rather have been down by the cool brook, but he knew he could not have a
swim in it until he found it. And, just now, he seemed a good way off
from it.

Poor Squinty! It was bad enough to be tired and warm, but to be lost was
worse, and to be hungry was worse than all--especially to a little pig.
And, more than this, there was nothing to eat.

Squinty had tried to nibble at some of the green corn stalks, but he did
not like the taste of them. Perhaps he had not yet learned to like them,
for I have seen older pigs eat corn stalks. And pigs are very fond of
the yellow corn itself. They love to gnaw it off the cob, and chew it,
just as you chew popcorn.

But the corn was not yet ripe, and Squinty was too little to have eaten
it, if it had been ripe. Later on he would learn to do this. Just now he
cared more about finding his way home, and also finding something that
he could eat.

For some time the little lost pig rested on the cool earth, in the shade
of the rows of corn. Then he got up with a grunt and a squeal, and began
rooting in the ground.

"Perhaps I may find some potatoes, or some pig weed, here," thought
Squinty. "Who knows?"

But all he could root up, with his queer, rubbery nose, was some round
stones. Some of these were brown, and looked so much like the little
potatoes, that Squinty tried to chew one. But when he felt the hard
stone on his little white teeth he cried out in pain.