Over a knoll, his tiny nose swaying in the air, and four short legs
kicking the dust into clouds, skurried a small pig, coated from head to
tail with lard. Deftly he slipped for his life through many youthful
hands stretched out to grasp him, and time and again he wriggled from
under a small boy crouched to stop his progress. He passed the
danger-mark, and in the new stretch of ground, where the spectators were
standing, discerned a chance to escape.

Flea saw him coming and could detect the terror in the flying little
beast. Her heart leaped up in answer to the call from something in
distress--something she loved, loved because it lived and suffered
through terrible fear. She dropped Snatchet and caught the greased pig
in her arms. She hugged him up to her breast and, turning flashing eyes
upon the people staring at her, said:

"Poor little baby piggy! He's scared almost to death."

"You've caught the greased pig!" somebody shouted. "You can have
him--he's yours!"

"Ye mean mine to keep?" Flea demanded of the man who had cheered on the
boys.

"Yes, to keep," was the reply, "and this five-dollar gold-piece because
you caught him."

"I didn't try to catch him," she said simply. "He jest comed to me
'cause he were so afeard. His little heart's a beatin' like as if he's
goin' to die. I'll keep him, and I thank ye for the money.... Golly! but
ain't me and Flukey two rich kids? Where's Fluke?"