Any people who may happen to have read the story of “Wilful, the Conceited Pig,” will recollect how he had called up his friend, Miss Peck, one night, from the henhouse, where there had been a great disagreement between her and Cock-a-doodle, and how they had set off together to the Queen’s house, to tell Her Majesty some very curious news; also how they had very soon parted company, not being able to agree as to which was the right road, and how Wilful’s journey had come to a very sad end, long before he was anywhere near the palace of Her Majesty the Queen. Now they may also like to know something of Miss Peck’s adventures; and I am therefore going to relate them, 6thinking that, perhaps, we may find almost as much to take warning by, in her history, as in Wilful’s conceit, and the terrible punishment it met with. Miss Peck felt rather lonely at first, when she found herself out in the dusky lane alone, at that time of night; but still she could not help chuckling to think how Wilful had persisted in taking the wrong road, and was travelling all for nothing, whilst she was sure to reach the Queen’s house in time, if her poor legs would but carry her far enough.
“There is no need to go so fast, at any rate,” she thought to herself. “If we got to the palace so early in the morning very likely Her Majesty the Queen would not be up, as I would have told Wilful, only he never will stop to listen to a word one has to say. Why our old David at home never gets up to give us our breakfast till Cock-a-doodle has walked round the yard several times, talked to all his family, told them his dreams—which, I must, say, I am very tired of hearing—and crowed over and over again. I am sure if it were not for the early walk into the rick-pen, which I make a point of taking every morning, and the little bit of support that I get there, I should be dead with hunger long before breakfast time; but nobody ever seems to remember how delicate my 7health is, and old David would not get up a bit the sooner, I verily believe, if I were dying. However, it is better than if Betsy Chopper had the feeding of us entirely, for I know that the smoke never begins to come out of the kitchen chimney till a little while before she gives us our dinner, and what the family do for something to eat I never can think. The poor ladies, I know, never look out of window or get a breath of air till the middle of the day in summer, and I believe they have no rick-pen to go to, and are obliged to wait till Betsy Chopper chooses to get up and feed them. The Queen may very likely not be as late as Betsy Chopper; but it is ten to one if she is as early as old David, so there can be no occasion to hurry oneself.”
So Miss Peck walked on in a leisurely manner, picking her way along the dirty lane, as well as the darkness would allow, and every now and then stopping a minute or two to rest her poor legs by turns.
Now not very far from Miss Peck’s own residence there stood a poor tumble-down cottage, in which lived an old woman, who kept a thin tortoiseshell cat and a little poultry. And on each side of the small wicket-gate leading to the cottage—which was close to the lane—stood a very thick yew-tree, cut 8into the form of a sugar-loaf at the top. Miss Peck was not brave, and when she reached this part of the lane, and saw, as she thought, two black giants, with plumes on their heads, standing not far before her, she was so horribly frightened that she screamed with all her might, and was very near running back the way she came, faster than she had ever run before. However, she had just resolution enough to stop and think what was best to be done, when, strange to say, one of the giants seemed to cry out Cock-a-doodle-doo, in a voice of thunder, and, all at once, came flapping down upon poor Miss Peck, rolling her over in the mud, and nearly driving all the breath out of her body with the shock and the terror. Getting on her legs again somehow or other, she ran behind a little heap of stones, where she stood panting and trembling, and with ruffled feathers, when again the same hateful cry rang in her ears, repeated three times, even louder than before—“Cock-a-doodle-doo, Cock-a-doodle-doo, Cock-a-doodle-doo!” Scarcely daring to look round, and expecting every instant to be swallowed up alive, or torn to pieces by one of the giants, Miss Peck wished herself safe at home again, with all her might, in spite of Cock-a-doodle’s tyranny, when, l............