“Isn’t it about time the farmer came with some sour milk for us?” asked Mr. Pig of Mrs. Pig.

“I think it is,” she said, looking up at the sun, for the sun is the only clock that pigs, and other animals, have.  When they see the sun in the east, low down, they know it is morning.  When it shines directly over their heads, high in the sky, they know it is noon.  And when the sun sinks down in the west the pigs know it is getting toward night, and supper time.

The sun was low down in the west now, and Mr. and Mrs. Pig knew it must be nearly time for their evening meal.

“Come, Wuff-Wuff.  Come, Squealer.  Come, Squinty, and all the rest of you!” called Mrs. Pig in her grunting voice.  “Come, get ready for supper.  I think I hear the farmer coming with the nice sour milk!”

“Squee!  Squee!  Squee!” squealed all the little pigs, for they were very hungry indeed.  “Squee!  Squee!  Squee!”

They all made a rush to see who would get to the eating trough first.  Some of them even put their feet in, they were so anxious.  Pigs are always that way.  They know no better, so we must excuse them.  If they had been taught not to do that, and then did it, we would not excuse them.

“Here comes the farmer with the sour milk,” grunted Mr. Pig.  “Oh, how good it smells!”

Just then Squealer cried: 

“Why, where’s Squinty?”

His brothers and sisters looked around.

Squinty, the comical pig, was not to be seen.  But we know where he was, even if his mamma and papa and brothers and sisters did not.  Squinty was in the cornfield, trying to find his way back to the pen.

“Why, where can Squinty be?” asked Mrs. Pig.  “Squinty!  Squinty!” she called, grunting and squealing as she always did.  “Come to the trough!” she went on.  “Supper is ready!”

But Squinty did not come.  The farmer poured the sour milk down the slide, where it ran into the trough, and the little pigs began to eat.  But Mr. and Mrs. Pig began looking for Squinty.  They turned up the straw, thinking he might be asleep under it.  No Squinty was to be seen.  Then Mr. Pig saw the hole under the side boards of the pen.

“Ha!” exclaimed Mr. Pig, speaking to Mrs. Pig, “I think perhaps Squinty went out there.”

“Oh, so he did!” said Mrs. Pig.  “What shall we do?”

Just then the farmer looked over in the pen to see how fat the pigs were getting.  He counted the little pigs.  Then a queer look came over his face.

“Hello!” he exclaimed.  “Only six here!  One of those pigs has gotten out.  I must look into this!”

Quickly he glanced all about the pen.  He saw the hole out of which Squinty had run away.

“I thought so!” exclaimed the farmer.  “One of the pigs has rooted his way out.  I’ll have to go after him.  Here, Don!” he called to his dog.  “A pig is loose!  We must catch him!” and he whistled for the big black and white dog, who ran up, barking and leaping about.