“Now is your chance to get away,” said Frank Landes, hurriedly. “I presume you have a better suit of clothes than that.”
Bob shook his head.
“This is my best and only one.”
“And your shoes?”
“The same, and also the hat. But I have a few things up in my room,” and running up the ladder to the part of the loft called his room Bob soon reappeared with a small bundle tied up in a piece of old table oil-cloth.
“Here are all my duds,” he laughed. “Ain’t quite a trunk full, is it? Now I’m ready to——”
A wild cry from outside reached their ears, and both ran to the door-way and then out into the barn-yard.
“By Jove! that’s rich!” cried Frank Landes. “I must take another picture by all means!”
He hurried for his camera, and meanwhile Bob stood by the corn-crib laughing merrily.
Joel Carrow and his wife had cornered two of the frisky porkers and were doing their best to catch them. The pigs began to squeal, and suddenly one of them darted under Mrs. Carrow’s foot just as she raised it to step out of the way. She fell down, and Joel Carrow went with her, while both pigs flew over a log and went crashing into the glass top of a hothouse bed.