“Might be beyond him,” said Nanny. “He’s not all that bright. Might be better to show him what you want.”
“Like what?”
“Well, what d’you fancy doing?”
Ace thought.
“I wouldn’t mind having a walk around the farm,” he said. “You know, have a good look at everything and meet all the other animals. I’ve been stuck in a sty all my life so far, and now I’m shut up in here.”
“All right,” said Nanny. “So you’d like to get out of this stall. I can’t open the door, you can’t open the door, but he can. I can’t tell him to open it, you can. By showing him what you want.”
“How?”
“Listen,” said Nanny, and she outlined a simple plan.
When Farmer Tubbs next opened the half-door of the box stall and came in to fill Nanny’s crib with hay for the night, the old goat bleated. To him it was just a bleat. To Ace she was saying “Go on. Try it now.”
Ace trotted up behind the farmer as he reached up to the crib and butted him in the back of the leg with his snout.
“What’s up with you, Ace?” said Farmer Tubbs, and for an answer the piglet went to the door that the farmer had closed behind him and butted it hard several times, so that it shook on its hinges.
“You wants me to open it?”
Two grunts.
“Why?”
Ace marched around the stall twice, came back to the door, and butted it again.
“You wants to go for a walk!” said Farmer Tubbs. “Well, I never! Did you ever? What next? D’you want me to come with you?”
One grunt.
“Oh, all right, then. But you come back when I calls you, understand?” And reassured by an affirmative answer, the farmer opened the door.
“And he will,” he said to Nanny. “You don’t understand what I’m saying because you’re not all that bright. But that Ace—why, he can do everything but talk. I suppose you could say he’s too clever for words.”
A Pig and a Cat
FARMER TUBBS SPENT a worried time talking anxiously to himself as he went about his chores.
“You’m a fool, Ted Tubbs,” he said. “Pigs is for pigsties, not to be let go wandering about wherever they fancies. Don’t like to follow him around. Looks like I don’t trust him. Who ever heard of trusting a pig? I needs my brains seen to. But then he might hurt himself, he might run away, he might get lost. Worth a bit of money a pig that size is, but ’tisn’t the value I’m thinking of, to be honest. I’ve got real fond of that pig.”
He kept looking at his watch, forcing himself to allow a full hour to pass, and when it had he went and stood outside the box stall, half hoping that the pig would have made his own way back and be waiting there, safe and sound.
But there was no sign of Ace.
Behind Farmer Tubbs there was a rattle as Nanny put her forefeet on top of the half-door and peered out.
“Right, then, Nanny,” said Farmer Tubbs. “He’s had long enough. It’ll be dark afore long. We’ll fetch him back, shall us?” And he called, “Ace!”
He waited a minute or two, but the piglet did not appear.
“Coop-coop-coop-coop-coop—come on, then!” Farmer Tubbs shouted, the sounds he always made to call cows or sheep or chickens. But though there was some distant mooing and bleating in answer and a few old hens came scuttling hopefully across the yard, Ace still did not come.
“You’m a fool, Ted Tubbs,” said the farmer. “What am I thinking of? There’s only one proper way to get him back.” And he cupped his hands to his mouth and took a deep breath and bellowed the summons that all pigmen have always used over the ages to bring their errant charges hurrying home, curling their tails behind them.
“Pig-pig-pig-pig-pig! Pig-pig-pig-pig-pig!” roared Farmer Tubbs, and in half a moment there was a distant rattle of little trotters and Ace came into sight, galloping as hard as he could go with that curious rocking-horse action that pigs have.
“What did I tell you!” said Farmer Tubbs triumphantly to Nanny, but inwardly he heaved a sigh of relief as he opened the door and let in the puffing, panting Ace of Clubs.
“Good boy!” he said, patting the piglet. Just like he were a dog, he thought. “Good boy, Ace!”
But in reply there was only a rather breathless but nonetheless urgent squeal, so off Farmer Tubbs hastened to fetch food.
