Sometimes he would take a
choice, tender piece of pig weed, which the farmer had tossed into the
pen, and hide it in the soft dirt in one corner.
"Now see who can find it!" Squinty would call to his brothers and
sisters, and they would hunt all over for it, rooting up the earth with
their strong, rubbery noses.
Digging in the dirt was good practice for them, and their mother and
father would watch them, saying:
"Ah, when they grow up they will be very good rooting pigs indeed. Yes,
very good!"
Then Squinty, or his brothers or sisters, would root up the hidden pig
weed, and the old pigs would go to sleep again, for they did not need to
practice digging, having done so when they were young. About all they
did was to eat and sleep, and tell the little pigs how to behave.
"Squinty, how is your ear that Don, the dog, bit?" asked Mrs. Pig of her
little boy pig one day.
"Oh, it doesn't hurt me," answered Squinty. "Don did not bite very hard.
He only wanted to catch me."
"Yes, Don is a good dog," said Mrs.
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