“I thought I heard you eating things in the closet while I was writing. Perhaps you’ve made yourself sick.”
By this time Mabel was about helpless with laughter—it was so amusing to be taken for a pig. But just then her charge took a mean advantage of her. He squirmed suddenly, rolled out of bed and landed with a thump and an astonished grunt on the floor.
“My Uncle!” gasped Isabelle, leaping out of bed and switching on the light. “Are you killed!”
“For goodness’ sake keep still,” growled Mabel. “It isn’t me—it’s my pig!”
“For goodness’ sake keep still,” growled Mabel
The pink pig scuttling here and there across the floor was too much for Isabelle. She plunged into bed again and sat there with horrified eyes on the pig. Suddenly, as he dashed in her direction, she squealed and the pig squealed and they both squealed—a regular duet.
Miss Woodruff in her red flannel nightdress was the first to arrive at the party.
“What!” she demanded, pausing in the doorway, “does this mean?”