Mr. Con Murphy was a red-faced man, with a fringe of sandy whiskers all around his countenance like a frame, having his lips, chin and cheeks smoothly shaven. He had no family, lived alone in the cottage, and worked very hard at his cobbler's bench.
"Why, Mr. Murphy!" cried Ruth. "Of course I didn't push your pig through the fence."
"It was Billy Bumps," giggled Agnes.
"Who is that, thin?" demanded Mr. Murphy, glaring at Neale O'Neil. "That young felley standin' there, I dunno?"
"No. I only cracked your pig over the nose with this fence paling," said the boy. "I wonder you don't keep the pig at home."
"Oh, ye do, do ye?" cried the little Irishman. "Would ye have me lock him into me spare bedroom?"
"I would if he were mine—before I'd let him be a nuisance to the neighbors," declared Neale O'Neil.
"Oh, Neale!" interposed Ruth. "You mustn't speak so. Of course the pig is annoying——"
"He's a nuisance. Anybody can see that," said the boy, frankly.
"'Tis a smart lad ye ar-re," sneered Mr. Murphy. "Show me how ter kape the baste at home. The fince is not mine, whativer ye say. If it isn't strong enough to kape me pig out——"