ter be et by pigs?"

"Yes, you, but not fer dose kind of pig. Maybe you might eat dem und it
vould be all right, but not der pig mit four feet."

Carl had a small garden back of the ranch house, in which he had been
raising cabbages, devoting all his spare time to them and good-naturedly
taking the joshing the boys gave him. They were of the opinion that a
cow-puncher was degrading himself by working in a garden.

"Jumpin' sand hills, he'll be takin' up knittin' when winter comes on,
an' makin' of his own socks," said Bud, in disgust.

"No, he's going in for tatting," said Ben Tremont. "He's going to make a
lot of doilies for the chairs so we won't soil the satin upholstery with
our oily hair."

As all the chairs in the living room were very plain, made of solid oak,
with bullhide seats and backs, this remark was received with laughter.

"Go aheadt!" said Carl. "Ven you ain'dt drough, let me know. I know your
own bizziness. Ven der vinter comes und I haf dot deliciousness
sauerkraut, und am eating it, und ven your mouts vater so dot you
slobber like a colt off der clover, den--ah, den, I gifs you der ha-ha,
ain'dt it? Den you see who der knitting und der tatting do, eh?"

Carl laughed at the thought of how the boys would miss the sauerkraut
which he was going to make. But now "Oof," the pet pig of the
establishment, had eaten them nearly all, and was standing in his sty
too full even for the utterance of his usual lazy grunt. He looked like
an animated keg of sauerkraut with four pegs at the corners for him to
stand on, so full was he of Carl's cherished and esculent cabbages.

"How in the world did he get into the cabbage patch?" asked Ted. "I
thought you had made it pig tight."

"So did I," answered Carl. "No pig but vun mit der teufel inside him
vould haf got der fence over."

"Got over ther fence!" snorted Bud. "Why, yer feeble-minded son of a
downtrodden race, thet thar pig couldn't hev got over ther fence without
a balloon. Thet fence is six feet high. A deer couldn't jump it."

"I didn't saying so. He cannot yump, dot pig. He cannot moof, so full
mit gabbages are he. No, he didn't yump, he yoost sving himself over mit
dot fence."

"Slush! Yer gittin' plumb dotty. No pig could swing hisself over thet
fence."

"But it's der only vay vat he could, und Song, der Chineser cook, saw
him did it."

"You don't believe what a Chinyman tells yer, do yer?"

"What did Song say? How did the pig do it?" asked