e. "Ye'd get into a row for that. Ye'd better tak' it back, or there
may be fun."

"Kill the damn'd thing," said Tam Donaldson callously, "an' it'll maybe
a lesson to the auld sot. Him an' his hens' meat! I'd let him ken that
it's no' hens' meat the collier eats--at least no' so lang as he can get
pork."

"That's jist what I think, too, Tam," put in another voice. "I'd mak'
sure work that the collier ate pork for yince. Come on, boys, an' mum's
the word," and he proceeded to drive the pig further along the village,
followed by a few enthusiastic backers. They drove it into Granny
Fleming's hen-house in the middle of the square, put out the hens, who
protested loudly against this rude and incomprehensible interruption of
their slumbers, and then they proceeded to slaughter the pig.

It was a horrible orgy, and the pig made a valiant protest, but
encountered by hammers and picks, knives and such-like weapons, the poor
animal was soon vanquished, and the men proceeded to cut up its carcass.
It was a long and trying ordeal for men who had no experience of the
work; yet they made up in enthusiasm what they lacked in science, and by
five o'clock the pig was cut up and distributed through a score of
homes. Every trace of the slaughter was removed, and the refuse buried
in the village midden, and pork was the principal article on the
breakfast table that morning in Lowwood.

"I hear that auld Hairyfithill has offered five pound reward for
information about his pig," said Tam Donaldson a few mornings later.

"Ay, an' it's a gran' price for onybody wha kens aboot it," said auld
Jamie Lauder. "Pork maun hae risen in price this last twa-three days,
for I'm telt it was gaun cheap enough then."

"That is true," said Tam, "but it was a damn'd shame to tak' the auld
man's pig awa', whaever did it. But I hear them saying that the polisman
is gaun to the farm the nicht to watch, so that the tatties 'll no' be
stolen," he went on, as some of the younger men joined them, "an' I
suppose that the puir polisman hasna' a bit o' coal left in his
coal-house. It's no' richt, ye ken, laddies, that a polisman, who is the
representative o' law and order in this place, should sit without a
fire. He has a wife an' weans to worry aboot, an' they need a fire to
mak' meat. Maybe if he had a fire an' plenty o' coal it wad mak' him
comfortable, an' then he'd no' be sae ready to leave the hoose at nicht
an' lie in a tattie pit to watch thievin' collie