Percival picked himself up from the mud, shook a bit of it free and, ran off to Bessie's house. His mind was burning. His body was burning. He was in a fit of anxiety. He felt as if his world was about to be taken from him. Bessie, Bessie, Bessie..... Would she be his or, would she be Basil's??
At the same time, he was suddenly a changed pig. Years of pinkness and preening had not prepared himself for a dive back into the primeval habits of his ancestors. Who, I may remind all, were in the habit of wallowing in the mud. But, times change. Pigs change. Generations pass and, wallowing in the mud for odd scraps of food no longer becomes as attractive as it used to be. If you can have your vegetables served up to you, why poke around in the mud for it?
However, when Percival fell into the mud, he felt as if years of pampering had suddenly been cast away and that now, he was a new, toughened pig who could take on all the challenges that the world might throw at him.
Panting, he reached Bessies's house. Evening had fallen by this time and, as he reached her home, he could see the lights in her drawing room. He could hear soft music playing and, the general atmosphere about the house was one of soft romance.
Basil was in the house, with Thyme. Thyme was standing in the background, very deferential, almost invisible. Basil was sitting on a low stool, by Bessie's knee, holding Bessie's trotter in his. They seemed to be intimate. Very intimate.
As Percival saw this through the drawing room window, he felt as if his soul had been snatched from him and, that it was about to fly to heaven. But, all was not lost yet. Or so he imagined.....
With a shriek he burst into the room. The shriek was probably worse than the shriek of the Devil himself. Basil fell over in panic, landed next to the fire place and, singed his bottom. He too, shrieked, albeit a little mildly and, hopped about the room in a fit of agony. Thyme stood rooted to the floor with fear at the sight of the mud splattered, shrieking apparition that was Percival and, Bessie was too shocked to move.
This lucky chance was all that Percival needed and, taking Bessie firmly by the elbow, pulled her firmly into the gardens, whispering words that were maddened with passion. He painted a world where they would live in pomp and glory, a world where they would start a revolution, a world where they would sail the seas forever and become colourful adventurers. The words came out as if they were a river in flood. With all waves and wavelets coalescing with each other and then separating to go their separate ways again.
Anything but a declaration of marriage. Poor, romantic Bessie. She was, at once repelled by this vision and, at the same time attracted. She had no power of her own. And, as Percival heard Basil coming into the gardens, he pulled Bessie into a bush. A bush?? But, it seemed a good idea at that time.