"What's the matter, you poor little pig?" asked Ellen, looking down at it from the gander's back.
She had not spoken with any idea of receiving any answer.
The little pig looked up when he heard her voice. As soon as he saw her he sat down and began squeaking so shrilly that Ellen felt like covering her ears.
"Week! Week! Week!" he cried. "Can't find my way home."
For a moment Ellen was so surprised at hearing the pig speak that she could not say anything. Then she asked, "Where do you live?" But the pig did not hear her. "Where do you live?" she repeated in a louder tone; then she shouted, "Hush!" so loudly that the little pig stopped short with his mouth half open and the tears still standing in his eyes.
"Where do you live?" she asked for the third time.
"I live over by the wood in the little sod house next to the brick one," answered the little pig.
"Well, isn't that it there?" and Ellen pointed to the sod houses over which she had just flown.
The little pig looked. "Why, so it is," he cried. Then curling up his little tail he trotted away in that direction.