“Sing, Little Pig!” someone called.
So Little Pig bean to sing an old song in a high, shaky voice, and Mrs. Wang listened and forgot the Japanese. The evening was beautiful. And the sky was so clear and still that the willows overhanging the dike were reflected even in the muddy water. Everything was at peace. The thirty-odd houses which made up the village were spread out along beneath the willow trees. Nothing could break this peace. After all, the Japanese were only human beings.
“I doubt those airplanes,” she said mildly to Little Pig when he stopped singing.
But without answering her, Little Pig went on to another song.