Free Pig Latin--Not Just for Pigs! by Kate McMullan Page A

her Lancelot-on-the-Go Luggage—a huge trunk with a handle and with wheels on the bottom. She began packing.
    Wiglaf had no trunk. Or even a bag. So he spread his blanket out on his cot and began tossing his things onto it. His rusty sword, Surekill. His Lucky Rag.
    “At home I shall ride my red pony,” said Gwen, packing her tiara and fashion magazines.
    “I shall go to the Toenail Fair,” said Torblad. “And have my fortune told!”
    “I shall go home to the palace and get the royal treatment,” said Erica. She rolled up her Sir Lancelot tapestry and put it in her trunk. She packed her suit of Sir Lancelot armor. “What shall you do in Pinwick, Wiggie?”
    “I shall...” Wiglaf stopped. He did not want to tell Erica that he would likely spend his holiday elbow-deep in greasy dishwater, scrubbing his mother’s soup pot. Or picking cabbages. Or packed inside the hovel with his twelve smelly brothers, listening to their father’s awful knock-knock jokes.
    “I shall keep busy,” he said at last.
    “I shall sleep late.” Angus grinned. “And eat cherry pie for breakfast.”
    “Angus,” said Erica, “did you not tell me that your mother went to West Sheepdip?”
    Angus’s smile faded. “I forgot!” he cried. “Mother is visiting her cousin, Lady Flockbleet. Oh, woe! I cannot go home!”
    “Come home with me to the palace, then,” said Erica, buckling on her tool belt.
    Angus wiped his nose. “Really?”
    Erica nodded. “Chef Pierre can bake you a cherry pie for every meal.”
    “With whipping cream?” asked Angus.
    “With whipping cream,” said Erica.
    “My parents are visiting my brother for Parents Weekend at Dragon Whackers,” said Janice. “Is there room for me, too?”
    “Sure!” said Erica. “The palace has 435 bedrooms. You can take your pick.”
    “Will you come home with me, too, Wiggie?” she said.
    Wiglaf felt torn. He wanted to see his family. But here was a chance to stay at a real palace! A palace with a chef who baked cherry pies! A palace where someone else would wash the pots and pans. A palace where he might sleep in one of 435 bedrooms—all by himself!
    Wiglaf was so very tempted! “Oh, but Daisy,” he said, remembering. “I cannot leave her here.”
    “She can stay in the Royal Sty,” said Erica.
    Wiglaf smiled and bowed. “In that case, Daisy and I would love to come!”
    Wiglaf’s fingers trembled with excitement as he knotted his rope around his blanket. To think that he, a lowly Pinwick peasant, was going to the Royal Palace!

Chapter 2
    W aitest thou lads and lasses!“ called Brother Dave. The chubby little monk came rushing across the castle yard toward the departing students. ”Thou canst not journey with empty stomachs. Here!“ He began handing out big chunks of his homemade peanut brittle from the basket he was carrying.
    Wiglaf tucked a piece of the peanut candy into his pack. And a piece for Daisy, too.
    “Thank you, Brother Dave,” he said.
    “Worrieth not about Worm,” the monk whispered to Wiglaf, referring to the young dragon who sometimes hid out in the DSA library. “I shall looketh after him whilst thou art gone. Enjoyeth thy stay in Pinwick!”
    “I am not going home, Brother Dave,” Wiglaf said. “Erica has invited me to come home with her to the palace.”
    “Me too,” said Janice. “E-may ee-thray,” said Daisy, which meant, “me three.”
    “Me four,” Angus chimed in. “We shall eat cherry pie for breakfast, lunch, and supper. Oh, I cannot wait to get there!”
    “Farewell, then, lads and lasses,” said Brother Dave. “But remember, enjoyth thy journey. A journey canst bring wondrous surprises—and dangerous ones as well. Taketh care!”
    “Oodbye-gay!” called Daisy.
    “She’s saying good-bye to you, Brother Dave,” said Wiglaf.
    “Fare thee well, Daisy,” said the monk. “Farewell, all!”
    Wiglaf waved. Then the travelers walked through the gatehouse, over the DSA drawbridge, and turned north on