“It went right to the dining-room table and climbed into a chair. Pigs don’t do that, do they? But you don’t believe it could have been Henry, do you? It got up in the chair and sat in it, and put its front feet on the table and grunted. And Mrs. Lippett hurried about saying, ‘Oh, Henry! Oh, poor, dear Henry!’ and brought a plate of fried hominy and sliced apple and set it before him. And he wouldn’t touch it! He wouldn’t eat. So Mrs. Lippett wept harder and got a napkin and tied it around the pig’s neck. Then the pig ate. He almost climbed into the plate, and gobbled the food down. And then he grunted for more. And Mrs. Lippett wept and said: ‘It’s Henry! He always did tie a napkin around his neck—he spilled his soup so. It’s Henry! It acts just like Henry. He never did anything at the table but eat and grunt.’ And so,” said Mr. Guffins sadly, “she thinks it’s Henry. She’s fixed up the guest bedroom for him.”
“The idea of such a notion!” said Mr. Gubb.
“SHE THINKS IT’S HENRY. SHE’S FIXED UP THE GUEST BEDROOM FOR HIM”
“Well, that’s it,” said Mr. Guffins sadly. “I ain’t sure but it is Henry. Do you know, that pig walks on its hind feet like a man? She says it walks like Henry.... Oh!”
“What is it?” asked Mr. Gubb.
“I told you Henry—”
“Yes?”
“I told you Henry broke his neck. He fell down and broke his neck, in his store. He was coming down the back stairs in the dark, and his foot caught in a piece of rope and he fell. And—this pig came into the parlor with a piece of string on its leg! Here’s the string.”