But, let
me tell you, pigs who have eaten potatoes, even the little ones the
farmer cannot sell, are very fond of them. But, so far, Squinty had
never eaten even a little potato.
On and on went the little pig, looking back now and then toward the pen
to see if any of the other pigs were coming after him. But none were.
And there was no sign of Don, the barking dog, nor the farmer, either.
There was nothing to stop Squinty from running away. Soon he was some
distance from the pen, and then he thought it would be safe to nibble at
a bit of pig weed. He took a large mouthful from a tall, green plant.
"Oh, how good that tastes!" thought Squinty. "It is much better and
fresher than the kind the farmer throws into the pen to us."
Perhaps this was true, but I imagine the reason the pig weed tasted so
much better was because Squinty was running away.
Perhaps you know how it is yourself. Did you ever go out the back way,
when mamma was washing the dishes, and run over to your aunt's or your
grandma's house, and get a piece of bread and jam? If you ever did, you
probably thought that bread and jam was much nicer than the kind you
could get at home, though really there isn't any better bread and jam
than mother makes.
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