h a shaky fashion. Their hoofs were
diseased, and had partly rotted away, so that they could not walk
straight. Though it was only a mile or two from Penhollow to Dingley
Farm, they were tired out, and dropped down exhausted on their
comfortable beds.

Miss Laura was so delighted to think that they had all lived, that she
did not know what to do. Her eyes were bright and shining, and she went
from one to another with such a happy face. The queer little pig that
Mr. Harry had christened "Daddy Longlegs," had been washed, and he lay
on his heap of straw in the corner of his neat little pen, and surveyed
his clean trough and abundance of food with the air of a prince. Why, he
would be clean and dry here, and all his life he had been used to dirty,
damp Penhollow, with the trees hanging over him, and his little feet in
a mass of filth and dead leaves. Happy little pig! His ugly eyes seemed
to blink and gleam with gratitude, and he knew Miss Laura and Mr. Harry
as well as I did.

His tiny tail was curled so tight that it was almost in a knot. Mr. Wood
said that was a sign that he was healthy and happy: and that when poor
Daddy was at Penhollow he had noticed that his tail hung as limp and as
loose as the tail of a rat. He came and leaned over the pen with Miss
Laura, and had a little talk with her about pigs. He said they were by
no means the stupid animals that some people considered them. He had had
pigs that were as clever as dogs. One little black pig that he had once
sold to a man away back in the country had found his way home, through
the woods, across the river, up hill and down dale, and he'd been taken
to the place with a bag over his head. Mr. Wood said that he kept that
pig because he knew so much.

He said the most knowing pigs he ever saw were Canadian pigs. One time
he was having a trip on a sailing vessel, and it anchored in a long,
narrow harbor in Canada, where the tide came in with a front four or
five feet high called the "bore." There was a village opposite the place
where the ship was anchored, and every day at low tide, a number of pigs
came down to look for shell-fish. Sometimes they went out for half a
mile over the mud flats, but always a few minutes before the tide came
rushing in they turned and hurried to the shore. Their instincts warned
them that if they stayed any longer they would be drowned.

Mr. Wood had a number of pigs, and after a while Daddy was put in with
them, and a fine time he