and he lay
on his heap of straw in the corner of his neat little pen, and surveyed
his clean trough and abundance of food with the air of a prince. Why, he
would be clean and dry here, and all his life he had been used to dirty,
damp Penhollow, with the trees hanging over him, and his little feet in
a mass of filth and dead leaves. Happy little pig! His ugly eyes seemed
to blink and gleam with gratitude, and he knew Miss Laura and Mr. Harry
as well as I did.

His tiny tail was curled so tight that it was almost in a knot. Mr. Wood
said that was a sign that he was healthy and happy, and that when poor
Daddy was at Penhollow he had noticed that his tail hung as limp and as
loose as the tail of a rat. He came and leaned over the pen with Miss
Laura, and had a little talk with her about pigs. He said they were by
no means the stupid animals that some people considered them. He had had
pigs that were as clever as dogs. One little black pig that he had once
sold to a man away back in the country had found his way home, through
the woods, across the river, up hill and down dale, and he'd been taken
to the place with a bag over his head. Mr. Wood said that he kept that
pig because he knew so much.

He said the most knowing pigs he ever saw were Canadian pigs. One time
he was having a trip on a sailing vessel, and it anchored in a long,
narrow harbor in Canada, where the tide came in with a front four or
five feet high called the "bore." There was a village opposite the place
where the ship was anchored, and every day at low tide, a number of pigs
came down to look for shell-fish. Sometimes they went out for half a
mile over the mud flats, but always a few minutes before the tide came
rushing in they turned and hurried to the shore. Their instincts warned
them that if they stayed any longer they would be drowned.

Mr. Wood had a number of pigs, and after a while Daddy was put in with
them, and a fine time he had of it making friends with the other little
grunters. They were often let out in the pasture or orchard, and when
they were there, I could always single out Daddy from among them,
because he was the smartest. Though he had been brought up in such a
miserable way, he soon learned to take very good care of himself at
Dingley Farm, and it was amusing to see him when a storm was coming on,
running about in a state of great excitement carrying little bundles of
straw in his mouth to make himself a bed. He was a white pig, an