d jolly," thought Squinty.

A few days after this Squinty heard the noise of hammering and sawing
wood outside the pig pen.

"The farmer must be building another barn," said Mr. Pig, for he and his
family could not see outside the pen. "Yes, he must be building another
barn, for once before we heard the sounds of hammering and sawing, and
then a new barn was built."

But that was not what it was this time.

Soon the sounds stopped, and the farmer and the boy came and looked down
into the pig pen.

"Now you are sure you want that squinty one?" the farmer asked the boy.
"Some of the others are bigger and better."

"No, I want the squinty one," the boy said. "He is so comical, he makes
me laugh."

"All right," answered the farmer. "I'll get him for you, now that you
have the crate all made to carry him home in on the cars."

Over into the pig pen jumped the farmer. He made a grab for Squinty and
caught him.

"Squee! Squee! Squee!" squealed Squinty, for he had never been squeezed
so tightly before.

"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you," said the farmer, kindly.

"Squinty, be quiet," ordered his papa, in the pig language. "Behave
yourself. You are going on a journey, and will be all right."

Then Squinty stopped squealing, as the farmer climbed out of the pen
with him.

"At last I am going on a journey, and I may have many adventures,"
thought the little pig. "Good-by!" he called to his papa and mamma and
brothers and sisters, left behind in the pen. "Good-by!"

"Good-by!" they all grunted and squealed. "Be a good pig," said his
mamma.

"Be a brave pig," said his papa.

"And--and come back and see us, sometime," sniffled little Curly Tail,
for she loved Squinty very much indeed.

"I'll come back!" said the comical little pig. But he did not know how
much was to happen before he saw his pen again.

"There you go--into the box with you!" cried the farmer, as he dropped
Squinty into a wooden box the boy had made for his pet, with a hammer,
saw and nails.

Squinty found himself dropped down on a bed of clean straw. In front of
him, behind him, and on either side of him were wooden slats--the sides
of the box. Squinty could look out, but the slats were as close together
as those in a chicken coop, and the little pig could not get out.

He did not want to, however, for he had made up his mind that he was
going to be a good pig, and go with the boy who had bought him for a pet
from the farmer.

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