Squinty went this way and that through the woods, but he could not find the path that led to his pen.  He tried and tried again, but it was of no use.

“Well,” said Squinty, at last, sitting down beside a hollow log, “I guess I am lost.  That is all there is to it I am lost in the big woods!  Oh dear!  I almost wish Don, the dog, or the farmer would come and find me now.”

He waited, but no one came.  He listened but he heard nothing.

“Well, I might as well eat and go to sleep again,” said Squinty, “Maybe something will happen then.”

Soon he was asleep again.  But he was suddenly awakened.  He heard a great crashing in the trees over his head.

“Gracious!  I hope that isn’t a dog after me!” cried the little pig.

He looked up, Squinty did.  He saw coming down from the sky, through the branches of the trees, a big round thing, like more than ten thousand rubber balls, made into one.  Below the round thing hung a square basket, with many ropes, and other things, fast to it.  And in the basket were two men.  They looked over the edge of the basket.  One of them pulled on a rope, and the big thing, which was a balloon, though Squinty did not know it, came to the ground with a bang.

“Well, at last we have made a landing,” said one of the men.

“Yes,” said the other.  “And we shall have to throw out some bags of sand to go up again.”

Squinty did not know what this meant.  But I’ll explain to you that a “landing” is when a balloon comes down to the ground.  And when the men in it want to go up again, they have to toss out some of the bags of sand, or ballast, they carry to make the balloon so light that the gas in it will take it up again.

The men began tossing out the bags of sand.  Squinty saw them, but he was not afraid.  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.  “And what a comical little chap he is!” he went on.  “See the funny way he looks at you.”

At that moment Squinty looked up, as he often did, with one eye partly closed, the other open, and with one ear cocked frontwards, and the other backwards.

“Say, he’s a cute one all right,” said the first man.  “Let’s take him along.”

“What for?” asked his friend.  “We’d only have to toss out as much sand as he weighs so we could go up.”

“Oh, let’s take him along, anyhow,” insisted the other.  “Maybe he’ll be a mascot for us.”

“Well, if he’s a mascot, all right.  Then we’ll take him.  We need some good luck on this trip.”

Squinty did not know what a mascot was.  Perhaps he thought it was something good to eat.  But I might say that a mascot is something which some persons think brings them good luck.  Often baseball nines, or football elevens, will have a small boy, or a goat, or a dog whom they call their mascot.  They take him along whenever they play games, thinking the mascot helps them to win.  Of course it really does not, but there is no harm in a mascot, anyhow.