"What is it, mamma? I'll go to the store for you?"

"Oh, there you are!" exclaimed Mrs. Twistytail. "Well, I want a
dozen eggs, and be sure to get fresh ones, and don't smash them on
the way home."

"I won't," said the little piggie boy, and with that he ran down the
street squealing a tune about a little monkey who hung down by his
tail, and when he went to sleep he sat inside the water pail.

Well, Curly got the eggs all right, and he was on his way home with
them, when, all at once, as he came to the corner of the woods,
where an old stump stood, out from behind it jumped a bad dog.

"Ha, what have you in that bag, little piggie boy?" asked the bad
dog, catching hold of Curly by his ear so that he could not run
away.

"Eggs," answered Curly. "There are eggs in this bag for a cake my
mamma is going to bake."

"No, you are mistaken," said the dog, gritting his teeth. "Those
eggs are for me, I want to eat them," and he reached out his paw for
the paper bag.

Now, though Curly did not know it, this was a bad egg dog--that is,
he liked to eat eggs raw, without ever boiling or frying them, and
that kind of a dog is the worst there is. No one likes him, not even
the old rooster who crows in the morning.