Once upon a time, Mummy Pig kissed her three little pigs on their three little snouts and sent them off to build houses of their very own.
The first little pig didn't get far before she found a farmer with a cart of straw. "Perfect!" she said. "Nice and quick." And she built herself a house of straw before lunchtime, and spent the whole afternoon lying in the sun.
But that evening, along the lane came a big bad wolf. He sniffed once. He sniffed twice. Then he knocked at the straw door and called, "Little pig, little pig, let me in!"
"Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!" squeaked the first little pig.
"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in!"
And he huffed… and he puffed… and — WHOOSH — the straw house flew apart like a haystack in a gale! The first little pig ran squealing down the lane, all the way to her sister's place.
Now, the second little pig had found a woodsman with a bundle of sticks. "Sticks are stronger than straw," she'd said, and built a fine stick house with a stick chimney, finishing just before her sister arrived, out of breath, with straw in her ears.
That night — knock, knock, knock. "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"
"Not by the hairs on our chinny chin chins!"
"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in!"
And he huffed… and he puffed… and he huffed and he puffed… and — CRASH — down came the sticks, chimney and all! The two little pigs ran squealing down the lane, straw and sticks flying, all the way to their big sister's place.
Ah, but the third little pig. The third little pig had thought about wolves from the very beginning. She had bought a load of bricks, mixed her mortar carefully, and built slowly, row by row, all day long, while her sisters were sunbathing. Her house had thick walls, a stout red door, and a proper chimney. It had taken ages. It was worth it.
She let her sisters in, bolted the door, and put the kettle on. And sure enough — knock, knock, KNOCK.
"Little pigs, little pigs, LET ME IN!"
"Not by the hairs on our chinny chin chins!" called all three together.
"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll BLOW YOUR HOUSE IN!"
And he huffed… and he puffed…
And he huffed… and he puffed…
And he huffed and he puffed until his cheeks went purple and his eyes went crossed and his tail stood out straight behind him — and the brick house did not move one single brick.
The wolf sat down in the garden, completely out of puff. Inside, he could hear three little pigs having tea. This was, for a wolf, extremely embarrassing.
He tried one last trick — creeping up onto the roof to sneak down the chimney. But the third little pig heard his claws go scritch-scratch on the tiles, and calmly moved the big pot of hot soup onto the fire below. The wolf slid down the chimney, landed SPLASH right in it, shot straight back up like a hairy rocket, and galloped away over the hills, trailing steam — and no pig in that county ever saw him again.
So the three little pigs lived together in the strong brick house, snug as anything. And on windy nights, when the gusts howled round the walls and couldn't get in, the two younger pigs would snuggle down under their blankets and say, "Thank goodness our sister likes bricks."
Goodnight, little pigs. Sleep tight — the door is bolted.