How to Save Your Tail Read Free Page A

pitcher, “if you marry the warthog, you might have a son.”
    “Yes,” said Bubbles. “He would be a fearsome creature indeed.”
    “Fangs, warts,
and
tusks!” squeaked Squeak.
    “That would be marvelous!” said Elsie.
    “But,” said Mustard, “what if … Oh, I cannot bear to think it!”
    “What if
what
?” asked Elsie.
    “No, no, I cannot say it!”
    “You must!” cried Elsie.
    “Yes, yes! You must!” said Bubbles and Squeak.
    “Well, okay,” said Mustard. “What if your son fetches cider one day for you and the warthog?”
    “He’s a dear boy,” said Elsie.
    “Yes, of course,” said Mustard. “But perhaps, while he’s down here, that shelf up there, which
may
have termites, falls down and … well … you know.”
    Elsie and Bubbles and Squeak all looked up. There on the shelf, smack-dab above them, were three big barrels, filled with apple cider. “Oh my,” said Elsie.
    “Oh dear oh dear oh dear!” added Bubbles and Squeak.
    “Yes,” said Mustard, “it would be terrible. Smashed warthog-wolf.” He began to sniff.
    Bubbles whimpered.
    Squeak moaned.
    Elsie howled.
    Upstairs, the wolves and the warthog got antsy. After a while Big Bad spoke up.
    “Wife,” he said, “go down to the cellar and see what that clever thing Elsie is doing.”
    Mrs. Wolf went down and found Elsie and therats weeping by the cider keg. “What’s wrong, dear?” she asked.
    “I might marry the warthog,” said Elsie, “and have a fearsome son, and one day, the cider barrels will crush him to mush.” Then she sniveled herself into another fit of slobbery sobs.
    “You
can
foresee the future! Then you truly
must
be clever!” exclaimed Mrs. Wolf, delighted that Elsie had
any
talent at all. “But oh! My poor fearsome grandson—I cannot bear to lose him in such a wretched way!” And the mother wailed and lamented the tragedy along with her daughter.
    Upstairs, the warthog waxed impatient.
    “I’ll go myself,” said Big Bad, “and see what keeps them.”
    In the cellar, he found Mrs. Wolf and Elsie ankle deep in tears.
    The three rats huddled together on a dry box in the corner.
    When Big Bad asked what the problem was and Elsie started to explain, the rats saw their chance. They made a break for it.
    Mustard, Bubbles, and Squeak were halfway across the cellar when Big Bad spotted them.
    “Oh no you don’t!” he hollered.
    Elsie grabbed a shovel with the clever idea of bonking their little heads. Instead, she hit the shelf, which really did have termites. It crumbled and the barrels crashed down and rolled over one, two, three wolves, leaving them flat as pattycakes.

    “Oh well,” said the warthog, who saw the whole thing from the cellar door. “That’s that.” He grabbed his hat and set off to look for another clever maiden.
    The three rats climbed the stairs, closed the cellar door behind them, and sealed it up with a new brick wall.
    After that, they moved back into their own bedrooms, made a small fortune as bricklayers specializing in fancy chimneys, and lived happily ever after.

Cookie Break
    “Y uck,” groaned Muffin. “How do you get snout-warts, Mack?”
    “By being mean and evil,” said Bob, looking Brutus right in the eye.
    “Elsie should have eaten those rats while she had the chance,” said Brutus. “Like when they were telling stories.”
    Bob skittered under a lacy linen napkin and shivered.
    “Did the rats ever see the warthog again?” asked Muffin.
    “Yes,” said Bob, peeking out from beneath the napkin. “They built his chimney.”
    “Did the warthog ever get married?”
    “As a matter of fact, he married the three rats’ niece—my grandma Lois—but that’s another story.”
    “Wow!” said Muffin. “I want to hear all about it!”
    “I don’t think so,” said Brutus, preparing to pounce. “We had a deal, remember, Muffin? Stories first—we did that part—and now … a crunchy, chewy bedtime snack.”
    The rat piped up from under the napkin.