On and on went the white gander so smoothly and swiftly that the country slipped away beneath just as the leaves of a book do when they slip from under your finger too fast for you to see the print or pictures.
"I wonder what that is," said Ellen as a spot of red shone out among the green beneath.
The gander stayed his wings so that Ellen could look.
It was a little red brick house. Around it were other houses that looked as though they were built of sods. They had chimneys and from two or three of these chimneys thin lines of smoke rose through the still air.
As the gander hovered above them from a knoll a little way beyond there suddenly sounded a shrill and piteous squeaking.
"Oh, what's that?" cried Ellen. "It must be a pig and I'm afraid some one is hurting it. Oh dear!"
"Do you want to go and see mistress?" asked the gander.
Ellen said she did, so the gander turned in that direction.
When they reached the knoll they found that it was indeed a pig that was making the noise, but Ellen could not see why it was shrieking so. It sat there all alone under an oak tree and with its pink nose lifted to the sky and its eyes shut it wept aloud. The tears trickled down its bristly cheeks.
Suddenly it stopped squeaking, and getting up began quietly hunting about for acorns, and craunching them as though it found them very good.