“I didn’t buy him, Dix,” Ken declared. “I had him given to me.”
Here was indeed an astonishing statement, for pigs were valuable. This one, though, was an unusually skinny-looking specimen. The boy, believing that he had sufficiently aroused the curiosity of the girls, went on to inform them:
“Well, as I was going up toward the inn I heard an awful squealing over in Ira Jenkins’s pen, and I ran to see what was the matter. Seems that their old sow had always disliked this little pig, and wouldn’t let it nurse with the others, and so Mrs. Jenkins had been keeping it in the house behind the stove; but the blacksmith tripped over it this morning, and he said it would have to go back in the pen where it belonged, even if the mother-sow ate it up, bones and all. Ira had just put it in the pen when I came along, but the old sow had made for it and in another moment the little pig would have been dead, certain-sure. Ira just leaned over the fence doing nothing, and I said, ‘Aren’t you going to save that little pig’s life?’ And he answered: ‘No. What’s the use? It can’t live in our house, and it seems like it can’t live in its own, so it might as well be dead.’ Then he grinned and said, like he thought I wouldn’t dare, ‘If you can save that little pig, you can have it.’”
Dixie’s eyes were wide. “Ken Martin, I hope you didn’t get right into that pen where an angry old sow was. Don’t you know they will turn on a boy just as quick as anything?”
Ken nodded, and then looked down at his overalls that plainly showed that he had not escaped without a muddying.
“Yes, I know,” he said, “but I took a chance, and I’m glad I did, for now we own a pig. I’ve always wanted one, and, oh, Dix, I’m almost glad we didn’t sell the apples.” Then, as he held the squealing little creature up to be admired, the boy added, “I’ve named him already.”
Carol sniffed. “I shouldn’t think a pig would need a name,” she said.
Ken chuckled. “I’ve named him ‘Blessing,’ and now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Bayley, I’ll go and build him a place to live. Carol, will you come along and hold him while I’m putting up a fence for his pen?”
“Me, hold him? I should say not!” and the dainty little girl held back her skirts as though the very thought of touching the creature was contaminating.
“Maybe I can help,” Miss Bayley surprised them all by announcing. “I never did hold a pig,—we don’t have very many of them in New York,—but there’s always a first time for everything.”