When the farmer—and the food—had finally disappeared, Nanny said, “How was your walk?”
“I had a lovely time,” said Ace. “I made a speech to the sheep, had a conversation with the cows, a discussion with the ducks, a gossip with the geese, and a chat with the chickens. And by the way, you were right, Nanny. I asked all the animals if they could understand what Ted Tubbs says to them, and they couldn’t. They know some things, like to come when he calls them, but that’s about all.”
“The cows would know their names, I’m sure,” said Nanny.
“Oh, yes, they did. Named after flowers mostly, they are—Buttercup, Daisy, Primrose, that sort of thing. But I’ll tell you a funny thing, Nanny—all the sheep had the same name.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I said to one of them, ‘What’s your name?’ and she said ‘Barbara.’ But when I asked the next one, ‘And what’s your name?’ the answer was ‘Barbara.’ I asked all of them in turn and they all said ‘Baaaabaara.’ ”
“How funny,” said Nanny, straight-faced.
“Isn’t it?” said Ace. He yawned hugely and snuggled down in the straw.
“Good night, then, Ace,” said the old goat. “Sleep tight, mind the fleas don’t bite.” But the only reply was a snore.
Full-stomached and tired after all his exploring (for his legs were rather short), Ace slept soundly that night. When he woke, it was bright morning and the low early sun was streaming in over the half-door. Ace stood up and shook himself. Nanny lay under the wooden crib, her jaws going around rhythmically.
“Morning, Nanny,” said Ace.
“She can’t answer,” said a voice.
Looking up, Ace saw that there was a cat sitting on top of the crib. It was a large white cat with one yellow eye and one green one.
“Why not?” he said.
“Because she’s cudding,” said the cat. “Chewing the cud. You’re not supposed to talk with your mouth full, didn’t your mother tell you?”
“No,” said Ace. “Why not?” he added.
“It’s rude,” said the cat.
At that moment Nanny swallowed noisily and got to her feet.
“Don’t tease the lad, Clarence,” she said. “He’s only young.” And to Ace she said, “This is an old friend of mine. His name is Clarence.”
“How do you do?” said Ace.
“Pretty well, considering,” said the cat.
“Considering what?”
The cat looked narrowly at Ace.
“M.Y.O.B.,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“Mind your own business.”
“Clarence!” said Nanny.
“Don’t mind him,” she went on to the piglet. “It’s just his manner. He doesn’t mean any harm.”
“It’s N.S.O.M.N.,” said Ace.
“What does that mean?” asked Clarence.
“No skin off my nose.”
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you? What do they call you?”
“Ace of Clubs.”
The white cat jumped easily down from the crib and walked slowly around the piglet. First he inspected Ace’s right (white) side with his left (yellow) eye, and then Ace’s left (marked) side with his right (green) eye.
“I’ve seen that odd black shape somewhere before,” he said.
“It’s something to do with a game the farmer plays,” said Ace. “With some cards.”
“Ah, yes, that’s it,” said Clarence. “He sits down and lays all these bits of card out in rows. I’ve watched him. He lays them out on the table, some with black marks, some with red, some with pic
tures.”
“Fifty-two of them, there are,” said Ace. “Spades and hearts and diamonds and clubs. Funny though, isn’t it? I thought you played games with others—I used to with my brothers and sisters, chasing games, tag, that sort of thing. Strange for him to play on his own. He must have a lot of patience.”
“Wait a minute, young know-it-all,” said Clarence. “Are you telling me you’ve been inside the farmhouse?”
“Oh, no.”
“Then how come you know all this stuff about fifty-two cards and hearts and clubs and all that?”
“He told me. Ted Tubbs told me.”
“Ted Tubbs?”
“That’s the man’s name, Clarence,” said Nanny. “You and I have never known what he’s called, but Ace found out. You see, he understands the man’s language.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” said Clarence, “that you can understand every word that What’s-his-name—”
“Ted—”
“…Ted says to you?”
