fence, scrambled
to his feet and trotted after his guide.

Old Spot had promised to show Grunty a dozen pink and white pigs, all
without tails. He wanted Grunty to see how handsome they looked.

"You'll like them," Spot told Grunty over his shoulder as they jogged
across the farmyard. "You'll ask Farmer Green this very day to cut off
your tail and nail it up on the barn. I tell you, these pigs look
_neat_. There's _style_ about them."

"Umph! Umph!" said Grunty Pig as he shuffled along behind.

"Now, I wonder what he meant by that!" Spot mused. It was sometimes hard
to tell whether Grunty's _umphs_ stood for _yes_ or _no_.

Around the corner of the farmhouse, near the woodshed door, old dog Spot
came to a halt before a two-storied cage, the front of which was covered
with fine-meshed wire netting.

Stopping beside Spot, Grunty Pig peered inside the cage. He saw a number
of odd little creatures running about upon the sawdust-strewn floor of
the tiny house, one or another of them giving a faint squeak now and
then as if ordering the two unasked callers to move on.

Whoever they were, they were a bright-eyed little family. But Grunty
Pig thought, as he stared at them, that they had a most peculiar look.
There seemed to be something missing about them. Yet he couldn't tell
just what it was.

Together Grunty and Spot stood there, silent, for a time; until at last
Grunty said, "Come along! Let's not stay here any longer. I want to see
those twelve pigs without tails."

Old dog Spot snorted.

"You _want_ to see them!" he cried. "Well, nobody's stopping you.
They're right here in front of you!"

Grunty Pig's mouth fell open--he was so astonished. He knew, now, what
made the little, pudgy, white strangers look so queer. There wasn't one
of them that had even a hint of a tail!

Then all at once Grunty turned angrily upon old dog Spot.

"These aren't pigs!" he squealed. "You needn't think you can fool me.
They're not pigs at all."

"Oh, yes--they are!" Spot insisted. "You didn't suppose that all the
pigs in the world were exactly like your family--did you?"

Grunty didn't know what to say. He looked at the odd little creatures
again. And then he looked at Spot once more.

"If these really are pigs," he faltered, "they must be very, very young.
They're certainly smaller than any day-old pigs I ever saw.... Maybe
their tails haven't sprouted yet."

Old dog Spot seemed to choke over something. He turned his head