The boy’s eyes plainly showed his admiration, and down toward the barn these two went, while the girls returned to the house to put the finishing touches on the lunch. Half an hour later Carol called from the door, and a returning shout from Ken carried the message, “Come on down, first, and see the pen.”
Hand in hand Carol and Dixie darted down the path, and how they laughed when they looked over into the very small yard that Ken had fenced off. Too, there was a large box, open at one side, with fresh straw on the bottom, that would make a fine bed.
The skinny little pig looked up, almost fearfully, at the four laughing faces that were peering over the top rail at him. “After lunch let’s get some apples and feed him,” Carol suggested.
Suddenly Dixie thought of something. “Why, Ken Martin, we can’t feed your little pig apples yet; he’s still taking milk.”
“That’s so,” said the boy, snapping his fingers. Then he added: “I say, Dix, couldn’t you find the bottle Jimmy-Boy used to have? I can feed him with that, like as not.”
“I believe I know just where it is,” the little mother said, “but come now or the apple pudding will be done too much.” And so, promising the small pig that he would soon return, Ken leaped the fence and they all went up to the cabin.
A merry lunch it was, and the apple pudding was done to a turn. Indeed, never before had the old stove baked so well, and it seemed to shine with pride. Miss Bayley declared, and she meant it, too, that she could not remember when she had so enjoyed being guest at a luncheon party, and when, at last, she announced that she must go, as there was a letter to be written before the stage came, they all trooped with her to the top of the cañon road.
When they were home again, Dixie declared: “There now, Ken, you said this morning that you couldn’t think of anything to celebrate about, and just see what a wonderful day we’ve had. It’s always that way, I do believe. When a person feels gloomy, if he’d just up and prepare to celebrate, even if there’s nothing to celebrate about, something will turn up, certain-sure.”
“You’re right, Dix. You always are,” her brother declared warmly. “Two things turned up, the pig and Miss Bayley.”
But a harder problem to solve than that of a poor apple-crop was just ahead of brave little Dixie.