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Ugh!" grunted Squinty, looking up at the farmer with his comical eyes, one half shut and the other wide open. "Ugh! Ugh!" And with his odd eyes, and one ear cocked forward, and the other flopping over backward, Squinty looked so funny that the farmer had to laugh out loud. "What's the matter, Rufus?" asked the farmer's wife, who was gathering the eggs. "Oh, it's this pig," laughed the farmer.
Miss Alix Crown, who owns nearly everything in sight, including the log hut, has had the latter restored and turned into the quaintest little town library you've ever seen. But you ought to see the librarian! She is a dried-up, squinty old maid of some seventy summers, and so full of Jane Austen and the Bronte women and Mrs.
"Pigs are so clean!" cried the boy. "Squinty is as clean as a rabbit!" Only that day Squinty had rolled over and over in the mud, but he had had a bath from the hose, so he was clean now. And he made up his mind that if the boy took him he would never again get in the mud and become covered with dirt. "I will keep myself clean and jolly," thought Squinty.
"He has run away out of the pen a couple of times, but if you board up a place good and tight, I guess he won't get out." "Oh, I do hope he'll be good!" exclaimed the boy. "I do so want a little pet pig, and I'll be so kind to him!" When Squinty heard that, he made up his mind, if the boy took him, that he would be as good as he knew how.
But, when he ran toward it, he found the rope raised up in front of him. He forgot, for a moment, his second trick, and stood still. "Oh, I thought you said he would jump the rope!" said Mollie, rather disappointed. "He will just wait a minute," spoke the boy. "Come on, Squinty!" he called. Once more Squinty started for the apple.
"Oh, isn't it cute!" exclaimed a voice over Squinty's head. He looked up, half shutting his one funny eye, and cocking one ear up, and letting the other droop down. But he did not stop eating. "Oh, isn't he funny!" cried another voice. And Squinty saw the boy and his sisters looking at him.
"When can I have my little pig?" asked the boy, of his father. "Oh, as soon as Mr. Jones can put him in a box, so we can carry him," was the answer. "We can't very well take him in our arms; he would slip out and run away." "I guess so, too," laughed the boy. "Mamma, did you hear what they were saying about Squinty?" asked Wuff-Wuff, as the boy and the two men walked away from the pig pen.
"Yes, we'll take him along in the balloon with us," said the taller of the two men. "See, he doesn't seem to be a bit afraid." "No, and look! He must be a trick pig! Maybe he got away from some circus!" cried the other man. For, at that moment Squinty stood up on his hind legs, as the boy had taught him, and walked over toward the big balloon basket.
He took a large mouthful from a tall, green plant. "Oh, how good that tastes!" thought Squinty. "It is much better and fresher than the kind the farmer throws into the pen to us." Perhaps this was true, but I imagine the reason the pig weed tasted so much better was because Squinty was running away. Perhaps you know how it is yourself.
Perhaps he should have been punished by being sent to bed without having had anything to eat, but you see the farmer wanted his pigs to be fat and healthy, so he fed them well. Squinty was very glad of that. "Now all of you go to sleep," said Mrs. Pig, when it grew darker and darker in the pen.
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