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A few days after this Squinty heard the noise of hammering and sawing wood outside the pig pen. "The farmer must be building another barn," said Mr. Pig, for he and his family could not see outside the pen. "Yes, he must be building another barn, for once before we heard the sounds of hammering and sawing, and then a new barn was built." But that was not what it was this time.
At the end of a quarter of a mile he drew rein and again went through the performance of wetting his finger and raising it above his head, murmuring more to himself than his pals: "I didn't know but that the hills might have changed the direction of the wind. "Here, you," he added, turning to his men, "two of you ride a mile up and Squinty and I'll ride south.
It was bad enough to be tired and warm, but to be lost was worse, and to be hungry was worse than all especially to a little pig. And, more than this, there was nothing to eat. Squinty had tried to nibble at some of the green corn stalks, but he did not like the taste of them. Perhaps he had not yet learned to like them, for I have seen older pigs eat corn stalks.
Squinty could look out, but the slats were as close together as those in a chicken coop, and the little pig could not get out. He did not want to, however, for he had made up his mind that he was going to be a good pig, and go with the boy who had bought him for a pet from the farmer.
Get back to your pen where you belong!" "Squee! Squee! Squee!" yelled Squinty. "Oh, please let me go! I'll be good!" And so it went on, the dog talking in his barking language, and Squinty squealing in his pig talk; but they could easily understand one another, even if no one else could. Back in the pen Mrs. Pig suddenly awakened from a nap. So did Mr. Pig, and all the little pigs.
He liked this trick best of all, for he always had two apples to eat after that. Many of Bob's boy friends came to see his trained pig. They all thought he was very funny and cute, and they laughed very hard when Squinty looked at them with his queer, drooping eye. They would feed him apples, potatoes and sometimes bits of cake that Bob's mother gave them. Squinty grew very fond of cake.
Why should he be? for no men or boys had ever been cruel to him. "Uff! Uff!" grunted Squinty, getting up and going over to one of the bags of sand. "Maybe that is good to eat!" he thought. "If it is I will take a bite. I am hungry." "Oh, look at that pig!" suddenly called one of the men in the balloon basket. "Sure enough, it is a pig!" exclaimed the other.
But many things can happen in a few hours, as you shall see. "I won't eat any pig weed just yet," thought Squinty, as he went softly on between the rows of potato vines. "To pull up any of it, and eat it now, would make it wiggle. Then Don or the farmer might see it wiggling, and run over to find out what it was all about. Then I'd be caught. I'll wait a bit."
"Oh, some animal has caught him!" cried Mrs. Pig. Then she pushed as hard as she could with her nose, against the loose board near the hole in the pen, through which Squinty had run a little while before. Mrs. Pig soon knocked off the board, and then she ran out into the garden, Mr. Pig and all the little pigs ran after her. The first thing Mrs.
Then, as he made his way about the basket, he saw some more of those queer bags filled with something. There were a great many of them in the balloon, and Squinty thought they must have something good in them. Squinty squatted down beside one, and, with his strong teeth, he soon had bitten a hole in the cloth. Then he took a big bite, but oh dear!
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