“Here!  Come back!” cried the lady storekeeper who was the mother of the puppy dog boy.  “Let that little pig alone.”

“I’m only going to play tag with him,” answered the puppy dog, and with that he sprang at the piggie and caught him by the ear.  He really didn’t mean to, but his teeth closed fast on poor piggie’s ear, and there they stuck.

“Oh!  Oh!  Oh!” howled piggie.  “I’m caught!  Oh let me go.  Please let me go!”

“Yes, let go of him at once, you naughty boy!” cried the doggie’s mamma, as she made a grab for his tail.  But just then piggie began to run, squealing as hard as he could, and as the doggie did not let go of his ear, the little barking chap was dragged along too.  And then out from the red store ran Curly and he squealed and his brother squealed, also, and the boy dog barked, and so did the storekeeper lady dog, and such a time you never heard in all your life!  Oh! such a racket!

“Let go my ear!  Let go my ear!” squealed the pig, and the doggie boy tried to let go but he couldn’t, until Curly got hold of him by the left leg and pulled him loose.

“Oh dear!  Oh dear!” cried the piggie who had bought the sour milk lollypop.  “Is my ear pulled off, Curly?”

“No, but it is hanging down like anything,” said his brother.  “I guess its broken!”

“Oh, I am so sorry!” exclaimed the little boy dog.  “I didn’t mean to do it.  I was only going to tag you, but I slipped.  Come in the house and my mamma will put some salve on your ear, and I’ll give you an ice cream cone.”

And just then Grandfather Squealer came past, and he saw Curly’s little brother, with his ear hanging down, going flippity-flop, and the old gentleman said: 

“Oh ho!  I think I will call you Flopear, or Floppy for short.  That is a good name, and it just fits you.”  And so after that the second little pig was always called Floppy for his ear never stood up again but always hung down like a bell clapper.  But the salve soon made it well, and the storekeeper lady gave Floppy and Curly each an ice cream cone.

So that’s all now, if you please, but in case the butcherman doesn’t throw the loaf of bread at the candlestick and scare the lamp chimney I’ll tell you in the story after this about Pinky Twistytail’s rubber ball.

STORY III

PINKY’S RUBBER BALL.

“Now, children,” exclaimed Mrs. Twistytail, the pig lady, one morning, when she had given Curly and Floppy and Baby Pinky their breakfast of sour milk with cornmeal stirred in it, “now, children, run out and play.  I have the sweeping and dusting to do, and then I am going to make an apple pie.”

“Oh, goodie!” cried Curly.  “Do you want us to help you, mamma?”

“No, I’m afraid you would eat more apples than you would put in the pie,” said Mrs. Twistytail with a laugh.  “Run along now.”

“Come on Curly,” said Floppy and he ran out and turned a somersault, even though it was near winter, for he felt happy, now that he had a name and didn’t have to be called “Bub” or “Johnny” or something like that.