them. But, so far, Squinty had
never eaten even a little potato.

On and on went the little pig, looking back now and then toward the pen
to see if any of the other pigs were coming after him. But none were.

And there was no sign of Don, the barking dog, nor the farmer, either.
There was nothing to stop Squinty from running away. Soon he was some
distance from the pen, and then he thought it would be safe to nibble at
a bit of pig weed. He took a large mouthful from a tall, green plant.

"Oh, how good that tastes!" thought Squinty. "It is much better and
fresher than the kind the farmer throws into the pen to us."

Perhaps this was true, but I imagine the reason the pig weed tasted so
much better was because Squinty was running away.

Perhaps you know how it is yourself. Did you ever go out the back way,
when mamma was washing the dishes, and run over to your aunt's or your
grandma's house, and get a piece of bread and jam? If you ever did, you
probably thought that bread and jam was much nicer than the kind you
could get at home, though really there isn't any better bread and jam
than mother makes. But, somehow or other, the kind you get away from
home tastes differently, doesn't it?

It was that way with Squinty, the comical pig. He ate and ate the pig
weed, until he had eaten about as much as was good for him. And then, as
he saw one little potato on the ground, where it had rolled out of the
hill in which it grew with the others, Squinty ate that. He did not
think the farmer would care.

"Oh, how good it is!" he thought. "I wish I had not eaten so much pig
weed, then I could eat more of those funny, round things the farmer
calls potatoes. Now I will have to wait until I am hungry again."

Squinty knew that would not be very long, for pigs get hungry many times
a day. That is what makes them grow fat so fast--they eat so often. But
eating often is not good for boys and girls.

Squinty had now come some distance away from the pen, where he lived
with his mother, father, sisters and brothers. He wondered if they had
awakened yet, or had seen the hole out of which he had crawled, and if
they were puzzled as to where he had gone.

"But they can't find me!" said Squinty, with something that sounded like
a laugh. I suppose pigs can laugh--in their own way, at any rate.

"No, they can't find me," thought Squinty, looking all around. All he
saw were the rows of potato vines, and, farther off, a field of tall,
gr