“Hark! what noise is that?” said Ben.
“It sounds like a pig squealing,” said Joe.
“But we haven’t got any pig.”
“I guess it’s a fish-hawk,” said Charles, scarcely able to contain himself at beholding the puzzled look of Ben and Joe.
In a few moments a louder and shriller sound arose. “It’s a pig, as I’m a sinner!” exclaimed Joe. Ben rushed out of doors, following the sound, to the sty, where was a bright little black and white pig, about eight weeks old.
“O, what a beauty!” cried Charlie; “I am so glad. Where do you suppose he came from, father?”
“That is what I should like to know.”
“It came from Uncle Jonathan Smullen’s sow, I know,” said Joe; “for it’s just the color, and about the right age. I don’t believe but he brought it on, and is round here somewhere now.”
“He’s too old a man to come on here alone; besides, he never would leave the island without first coming to the house to get something to wet his whistle.”
“Didn’t Uncle Isaac,” said Sally, “know that you were going to have a pig of Smullen?”