“This woman did. She would not give me anything to eat until I learned to ask for it. And as I was nearly starving I learned rapidly,” said the pig. “As soon as I could ask for things I gained in weight, and when the farmer saw I was getting fat he asked his wife to keep right on feeding me so that—”
“Yes,” said Snythergen.
“So that they could eat me for dinner!” faltered the pig, dashing a tear from his eye.
“Then what did you do?” asked Snythergen.
“I ate as little as possible until the farmer’s wife saw I was getting thin again. Then she told me to eat all I wanted and not to worry. She said she would manage somehow so—they would not have to—eat—me for dinner! I trusted her and after that enjoyed three good meals a day. You see she had taken a fancy to me because I kept myself looking neat, and tried to be gentlemanly. She called me ‘Squeaky’ and treated me like a child of her own. Little by little I began to understand what she said, and learned to talk.
“One day the farmer’s wife was sitting by the window sewing. The farmer had gone to town. I trotted up as usual for a chat, but instead of chatting—
“‘You must go away,’ she said, with a catch in her voice, ‘for my husband says we must have you—for—dinner—to-morrow!’
“She could hardly say the words. We looked at each other sadly. Then she took me in her arms and squeezed me so tightly I thought she would break my bones; and I would not have cared much if she had. To die in her arms would have been a happier lot than leaving her.
“‘But surely I may come back some day,’ I managed to say, ‘or send for you when my fortune is made.’
“‘I’m afraid not,’ she faltered.