ively as he watched the enemy.

"Shoo! Shoo!" shouted Agnes.

"That pig is possessed," moaned Ruth. "He's taken the very one I was
going to have Uncle Rufus cut for our Saturday's dinner."

Seeing that the charging column numbered but two girls, the pig tossed
his head, uttered a scornful grunt, and started slowly out of the
garden. He was in no hurry. He had grown fat on these raids, and he did
not propose to lose any of the avoirdupois thus gained, by hurrying.

Leisurely he advanced toward the boundary fence. There was the fresh
earth where he had rooted out of Mr. Con Murphy's yard into this larger
and freer range.

Suddenly, to his piggish amazement, another figure--a swiftly flying
figure--got between him and his way of escape. The pig stopped, snorted,
threw up his head--and instantly lost all his calmness of mind.

"Oh, that boy!" gasped Ruth.

Neale O'Neil was in the pig's path, and he bore a stout fence-picket.
For the first time in his experience in raiding these particular
premises, his pigship had met with a foe worthy of his attention. Four
girls, an old lady, and an ancient colored retainer, in giving chase
heretofore, merely lent spice to the pig's buccaneering ventures.

He dashed forward with a sudden grunt, but the slim boy did not dodge.
Instead he brought that picket down with emphasis upon the pig's snout.

"Wee! wee! wee!" shrieked the pig, and dashed headlong down the yard,
blind to anything but pain and immediate escape.

"Oh! don't hurt him!" begged Ruth.

But Agnes had caught her sister around the neck and was hanging upon
her, weak with laughter. "Did you hear him? Did you hear him?" she
gasped. "He's French, and all the time I thought he was Irish. Did you
hear how plain he said 'Yes,' with a pure Parisian accent?"

"Oh, Neale!" cried Ruth again. "Don't hurt him!"

"No; but I'll scare him so he won't want to come in here again in a
hurry," declared the boy.

"Let the boy alone, Ruth," gasped Agnes. "I have no sympathy for the
pig."

The latter must have felt that everybody was against him. He could look
nowhere in the enemy's camp for sympathy. He dove several times at the
fence, but every old avenue of escape had been closed. And that boy with
the picket was between him and the hole by which he had entered.

Finally he headed for the hen runs. There was a place in the fence of
the farther yard where Uncle Rufus had been used to putting a trough of
feed for the poultry. Th