"Ouch!" squealed Squinty. "That hurt! Those are funny potatoes! I never
knew they could be so hard."

Later on he learned that what he supposed were potatoes were only
stones. You see it takes a little pig some time to learn all the things
he needs to know.

Squinty let the stone roll out of his mouth, and he looked at it with
such an odd look on his face, peering at it with his squinty eye, and
with one ear cocked up sort of sideways, that, if you had seen him, you
could not have helped laughing. No one could, if they had seen Squinty
then, but there was no one in the field to watch him.

"Well," thought Squinty, after a bit, "this will never do. I can't stay
here. I must try to find my way back home. Let me see; what had I better
do? I guess the first thing is to find that field of real potatoes, and
not the make-believe ones like this," and he pushed the stone away with
his nose.

"When I find the potato field," he went on, still talking to himself, "I
am sure I can find the brook where I had a swim. And when I find the
brook I will know my way home, for there is a straight path from there
to our pen."

So Squinty started off once more to walk through the rows of corn. As he
walked along on his little short legs he grunted, and rooted in the
earth with his nose. Sometimes he stumbled over a big stone, or a clod
of dirt, and fell down.