“It is long since I’ve seen you, Son of Ben Ali. Humph! No wonder! What am I?”
Aaron was about to say something, but the quick, restless eye of the White Pig caught sight of the children, and, with a snort of mingled fear and rage, he plunged into the cane-brake again. He ran a little way, as the children could see by the shaking of the reeds, and then stopped to listen. He heard nothing but the loud laugh Aaron sent after him.
“Go, then!” cried Aaron. “Go and stay. In the light here your shadow will catch you. Go, then! The White Pig that used to roam these fields with me had neither the heart nor the feet of a fox.”
Presently, when everything was quiet, the children could see by the shaking of the reeds, that the White Pig was coming out again. But this time he came no further than the edge of the swamp. Nothing could be seen except his head and shoulders, and these, with one ear gone, were not as pretty as a picture. His bristles stood up straight and stiff, from fear or anger, giving him a ragged appearance, and he opened and closed his mouth viciously.
“Humph! humph!” he said. “Who are these, Son of Ben Ali, and what trap have you set for me?”
“Some little children armed with broom straws,” laughed Aaron. “Run, White Pig, run. They will catch you, sure!”
“Boof!” cried the White Pig contemptuously. “The Spotted Sow goes about with her children squealing behind her. When did the Son of Ben Ali take up that trade? Boof!”
“When the White Pig became afraid of his shadow,” replied Aaron.