Oh, Mr. Harrington," she said breathlessly, "that pet pig of Bobbles'
is in your garden again. He only got in this minute. I saw him coming
and I ran right after him."

"He's there, all right," said Harrington cheerfully, "but I'll get him
out in a jiffy. Don't tire yourself. Won't you go into the house and
rest while I drive him around?"

Mrs. Hayden, however, was determined to help and they both went around
to the garden, set the gate open, and tried to drive the pig out. But
Harrington was not thinking about pigs, and Mrs. Hayden did not know
quite so much about driving them as Mordecai did; as a consequence
they did not make much headway. In her excitement Mrs. Hayden ran over
beds and whatever came in her way, and Harrington, in order to keep
near her, ran after her. Between them they spoiled things about as
much as a whole drove of pigs would have done.

But at last the pig grew tired of the fun, bolted out of the gate, and
ran across the yard to his own place. Mrs. Hayden followed slowly and
Harrington walked beside her.

"Those pigs are all to be shut up tomorrow," she said. "Hiram has been
fixing up a place for them in his spare moments and it is ready at
last."

"Oh, I wouldn't," said Harrington hastily. "It isn't good for pigs to
be shut up so young. You'd better let them run a while yet."

"No," said Mrs. Hayden decidedly. "They have almost worried me to
death already. In they go tomorrow."

They were at the lane gate now, and Harrington had to open it and let
her pass through. He felt quite desperate as he watched her trip up
through the rows of apple trees, her blue gingham skirt brushing the
lush grasses where a lacy tangle of sunbeams and shadows lay. Bobbles
and Ted came running to meet her and the three, hand in hand,
disappeared from sight.

Harrington went back to the house, feeling that life was flat, stale,
and unprofitable. That evening at the tea table he caught himself
wondering what it would be like to see Mary Hayden sitting at his
table in place of Sarah King, with Bobbles and Ted on either hand.
Then he found out what was the matter with him. He was in love,
fathoms deep, with the blue-eyed widow!

Presumably the pigs were shut up the next day, for Harrington's garden
was invaded no more. He stood it for a week and then surrendered at
discretion. He filled a basket with early strawberries and went across
to the Hayden place, boldly enough to all appearance, but with his
heart thu