ckings on, only white sand-shoes, because she thought they would be
easier than boots for balancing on the pig in the graceful bare-backed
act.

Oswald was attired in red paint and flour and pyjamas, for a clown. It
is really _impossible_ to run speedfully in another man's pyjamas, so
Oswald had taken them off, and wore his own brown knickerbockers
belonging to his Norfolks. He had tied the pyjamas round his neck to
carry them easily. He was afraid to leave them in a ditch, as Alice
suggested, because he did not know the roads, and for aught he recked
they might have been infested with footpads. If it had been his own
pyjamas, it would have been different. (I'm going to ask for pyjamas
next winter, they are so useful in many ways.)

Noel was a highwayman in brown paper gaiters and bath towels and a
cocked hat of newspaper. I don't know how he kept it on. And the pig
was encircled by the dauntless banner of our country. All the same, I
think if I had seen a band of youthful travellers in bitter distress
about a pig I should have tried to lend a helping hand and not sat
roaring in the hedge, no matter how the travellers and the pig might
have been dressed.

It was hotter than any one would believe who has never had occasion to
hunt the pig when dressed for quite another part. The flour got out of
Oswald's hair into his eyes and his mouth. His brow was wet with what
the village blacksmith's was wet with, and not his fair brow alone. It
ran down his face and washed the red off in streaks, and when he rubbed
his eyes he only made it worse. Alice had to run holding the
equestrienne skirts on with both hands, and I think the brown paper
boots bothered Noel from the first. Dora had her skirt over her arm and
carried the topper in her hand. It was no use to tell ourselves it was a
wild boar hunt--we were long past that.

At last we met a man who took pity on us. He was a kind-hearted man. I
think, perhaps, he had a pig of his own--or, perhaps, children. Honor to
his name!

He stood in the middle of the road and waved his arms. The pig
right-wheeled through a gate into a private garden and cantered up the
drive. We followed. What else were we to do I should like to know?

The Learned Black Pig seemed to know its way. It turned first to the
right and then to the left, and emerged on a lawn.

"Now, all together!" cried Oswald, mustering his failing voice to give
the word of command. "Surround him!--cut off his retreat!"