But, somehow or other, the kind you get away from
home tastes differently, doesn't it?
It was that way with Squinty, the comical pig. He ate and ate the pig
weed, until he had eaten about as much as was good for him. And then, as
he saw one little potato on the ground, where it had rolled out of the
hill in which it grew with the others, Squinty ate that. He did not
think the farmer would care.
"Oh, how good it is!" he thought. "I wish I had not eaten so much pig
weed, then I could eat more of those funny, round things the farmer
calls potatoes. Now I will have to wait until I am hungry again."
Squinty knew that would not be very long, for pigs get hungry many times
a day. That is what makes them grow fat so fast--they eat so often. But
eating often is not good for boys and girls.
Squinty had now come some distance away from the pen, where he lived
with his mother, father, sisters and brothers. He wondered if they had
awakened yet, or had seen the hole out of which he had crawled, and if
they were puzzled as to where he had gone.
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