“Yes,” said Ace. “I thought that all the animals could, but it seems I’m a freak.”
“You’ll have to watch out, Clarence,” said Nanny. “Next thing you know, you won’t be the only one sitting in a comfy chair in the nice warm farmhouse watching Ted play cards. Ace will be in there too.”
Clarence gave a loud meow of amusement.
“Not for long,” he said. “Young know-it-all wouldn’t take much time to blot his copybook.”
“What d’you mean?” said Ace.
“Only cats and dogs are allowed indoors, because only they can be housebroken.”
“What does that mean?”
With a look of disdain on his face Clarence indicated a large lump of pig dung in the straw.
“You can’t go doing that on the carpet,” he said. “Or the other.”
“Why not?”
“It’s rude. Didn’t your mother tell you? Humans don’t mind if you do it outside, but indoors it’s simply not done. We cats bury that sort of thing anyway.”
“Oh,” said Ace. “Does Ted do it outside, then?”
“No, no, no,” said Clarence. “He has a special little room with a kind of white chair with a hole in it.”
“He’s almost as clean as a cat,” said Nanny dryly.
“That would be difficult,” said Clarence smugly, and he leaped neatly onto the top of the half-door and was gone.
Ace thought about all this.
“Nanny,” he asked, “are you housebroken?”
Nanny gave a loud bleat of laughter.
“Not likely,” she said. “A goat’s gotta do what a goat’s gotta do!”
“Well, d’you think I could be? I wouldn’t mind seeing what it’s like inside Ted’s house. D’you think I could train myself?”
“Ace,” said Nanny, “the more I see of you, the more I think you could do most things. Except fly.”
A Pig with a Plan
THAT DAY AND every day that followed, Farmer Tubbs let Ace out to run free.
At first Farmer Tubbs bombarded the piglet with a whole list of don’ts—don’t go too far, don’t go near the road, don’t fall into the duck pond, don’t chase the hens, and so on. But gradually as time passed and Ace always behaved himself, the farmer just let him out without a word, confident now that he would not get into trouble and would return to the box stall when called. It never occurred to him to say, “Don’t go into the house.”
In fact, Ace was not in a hurry to do that. He talked the matter over with Nanny, and she advised against haste.
“You don’t want to rush him,” she said. “Having a pig in the house is not something that humans are used to. He might take it amiss. And one thing’s sure—you’ve got to keep on the right side of Ted Tubbs.”
“What’s wrong with being on his left side?” said Ace.
“No, it’s just an expression. To keep on the right side of someone means to keep in his good grace.”
“Good grace? I don’t understand.”
“Sorry,” said Nanny. “You’re such a bright fellow that I forget how young and inexperienced you are. What I mean is that it’s important for Ted to like you, to treat you as a pet.”
“What’s a pet?” said Ace.
“An animal that people keep for the pleasure of its company, like a dog or a cat.”
“Are you a pet?”
“Sort of.”
“What about the other animals on the farm— the cattle, the sheep, and the poultry?”
“No, they’re not pets. They all end up as meat,” said Nanny. “Sooner or later young and old alike, they’re all killed to provide meat for humans to eat.”
Ace shuddered.
“My brothers and sisters,” he said, “that went to market…?”
“Someone will have bought them there to feed them till they’re fat enough to kill. And that could still happen to you, Ace, if you rub Ted Tubbs the wrong way.”
“You mean,” said Ace slowly, “if I—what was it Clarence said?—if I blot my copybook?”
“Exactly,” said Nanny. “I’m not saying you won’t be able to go into the farmhouse one day, if that’s what you want to do. But don’t try to run before you can walk, don’t rush your fences, look before you leap. The first thing to remember is that the farmer is not the only person who lives in that house.”
“Why, who else is there?”
“Clarence—and Megan. Now Clarence won’t be any problem—I’ll have a word with him—but Megan’s a different matter.”
