One day the pigs heard merry shouts and laughter up at the farmhouse.  There were the sounds of boys’ and girls’ voices.  Then came the patter of many feet.

“Oh, look at the pigs!” someone cried, and Squinty, and his brothers and sisters, looking up, saw, over the edge of the pen, some boys and girls looking down on them.

“Oh, aren’t they cute!” exclaimed a girl.

“Just lovely!” said another girl.  “Pigs are so nice!”

“I wonder if any of them can do any tricks?” asked a boy who stood looking down into the pen.

“These aren’t trained circus pigs,” spoke one of the girls.  “They can’t do tricks.”

The boy and the girls stayed for a little while, watching the pigs.  Then the boy said: 

“Let’s pull some weeds and feed them.”

“Oh, yes, let’s!” cried the girls.  The pigs were glad when they heard this, and they were more glad when the boy and the girls threw pig weed, and other green things from the garden, into the pen.  The pigs ate them all up, and wanted more.

After that, for several days, Squinty and his brothers and sisters could hear the boy and the girls running about the garden, but they could not see them because the boards around the pig pen were too high.  The boy and the girls seemed to be having a fine time.

Squinty could hear them talking about hunting the hens’ eggs, and feeding the little calves and sheep, and riding on the backs of horses.

Then, one day Squinty looked up out of the pen, and, leaning over the top board he saw the farmer, the boy and another man.

“Oh, Father!” exclaimed the boy, “do let me have just one little pig.  They are so nice!”

[Illustration:  “Oh, Father!” exclaimed the boy, “do let me have just one little pig.”]

“A pig!” cried Father.  “What would you do with a pig in our town?  We are not in the country.  Where would you keep a pig?”

“Oh, I could build a little pen for him in our yard.  Look, let me have that one, he is so pink and pretty and clean.”

“Ha!  So you want that pig, do you?” asked the farmer.  The boy and his father and sisters were paying a visit to the farm.

“Yes, I want a pig very much!” the boy said.  “And I think I’d like that one,” and he pointed straight at Squinty.  Poor Squinty ran and tried to hide under the straw, for he knew the boy was talking about him.

“Oh, see him run!” cried the boy.  “Yes, I think he is the nicest pig in the lot.  I want him.  Has he any name?”

“Well, we call him Squinty,” the farmer said.  “He has a funny, squinting eye.”

“Then I’ll call him Squinty, too,” the boy went on.  “Please, Father, may I have that little pig?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said his father slowly, scratching his head.  “A pig is a queer pet.  I suppose you might have him, though.  You could keep him in the back yard.  Yes, I guess you could have him, if Mr. Jones will sell him, and if the pig will behave.  Do you think that little pig will be good, Mr. Jones?” asked the father of the farmer man.