"He acts so," the other answered. "But he'll get used to it. How high up
are you going?"

"Oh, about a mile, I guess."

Squinty cuddled down in the basket of the balloon, between two bags full
of something, and shivered.

"My goodness me!" thought poor Squinty. "A mile up in the air! That's
awfully high."

He knew about how far a mile was on land, for it was about the distance
from the farmhouse, near where his pen used to be, to the village
church. He had often heard the farmer man say so.

"And if it was a mile from my pen to the church, and that mile of road
was stood straight up in the air," thought Squinty, "it would be a
terrible long way to fall. I hope I don't fall."

And it did not seem as if he would--at least not right away. The basket
in which he was riding looked good and strong. Squinty had shut his eyes
when he heard the men speak about going a mile up in the air, but now,
as the balloon seemed to have stopped rising, the little pig opened his
eyes again, and peered all about him.

"Look!" exclaimed one of the men with a laugh. "Hasn't that pig the most
comical face you ever saw?"

"That's what he has," answered the other. "He makes me want to laugh
every time I look at him, with that funny half-shut eye of his."