The old farmer fox, who'd been tending to his crops, paused and looked up. A distant murmur of excitement and curiosity rose from the other workers in the field as they too sensed that something unusual was happening. The housemaid,a wild cat, her once-starched uniform now dirtied from her time outside, hurried over to the farmhouse, her normally stern face now overcome with a mixture of surprise and concern. "It's a baby, Master," she cried. "A tiny thing, just lying there by the side of the road."

  The farmer, his gnarled hands calloused from years of hard work, wiped the sweat from his brow and began to walk briskly towards the source of the commotion. As he drew nearer, he could make out the tiny form of a newborn infant, its delicate features scrunched up in distress. Its tiny hands and feet were blue from the cold, and its soft whimpers filled the air.

  The other workers, their curiosity piqued, followed close behind. The housemaid, her face a mix of fear and disbelief, could hardly believe the sight before her. "What are we to do, Master?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "We can't just leave it out here."

  The farmer's daughter, a young woman with strong arms and a heart to match, strode over to the baby, her eyes wide with shock. She had always dreamt of her only son having a sibling to share the farm with, to laugh and play with. But this was not what she had in mind. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "You expect us to take in a foundling?"

  The housemaid, her eyes pleading, looked up at the young woman. "Please, Miss," she said. "It's just a baby. It's not its fault it was left here. We can't just leave it to die."

  The farmer's daughter, her expression unyielding, folded her arms across her chest. "We have enough mouths to feed as it is," she said. "We can't afford to take in another, especially one that isn't ours. Who knows what trouble it might bring?"

  The old farmer, who'd been silent until now, cleared his throat. "It's a living being, child," he said gently. "We can't simply leave it to die." His eyes met those of his daughter, and for a moment they locked in a silent struggle. The housemaid, sensing the tension between them, shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The farmer's daughter looked away first, her shoulders slumping. "Fine," she said, her voice softening. "We'll take it in. But it stays in the barn house. It's the warmest place on the farm, and we can't risk it getting sick." She glanced at the old farmer, seeking his approval. He nodded solemnly, and she turned back to the others. "We'll need someone to tend to it," she said. "Someone who can feed it and change its linens. Is anyone willing to take on that responsibility?"

  The housemaid, relieved that their decision had been made, stepped forward. "I'll do it, Miss," she said. "I can spare some time each day to look after it." The other workers nodded in agreement, eager to help in any way they could.

  "Thank you, Mary," the farmer's daughter said, her expression softening. "That's very kind of you. We'll need to fetch some supplies from the house. Come with us, and we'll get what we need."

  The small town of Myuutsuu, nestled at the base of the mountain, was abuzz with activity. The sun shone brightly, casting long shadows across the dusty main street. People of all ages bustled about, laughing and chatting as they went about their daily business. Today was a special day; the town's annual barn dance was taking place at the old MacDougal farmhouse.

  The MacDougal family had been part of the community for generations, and their farm had always been a source of pride for the townspeople. As word spread about the unexpected arrival of a newborn baby, the excitement in the air only intensified. News travels fast in small towns, and soon everyone in Myuutsuu knew about the miracle that had taken place on the MacDougal farm.

  The old pig couple, who had been married for over fifty years, were overjoyed at the prospect of becoming grandparents. They had always dreamt of having a large family, but fate had other plans. So, when their maid discovered the newborn nestled among the haystacks, they couldn't help but feel a mix of surprise and joy.

  The elderly pig wife, known for her nimble fingers and exceptional sewing skills, immediately set to work. She had made countless garments for her family over the years, and she knew that this little one needed something special for the town's eyes. She rummaged through her stash of fabrics, selecting the softest and most luxurious fur she could find. It was a rare material, usually reserved for the most important occasions, but she deemed it fitting for this unanticipated yet welcome addition to their lives.

  With the gentle hum of her antique sewing machine echoing through the farmhouse, she carefully measured and cut the fur into the delicate shape of a veil. Each stitch was placed with precision, her hands moving with a grace that belied her age. The veil grew longer and more intricate with each pass of the needle, and she took care to ensure that it would fit snugly around the baby's tiny head.

  The pig husband, equally thrilled, decided to build a small, sturdy crib for the baby. He ventured into the forest surrounding the farm, selecting the strongest and most beautiful oak branches for the task. With a carpenter's love for his craft, he whittled and sanded each piece until they fit together perfectly. The crib took shape under his skilled hands, and he could already envision the baby sleeping peacefully within its wooden embrace.