THE PRIZE PIG

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 182, 22 October 1927, Page 27 (Supplement)

THE PRIZE PIG

Once there was a fairy king who wanted to enjoy himself just like a street boy. He had seen street boys when he went outside his fairy glen into the village near. He used to disguise himself and dress up as a beggar woman. And he saw the street boys having all sorts of fun. and wished he could do what they did. One day, he went to the fair; there were all kinds of games and jokes going on, and what made him laugh most was to see some boys trying to ride pigs for a race. They were too big for the pigs, and most of them rolled off long before they got far. Only one boy stuck on, and he and his pig got the prize. “I’ll try that,” said the king to himself. And when all the fair people had gone and everyone in the village was asleep, the king told one of his fairy men to go to the shed where the winning pig was, and bring him to the fairy glen. He was to give the pig a fairy carrot, and that would make him come quietly. And when he came, the king told all the people that he was going to ride him. And when he was tired of riding him, they could try, and if they stuck on to the end they should have prizes. Quietly mounting him the king dug his heels into the pig’s sleek sides and, having no reins, seized both pink ears, but to his dismay his steed kicked up his heels and set off at a hand gallop. “Stop!” cried the king. “This is an indignity.” The pig took not the slightest notice. “Whoa!” shouted the king, but the pig sped blindly on. Backward and forwards and from side to side slid the unfortunate rider on the broad back of his strange mount. Over hill and dale they went, a round orange moon looking down in the utmost surprise, but the king was too much occupied to notice the scenery. “Where are you going?” he asked in a high-pitched voice. Then the pig spoke in low, guttural tones: “I am going home,” he said. “That settles it.” said the king. “I shall turn you into a turnip and leave you growing in this field.” The pig laughed in the greatest derision. but the next moment he found himself rooted to the spot with green leaves growing out of his head. On every hand spread sleepy white turnips. “Welcome, brother.” they said. "Where did you come from?” * * * “I can’t find my prize pig anywhere,” said a dismayed farmer the next morning. “The fairies must have spirited him away.”