Into the garden he ran, and then he saw Don driving Squinty, and his brothers and sisters, and mother and father, back to the pen.

“Ha!  So the pigs got loose!” the farmer cried.  “Good dog!  Chase ’em back!”

“Bow wow!” barked Don.  “I will!”

But the pigs did not need much driving, for they were very good, and did not want to cause Don, or the farmer, any trouble if they could help it.

Soon Squinty and the others were safely in the pen again.  The farmer looked at them carefully.

“So, you thought you’d like to get out and have a run, did you?” he asked, speaking to pigs just as if they could understand him.  And they did, just as your dog understands, and minds you when you call to him to come to you.

“So you wanted a run in the garden, eh?” went on the farmer.  “Well, I don’t blame you, for it isn’t much fun to stay cooped up in a pen all the while.  But still I can’t have you out.  But I’ll give you a nice lot of pig weed, just the same, for you must be hungry.”

Then the farmer pulled up some more of the green stuff, and tossed it into the pen.  He also gave them plenty of sour milk, which pigs like better than sweet milk.  Besides, it is cheaper.

“Well, I guess you won’t run away again,” the farmer went on, as he nailed back on the pen the board which Squinty had pushed off.  Perhaps the farmer thought one of the big pigs—­the papa or mamma one—­had made the hole for the others to get out.  I am sure he never thought little Squinty, with his comical eye, did it.  But we know Squinty did, don’t we?

For some time after this Squinty was a very-good pig, indeed.  Not that I mean to say he was bad when he ran out of the pen, for he did not know any better.  But, after the board was nailed on tightly again, he did not try to push it off.  Perhaps he knew he could not do it.

Squinty and his brothers and sisters had lots of fun in the pen, even if they could not go out.  They played games in the straw, hiding away from one another, and squealing and grunting when they were found.  They raced around the pen, playing a game much like our game of tag, and if they could have had someone to tie a hand-kerchief over their eyes, they might have played blind-man’s buff.  But of course they did not really do this.

However, they raced about, and jumped over each other’s backs, and climbed upon the fat sides of their father and mother while the big pigs lay asleep in the shade.

Squinty was a pig very fond of playing tricks.  Sometimes he would take a choice, tender piece of pig weed, which the farmer had tossed into the pen, and hide it in the soft dirt in one corner.

“Now see who can find it!” Squinty would call to his brothers and sisters, and they would hunt all over for it, rooting up the earth with their strong, rubbery noses.

Digging in the dirt was good practice for them, and their mother and father would watch them, saying: