“And I guess you are hungry, too, and want something to eat,” the boy went on.  “I will feed you!”

“Squee!  Squee!  Squee!” squealed Squinty.  If there was one word in man-talk that he understood very well, it was “feed.”  He had often heard the farmer say: 

“Well, now I must feed the pigs.”

And right after that, some nice sour milk would come splashing down into the trough of the pen.  So when Squinty heard the word “feed” again, he guessed what was going to happen.

And he guessed right, too.

The boy picked Squinty up, box and all, and carried him to the back yard.

“Now I’ll give you more room to run about, and then I’ll have a nice supper for you,” the boy said, talking to his little pig just as you would to your dog, or kittie.

With a hammer the boy knocked off some of the slats of the small box in which Squinty had made his journey.  Then the boy lifted out the comical little pig, and Squinty found himself inside a large box, very much like the pen at home.  It had clean straw in it, and a little trough, just like the one at his “home,” where he could eat.  But there was nothing in the trough to eat, as yet, and the box seemed quite lonesome, for Squinty was all alone.

“Here you are now!  Some nice sour milk, and boiled potatoes!” cried the boy, and then Squinty smelled the most delicious smell—­to him at least.  Down into the trough came the sour milk and potatoes.

“Squee!  Squee!” yelled Squinty in delight.  And how fast he ate!  That was because he was hungry, you see, but pigs nearly always eat fast, as though they were continually in a hurry.

“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.

“Yes, he surely is a nice pig,” the boy said, “In a few days, when he gets over being strange, I’m going to teach him some tricks.”

“Ha!  There’s that word tricks again!” thought Squinty.  “I wonder what tricks are?  But I shall very soon find out.”

For a few days Squinty was rather lonesome in his new pen, all by himself.  He missed his papa and mamma and brothers and sisters.  But the boy came to see Squinty every day, bringing him nice things to eat, and, after a bit, Squinty came to look for his new friend.

“I guess you are getting to know me, aren’t you, old fellow?” the boy said one day, after feeding Squinty, and he scratched the little pig on the back with a stick.

“Uff!  Uff!” grunted Squinty.  That, I suppose, was his way of saying: 

“Of course I know you, and I like you, boy.”

One day, about a week after he had come to his new home, Squinty heard the boy say: 

“Now I think you are tame enough to be let out.  I don’t believe you will run away, will you?  But, anyhow, I’ll tie a string to your leg, and then you can’t.”