And he guessed right, too.

The boy picked Squinty up, box and all, and carried him to the back
yard.

"Now I'll give you more room to run about, and then I'll have a nice
supper for you," the boy said, talking to his little pig just as you
would to your dog, or kittie.

With a hammer the boy knocked off some of the slats of the small box in
which Squinty had made his journey. Then the boy lifted out the comical
little pig, and Squinty found himself inside a large box, very much like
the pen at home. It had clean straw in it, and a little trough, just
like the one at his "home," where he could eat. But there was nothing in
the trough to eat, as yet, and the box seemed quite lonesome, for
Squinty was all alone.

"Here you are now! Some nice sour milk, and boiled potatoes!" cried the
boy, and then Squinty smelled the most delicious smell--to him at least.
Down into the trough came the sour milk and potatoes.

"Squee! Squee!" yelled Squinty in delight. And how fast he ate! That was
because he was hungry, you see, but pigs nearly always eat fast, as
though they were continually in a hurry.

"Oh, isn't it cute!" exclaimed a voice over Squinty's head. He looked
up, half shutting his one funny eye, and cocking one ear up, and letting
the other droop down. But he did not stop eating.