eye."

"Then I'll call him Squinty, too," the boy went on. "Please, Father, may
I have that little pig?"

"Well, I don't know," said his father slowly, scratching his head. "A
pig is a queer pet. I suppose you might have him, though. You could keep
him in the back yard. Yes, I guess you could have him, if Mr. Jones will
sell him, and if the pig will behave. Do you think that little pig will
be good, Mr. Jones?" asked the father of the farmer man.

"Well, yes, I guess so," answered the farmer. "He has run away out of
the pen a couple of times, but if you board up a place good and tight, I
guess he won't get out."

"Oh, I do hope he'll be good!" exclaimed the boy. "I do so want a little
pet pig, and I'll be so kind to him!"

When Squinty heard that, he made up his mind, if the boy took him, that
he would be as good as he knew how.

"When can I have my little pig?" asked the boy, of his father.

"Oh, as soon as Mr. Jones can put him in a box, so we can carry him,"
was the answer. "We can't very well take him in our arms; he would slip
out and run away."

"I guess so, too," laughed the boy.