“I thought all pigs were dirty,” said Robert.

“No, indeed!” said James.  “They like to be clean and to have room to run about.  They need to root in the earth and roll in the mud, but they prefer clean earth and clean mud to the filthy stuff they often get.”

“There’s a great difference in mud,” said Robert, in such a wise way that James laughed.  “Pigs like sunshine, too,” said he, “and when you have seen me give them a bath you will never say again that they like to be dirty.  We wash them and brush them with a stiff brush, and they think it great fun.”

“Do they eat anything but scraps from the kitchen?” was Robert’s next question.

“Of course,” said James.  “They have milk, beets, potatoes, a little grain, with plenty of hay, and green or dry clover.  I don’t give them much corn because it makes them too fat.  In those small troughs I keep a mixture of clay, salt, ashes, and charcoal so that the pigs can reach it easily.  In winter I always warm their food for them and take great pains to keep their bedding warm and dry.  I am not allowed to give them any food which isn’t sweet and fresh.  If I were careless about it I should lose my place directly.  Mr. Spencer made me understand that when I came.  He said that a dirty pig-pen was a disgrace to a farmer and a danger to the neighborhood.”

“These pigs look as if they knew you,” said Robert.  “Do you think they do?”

“I know they do,” said James.  “They are as bright as any of the other animals I take care of.  Don’t you know the old Welsh saying, ’Happy is the man who is as wise as a pig’?  When they are stupid it is because they have been ill-treated.  If we lived in a dark, damp hole under a barn we might look a little dull, sometimes.  Don’t you think so, Robert?”

A MORNING’S DRIVE.

One beautiful morning, when Robert had been at the farm nearly a week, Mr. Spencer invited him to take a drive to the sheep-pasture.  There was a large basket in the buggy.  “I am taking a little treat to my sheep,” said Mr. Spencer.  “Once a week I carry them some chopped carrots and turnips.”

It was only a short drive to the sheep-pasture.  As Robert and Mr. Spencer went through the gate the sheep came running to meet their master.  They were fine, fat creatures, and so tame that Robert could stroke their woolly heads and soft noses.

The pasture was well fenced in, and four horses were near the fence, under a large tree.  Three of them came up to share the carrots and to hunt in Mr. Spencer’s pockets for lumps of sugar.  The fourth horse did not move from where he was lying.

“Are these your horses?” asked Robert.

“Only one is mine,” said Mr. Spencer.  “The others belong to a wise friend of ours who gives his horses a vacation in the summer.  Did you ever think how many horses work all their lives without any rest worth mentioning?”