_Mrs Nutts._ Nonsense! I’m sure the poor creturs had no such stuff in their heads. And for the royal pigs--if they’d been emperors, they couldn’t have sprawled about more at their ease, and seemed more full and happy. They knew what was what, and never had their noses out of the troughs. _Nutts._ I should like to know who’ll buy ’em. Nobody can call me a worshipper of rank and fortin, and that sort of thing, but I should like to know who’ll buy them pigs, and when they’ll cook ’em. _Limpy._ What can it matter to you, Nutts, who’ll cook the Prince’s pigs? _Nutts._ ’Twould be a satisfaction, that’s all. Them pigs have taken such a hold on me, I’d go ten mile to walk up and down by the kitchen window to smell ’em roastin’. _Peabody._ Well, the pigs--for they’ve been spoilt, as things very often are, brought up in their walk of life--the pigs are sensible creatures, for all that; and if you’d have heard them really talk as I did on Tuesday night---- _All._ Talk! _Peabody._ Talk. I’ll tell you how it was. I was on duty at the show, walking about among the cattle all night--at least nearly all night; for I sat down on a bench at about twelve--for a minute after I heard the church clock strike. At that very moment, who should I see rise up out of a heap of straw but a short thick-set man, with a large head bossed like a huge potato. I knew him at once by his looks and his garment--it was Æsop. _Nosebag._ I don’t believe a syllable about it; but who is Æsop? _Nutts._ Well, Mr Nosebag! I never did hear such ignorance; if I don’t feel ashamed of myself that ever I shaved you. Did you never see a spellin’-book? Wasn’t he the intimate friend of the birds, and the beasts, and the fishes, and hasn’t he told us all they talked about? Didn’t he write the story of the Lion and the Mouse? _Mrs Nutts._ And Cock Robin? But go on, Mr Peabody--never mind Nosebag. Some people are so wicked they won’t believe nothin’! Go on. Wasn’t you afeard? _Peabody._ Just at first. But there was such a look of true good-nature--and true wisdom, Mrs Nutts, is always good-natured--in Æsop’s face; such a look, I may say, of pleasant benignity, that in a moment I ceased to be afraid of the thing as a ghost, and stood bolt upright, and took my hat off--though it’s not required by the rules of the “force”--as to a teacher and a friend. _Slowgoe._ Well, I shall begin to have some hopes of you, after all. I didn’t think you’d show such a respect for ghosts. I’m glad you’re not quite lost to the wisdom of our ancestors. I have lived to hear the ghosts of Cock Lane doubted; but--I confess it--it’s positively comforting to hear you talk as you do of Æsop. A great man! I should like to know what wisdom we’ve had since he lived? Why, nothing new: it’s been the old thing served up, like a cold joint hashed with ketchup, and kayenne, and all that. _Mrs Nutts._ And very good eatin’, too, Mr Slowgoe; but go on, Mr Peabody. What did Æsop say when he saw you?