“Who’s Megan?”
“Ted’s dog. You may not have seen her. She’s not too keen on getting exercise.”
“I think I have,” said Ace. “Brownish?”
“Yes.”
“Short-legged?”
“Yes.”
“With big sticking-up ears and a stumpy tail?”
“Yes.”
“And very fat?”
“That’s Megan. She loves her food, Megan does. She must be the fattest corgi that ever came out of Wales. Now you’ll have to get her on your side. You see, cats don’t really bother about people, they only care about themselves, but a dog reckons to be man’s best friend. Megan could be very jealous. But if she takes a liking to you, I think you’ll be home free.”
“How can I make her like me?” said Ace.
“I’ll tell you,” said Nanny. “Megan, you see, is the most tremendous snob.”
“What’s a snob?”
“Someone who pretends to be much better bred than other folk.”
“And is she?”
“No, but she looks down her nose at all other dogs. They are common curs. She says she has royal blood.”
“And has she?”
“Ask her,” said the old goat. “I’m not going to tell you any more about Megan, because the best thing you can do is to ask her yourself, very respectfully, mind, and remember to appear tremendously impressed by what she tells you. Oh, and don’t call her Megan. That would be much too familiar.”
“What should I call her?” asked Ace.
“Ma’am,” said Nanny.
—
With all this in mind, Ace began to make changes in his routine. It had become his habit to make, each day, a grand tour of the farm, chatting with all the other animals, for he was a friendly fellow. Meeting the ducks and geese and chickens was easy, for they all ranged freely. As for the cows, the barbed-wire fences that kept them in were no problem for Ace, who ran easily under the lowest strand. Sheep-fencing was a different matter, for by now Ace had grown too big to be called a piglet and was too fat to squeeze through the wire mesh. But this was no great loss, since none of the sheep ever said anything to him but “Barbara.”
At first Ace had visited his mother every day to say good morning, but lately he had given this up. For one thing, they could not see each other since the sty walls were too high, and for another, she never really sounded pleased about his visits.
“I understood that you had gone to market,” she s
aid when she first heard his voice again. She sounded disappointed. And before long the only answer he received to his cheery greeting was a grunt, so then he didn’t bother.
Now he went straight toward the farmhouse as soon as he was let out in the morning, with the idea of meeting Megan in mind.
Behind the house was a lawn bordered by shrubbery, and here he hid to watch what went on. It never varied, he found. Each day when Ted Tubbs had finished milking and gone indoors for his breakfast, the corgi would come out of the house onto the lawn and waddle around on the grass, making herself comfortable. If the weather was fine, she would then lie awhile in the sunshine, but any hint of rain or wind sent her hurrying in again as fast as her short legs would carry her stout body.
For a week or more Ace lay and watched and wondered how best to approach Megan. First impressions, he felt, might be very important. In any event, the matter was decided for him.
He was lying flat in the shrubbery one sunny morning, watching Megan through the leaves, when suddenly a voice said, “Peeping Tom, eh?”
Ace whipped around to see Clarence sitting a few feet away regarding him with a cold green-and-yellow stare.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Ace said in a flustered voice.
“Hiding in the bushes,” said Clarence. “Spying on a lady. You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s rude. Didn’t your mother tell you? Just exactly what are you up to, young know-it-all?”
Ace decided on honesty, not because he was aware that it was the best policy but because he was straightforward by nature.
“Clarence,” he said. “Will you do me a favor? Will you introduce me to Megan?”
“Why should I?”
“Well, you see, I really am very keen to become a house pig, you know, and live in the farmhouse like you and Megan do. Nanny said that you wouldn’t mind but that Megan might not like the idea.”
Clarence combed his whiskers thoughtfully.
“You’re an odd sort of a chap, you are,” he said. “I don’t care what you do. As far as I’m concerned it’s…what was it you said?”
Ace Page 2