much of my corn."

"But can't you keep them out?" asked Don.

"No," said Grandpa; "for when I mend one place in the fence, the little
pigs are sure to find another place big enough to squeeze through. So
the only way I can keep them out is to pen them up. Don, you may carry
water for the little pigs--and they will need plenty, too, because it
is so warm."

That pleased Don, and he began at once to fill the trough which Grandpa
had placed in the pen.

That evening, Grandpa and Grandma and the children sat on the porch,
listening to the chirp of the katydids and the call of the whippoorwills.

"Grandma," said Don, "what kind of bee will you tell us about tonight?"

"Bee Sleepy, and go to bed," said Grandpa, with a wink at Grandma.

The children laughed. "No," said Don, "I don't want to hear about that
bee--not yet."

"All right," said Grandma, "we'll have our story first; but we must begin
right away, because it is almost bedtime. The bee I am thinking about
tonight comes often to us all--especially to little children.

"Once there was a boy named Alfred who was the only child in his home.
He was very selfish; and often he was determined to have his own way.
But he had his good points, too.