No one could, if they had seen Squinty
then, but there was no one in the field to watch him.
"Well," thought Squinty, after a bit, "this will never do. I can't stay
here. I must try to find my way back home. Let me see; what had I better
do? I guess the first thing is to find that field of real potatoes, and
not the make-believe ones like this," and he pushed the stone away with
his nose.
"When I find the potato field," he went on, still talking to himself, "I
am sure I can find the brook where I had a swim. And when I find the
brook I will know my way home, for there is a straight path from there
to our pen."
So Squinty started off once more to walk through the rows of corn. As he
walked along on his little short legs he grunted, and rooted in the
earth with his nose. Sometimes he stumbled over a big stone, or a clod
of dirt, and fell down.
"Oh dear!" exclaimed poor Squinty, when he got up after falling down
about six times, "Oh dear! This is no fun. I wish I had stayed in the
pen with my brothers and sisters.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50