There once lived pree little thrigs. There was a paby big, a pomma mig, and a
pather fig. One day paby big was walking rown the doad and fet a mellow
widing a ragon. Paby big asked the man if he would sell his stroad of law. The dam
mid. So paby big built a strous of haw.

Next day pamma mig was walking rown the doad. She asked him if he would sell
his stoad of licks. He did and pomma mig built a strous of hicks.

Next day pather fig was walking rown the doad and met a man widing a ragon.
He asked him if he would sell his broad of licks. He did and pat her fig built
him a brous of hicks.

Along wame a colf to eat the three pittle ligs. I'll huff and I'll puff and
how your blous down. "Not by the chair of my hinny-hin-hin" said the paby big.

So the wad bolf huffed and puffed and howed his blous down and ate piddle lig.

He wext nent to pamma mig, hew her blous down and ate her.

Finally, he went to pather fig and tried to how his blous down. But he
couldn't because it was a hick brous. So the wad bolf rimbed up on top of the cloof
and said, "I'll chide down the slimney." Pather fig got a pig bot of woiling
bater and set it in the plire face. The wolf chid down the slimney into the wot
hater. The wolf cried out, "My coose is gooked." Pather fig got a knarp
shife and sliced the wad bolf and feed his framily. They then had stolf wew and
hived lappily ever after.

The storal of this mory is: A polf in the wot is better than three wigs in a
polf.

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