“No, I will wait and let the boy take me away,” thought Squinty.

Several times after this the boy and his sisters came to look down into the pig pen.  The pigs could tell, by the talk of the children, that they were brother and sisters.  And they had come to the farm to spend their summer vacation, when there was no school.

“That’s the pig I am going to take home with me,” the boy would say to his sisters, pointing to Squinty.

“How can you tell which one is yours?” asked one of the little girls.

“I can tell by his funny squint,” the boy would answer.  “He always makes me want to laugh.”

“Well, I am glad I am of some use in this world,” thought Squinty, who could understand nearly all that the boy and his sisters said.  “It is something just to be jolly.”

“I wouldn’t want a pig,” said the other girl.  “They grunt and squeal and are not clean.  I’d rather have a rabbit.”

“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.

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.

Soon the sounds stopped, and the farmer and the boy came and looked down into the pig pen.

“Now you are sure you want that squinty one?” the farmer asked the boy.  “Some of the others are bigger and better.”

“No, I want the squinty one,” the boy said.  “He is so comical, he makes me laugh.”

“All right,” answered the farmer.  “I’ll get him for you, now that you have the crate all made to carry him home in on the cars.”

Over into the pig pen jumped the farmer.  He made a grab for Squinty and caught him.

“Squee!  Squee!  Squee!” squealed Squinty, for he had never been squeezed so tightly before.

“Oh, I’m not going to hurt you,” said the farmer, kindly.

“Squinty, be quiet,” ordered his papa, in the pig language.  “Behave yourself.  You are going on a journey, and will be all right.”

Then Squinty stopped squealing, as the farmer climbed out of the pen with him.

“At last I am going on a journey, and I may have many adventures,” thought the little pig.  “Good-by!” he called to his papa and mamma and brothers and sisters, left behind in the pen.  “Good-by!”

“Good-by!” they all grunted and squealed.  “Be a good pig,” said his mamma.