had been taught not to do that, and then did it, we would not excuse
them.

"Here comes the farmer with the sour milk," grunted Mr. Pig. "Oh, how
good it smells!"

Just then Squealer cried:

"Why, where's Squinty?"

His brothers and sisters looked around.

Squinty, the comical pig, was not to be seen. But we know where he was,
even if his mamma and papa and brothers and sisters did not. Squinty was
in the cornfield, trying to find his way back to the pen.

"Why, where can Squinty be?" asked Mrs. Pig. "Squinty! Squinty!" she
called, grunting and squealing as she always did. "Come to the trough!"
she went on. "Supper is ready!"

But Squinty did not come. The farmer poured the sour milk down the
slide, where it ran into the trough, and the little pigs began to eat.
But Mr. and Mrs. Pig began looking for Squinty. They turned up the
straw, thinking he might be asleep under it. No Squinty was to be seen.
Then Mr. Pig saw the hole under the side boards of the pen.

"Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Pig, speaking to Mrs. Pig, "I think perhaps Squinty
went out there."

"Oh, so he did!" said Mrs. Pig. "What shall we do?"