you pigs must go back in your own pen. The farmer would not like you to
be out in his garden."

"Yes, I suppose we must," said Mrs. Pig, with a sigh. "Yet it is very
nice out in the garden. But we must stay in our pen."

"Come, children," said Mr. Pig. "We must stay in our own place, for if
we rooted up the farmer's garden, much as we would like to do it, he
would have no vegetables to eat this winter. Then he might be angry at
us, and would give us no more sour milk. So we will go back to our pen."

"Bow wow! Bow wow!" barked Don, running here and there. "I will show you
the way back to your pen," he said, kindly.

And he capered about, here and there, driving the pigs back to the place
where Squinty had run from, and where all the others had come from, to
see what had happened to him.

The farmer, who was hoeing corn, heard the barking of his dog. He
dropped the hoe and ran.

"Something must have happened!" he cried. "Maybe the big bull has gotten
loose from his field, and is chasing someone with a red dress."

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!"