"No, they can't find me," thought Squinty, looking all around. All he
saw were the rows of potato vines, and, farther off, a field of tall,
green corn.

"Well, I have the whole day to myself!" thought Squinty. "I can do as I
please, and not go back until night. Let me see, what shall I do first?
I guess I will go to sleep in the shade."

So he stretched out in the shade of a big potato vine, and, curling up
in a little pink ball, he closed his eyes, the squinty one as well as
the good one. But first Squinty looked all around to make sure Don, the
dog, was not in sight. He saw nothing of him.

When Squinty awakened he felt hungry, as he always did after a sleep.

"Now for some more of those nice potatoes!" he said to himself. He liked
them, right after his first taste. He did not look around for the little
ones that might have fallen out of the hills themselves. No, instead,
Squinty began rooting them out of the earth with his strong, rubbery
nose, made just for digging.

I am not saying Squinty did right in this. In fact he did wrong, but
then he was a little pig, and he knew no better. In fact it was the
first time he had really run away so far, and he was quite hungry. And
potatoes were better than pig weed.

Squinty ate as many potatoes as he wanted, and then he said to himself,
in a way pigs have:

"Well, I guess I'll go on to the brook, and cool off in the water. That